The Man Most Likely

Bryan jerked away. “What are you doing?”

“Checking your pulse. If you think Tanya is just okay, I’m worried those corporate types have turned you into a zombie.”

“Just because I’m not panting after every pretty chick I see doesn’t mean I’m a zombie.”

“Then what does it mean?”

“Maybe it means I want more out of a relationship than the surface stuff. And don’t make any smart remarks about corporate brainwashing or anything.”

“Why do you think I’d do that?” Zephyr looked offended. “I’d say it’s about time you realized there was more to women than good looks and sex. Not that you can’t have all that and a connection on a deeper level. Look at me and Trish.”

Bryan was glad to shift the focus of the conversation away from himself. “I’m still trying to figure out what she sees in you,” he said.

“Haven’t you heard opposites attract? We balance each other out. I help her loosen up and she brings out my intellectual side.”

“I didn’t know you had an intellectual side.”

Zephyr punched Bryan’s arm, and Bryan punched him back. Just like old times.

“Seriously, what are you looking for in the perfect woman?” Zephyr asked as they unloaded from the lift again. “Maybe I can help you find her.”

Bryan started to make some remark about not needing Zephyr as a matchmaker, but stopped. The truth was, Zephyr did know almost everyone in town, and he was a more astute judge of character than people gave him credit for. “I’m looking for a woman who’ll take me seriously,” he said. “Someone who can see beyond my partying past.”

“I dig it. You want a chick who sees you’re more than just a pretty face and a good time.”

“Something like that.” And maybe he wanted a woman who had more going for her than looks alone. Not that he thought beautiful women were shallow. He knew plenty of smart, savvy and sexy chicks. But so far he hadn’t made a real connection with any of them.

“I’ll have to think on this awhile,” Zephyr said. “Somewhere there has got to be the perfect woman for you.”

“Thanks, but I’d as soon find her on my own.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t keep my eyes open to help you out. After all, sometimes our friends know us better than we know ourselves.”

If that was true, Bryan thought, then he was in trouble. His friends apparently saw him as either a sellout or a slacker. Neither was a very flattering picture.

Chapter Three

The Al Johnson Memorial Uphill Downhill Race commemorated the exploits of a pioneering mail carrier, but in typical Crested Butte fashion, it featured competitors in zany costumes, a carnival atmosphere and an excuse for locals and visitors alike to party.

While Angela wouldn’t be caught dead barreling up a six-hundred-foot incline while dressed in a large, pink bunny costume or similar outlandish garb, she was happy to volunteer her services handing out hot chocolate to race participants and fans at the base of the Silver Queen lift. From there, participants made their way to the starting point at the bottom of the North Face lift. Racers could choose to ski the entire course by themselves, but many opted to form relay teams, with one racer handling the uphill portion, the other the downhill. Keeping with the spirit of commemorating Al Johnson’s legacy, the uphill racer had to deliver a letter to his or her team member.

Other than that, anything went, and did. As she dispensed paper cups of cocoa, Angela saw teams dressed as a hot dog and a jar of mustard, Betty and Barney Rubble, twin tigers and Batman and Robin.

“Zephyr looks almost ordinary in this crowd,” said Trish Sanders, who was serving coffee next to Angela.

“Is he racing?” Angela asked. Though she’d never personally met the colorful snowboarder and rock guitarist turned talk-show host, Zephyr was the kind of person it was impossible to ignore.

“No, he’s filming for his show. Oh, there he is. With Max.” Trish pointed to where the blond-dreadlocked boarder was interviewing a burly skier who was dressed in a Colorado Avalanche hockey uniform.

Max Overbridge owned the snowboard and bicycle shop just down from the Chocolate Moose. A second man in a hockey uniform joined him. “Who’s that?” Angela asked.

“Eric Sepulveda, a ski patroller,” Trish said. “Looks like he and Max have teamed up for the race.”

“Can a thirsty volunteer get a drink here?” A petite woman with a short cap of white-blond hair approached the refreshment booths. She was accompanied by a black Labrador retriever who wore a red search-and-rescue vest.

“Casey!” Trish leaned over the table to hug the blonde, then turned to introduce Angela. “You know Casey Overbridge, right? Max’s wife?”

“I’m one of her best customers,” Casey said. She accepted a cup of hot chocolate from Angela.

“Are you and your dog working today?” Angela asked, nodding at the Lab.

“We’re on call,” Casey said. “Though I hope we don’t have to rescue anyone. Mainly Lucy and I are here as publicity for Search and Rescue.” She patted the black Lab, who grinned up at her and wagged her tail.

Casey straightened and looked past Angela. “Bryan!” she called and waved.

“Hey, Casey.”

Angela’s stomach fluttered at the sound of the familiar low voice behind her. Then Bryan was standing beside her, handsome in a blue-and-gray sweater over gray pants and black boots. She smoothed the fake-fur collar of her parka, glad she’d decided on the curve-hugging wool skirt instead of jeans.

“Hello, Angela,” he said, his eyes meeting hers.

“Hi, Bryan.”

“You aren’t racing?” Casey asked.

Bryan shook his head. “The hotel’s hosting the awards ceremony,” he said. “I’m coordinating that.”

“How do you like your new job?” Casey asked.

“It’s good.”

“Do people always dress so strangely for this?” An older man joined them. He, too, wore a sweater over gray pants. A name tag identified him as Carl Phelps, manager of the Elevation Hotel. He stared as a large carton of French fries and a bottle of ketchup skied past.

“This is pretty normal for any kind of Crested Butte celebration,” Bryan said.

“They certainly don’t have anything like this in Michigan,” Carl said, as a man in a flowered housedress over long underwear accepted a cup of coffee from Trish.

“They don’t have anything like this anywhere else,” Bryan said. “It’s one of the things that makes Crested Butte special.”

“Or at least different,” Carl conceded. He turned to Bryan. “Is everything ready for the awards ceremony?”

“It’s all set,” Bryan said.

“I’ll be filming the whole thing for my show.” Zephyr joined them and held up his video camera. “A hundred percent digital and state of the art.”

“Sweet.” Bryan examined the camera. “Where did you get this?”

“Trish gave it to me for Christmas.” Zephyr grinned at his girlfriend, who beamed back. “It pays to hook up with the right woman.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Casey said.

“Too sweet for me,” Angela said. “And I’m a woman who loves sugar.”

“Everything seems to be running smoothly here,” Carl said. He clapped a hand on Bryan’s shoulder. “You and I have business to attend to inside.”

Bryan’s expression clouded, but he quickly assumed an all-business attitude. “Of course.” He nodded to the group. “I’ll see you all at the awards ceremony.”

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Casey said.

“I’d better get busy, too.” Zephyr shouldered the camera once more. “I’m going to film the uphill and downhill segments of the race.”

“I can’t get used to seeing Bryan with his nose to the grindstone,” Trish said. “Any other year, he’d be out there with Zephyr, clowning around with the racers.”

“Some of us do have to work for a living,” Angela said. For some reason she felt the need to defend Bryan. There were worse things than a guy hanging up his beer steins for gainful employment.

“Yes, everyone has to grow up sometime.” Trish laughed. “Except, of course, Zephyr.”

Angela studied her friend as Trish turned to serve coffee to a couple of tourists. Like Angela, Trish had her own successful business. She was known around town as a smart woman who had everything going for her. People were still scratching their heads over her relationship with the lovable but extremely laid-back Zephyr. Angela figured it had to be true love. Why else would two such different people be drawn together?

“Angela, tell me more about this theater fund-raiser,” Casey said. “I saw some flyers around town.”

“The money will go to license new scripts and pay for new scenery and costumes,” Angela said. “And we’d like to offer a summer program for children.”

“Will you be supplying the chocolate?” Casey asked.

“Of course.”

“Then I am so there,” Casey said.

“Bryan’s helping you put this together, isn’t he?” Trish asked, rejoining the conversation.

“Yes. He’s the liaison at the hotel.”

Trish nodded. “Zephyr mentioned it. Apparently, he’s decided he needs to fix Bryan up with someone. He was asking me last night if I knew any single women who would be a good match for him.”

“As if Bryan needs help meeting women,” Casey said. “He’s good-looking, fun to be with, smart. I’ve seen him around with plenty of cute girls.”

“He never has any problem finding dates,” Trish said. “I’m really not sure what Zephyr was getting at. There are a lot of women around town who’d love to have a nice guy like Bryan—especially now that he has a good job.”

“Employment is a plus,” Casey agreed. She looked around them. “I’m guessing the race has started. I think I’ll get my skis, and Lucy and I will head over toward the finish line.”

“See you at the awards ceremony,” Trish said.

“Guess we can pack up here,” Angela said. She drained the last of the hot chocolate into a cup and began disconnecting the pot to haul back to her store. The discussion of Bryan’s need for a girlfriend—and the plethora of women he had to choose from—had disturbed her. Did anyone think of her as a likely companion for the handsome hotel manager? Or would they laugh if she suggested it?

She’d parked on the other side of the building, so the shortest route to her car was through the hotel. She was passing a row of offices when Bryan appeared in a doorway. “Angela, can I talk to you a minute?” he asked.

“Sure.” She shifted the chocolate pot and a carton of cups to one hip. “What can I do for you?”

“Let me take those.” He relieved her of her burden. “Come in here.” He ushered her into the office. “Sit down,” he said, gesturing to a pair of upholstered chairs.

She sat and he deposited the pot and cups on a credenza and took the chair beside her. “Do you have everything you need for the fund-raiser?” he asked.

“Yes. Marco and I settled on a menu, and the publicity committee has flyers plastered all over town. I understand ticket sales have been good.”

“Good. Would you be interested in a little more publicity?”

“There’s no such thing as too much.” She gave him her warmest smile. “What did you have in mind?”

“Zephyr’s asked us to appear on his show to talk about the fund-raiser.”

“The two of us? Together?” She took a deep breath, trying to quell the nervous fluttering in her chest. She reminded herself Bryan was asking her to help him with a business issue, not for a date.

“Or you could go on the show by yourself, or with someone else from the theater. I realize I’m not really a part of that—”

“No, we should do it together,” she said. “You can talk about the hotel, and I’ll talk about the theater.” And she’d get to spend a little more time with him.

“And chocolate. Zephyr suggested you cook something.”

“Free publicity for my business, too? I can’t wait.”

“Great.” He looked relieved. “Some people think Zephyr is kind of a flake, but under that goofy exterior is a really smart guy. I think his show is turning into a success.”

“I learned a long time ago that you can never judge a person by outward appearances,” she said. “I’ve met shy, milquetoast types who turned out to be fiery actors and blowhards who couldn’t deliver a convincing line to save their lives.”

“I’ve never had a desire to act, but I’ll admit that what I saw the other night was interesting,” Bryan said. “And you’re really talented.”

“Thank you.” She would never get tired of hearing his praise or of seeing that appreciative look in his eyes. “When does Zephyr want to do this show?”

“I’ll have to talk to him and get back to you. Soon, since the fund-raiser’s only two weeks away.”

“Great.” She could sit here all afternoon making small talk with him, but they both had work to do. Besides, one lesson she’d learned in the theater that had served her well in real life was to always leave them wanting more. “I’ll talk to you soon,” she said, standing.

He rose also. “Soon,” he said, his eyes locked to hers.

She started to gather up her boxes, but he stopped her. “I’ll get these for you,” he said.

“Thank you. I hate to keep you from your work.”

He made a face. “It’s nothing that won’t wait.” He leaned close, his voice low. “To tell you the truth, about a third of what I do is either busywork or corporate BS.A lot of paperwork.”

“I suppose every job has boring aspects like that,” she said. “Even working for myself I have to do taxes and stuff.”

“It’s a trade-off, I guess,” he said as they walked to her car. “We do what we have to in order to get what we want.”

And what do you want, Bryan? It was a loaded question, one she didn’t feel she knew him well enough to ask. Besides, if rumors were correct, there would be a picket fence in his future. And given his initial reaction to her—even though he’d warmed considerably since then—she suspected she didn’t fill that role any more than the other leading roles she left to others.

ON A FROSTY but sunny morning in early March, Angela, Bryan, Zephyr and Zephyr’s cameraman—a silent, freckle-faced young guy named Brix—met at the Chocolate Moose to shoot footage for The Z Hour. It was Bryan’s first visit to the shop, though he’d passed it hundreds of times on his way to Max’s snowboard store.

The rich aromas of chocolate and vanilla greeted him as soon as he entered the large front room. A handful of small tables and chairs were arranged in front of a long, glass display case filled with cakes, cookies and candies. Twin coffee and cocoa urns flanked the cash register, and a large moose head, adorned with sunglasses and a lei, looked out over the scene.

“You and Zephyr can put these on,” Angela said. She handed them each aprons.

Bryan unfolded his and studied a cartoon of a grinning moose. “The best things in life are chocolate,” he read.

“I don’t know about that,” Zephyr said, tying on his apron. “What about rock and roll? Or sex? Or beer?”

“In my shop, the best thing in life is chocolate,” she asserted.

Bryan could have argued with that. He liked chocolate well enough, but found the woman before him much more interesting than her candies. Beneath her own apron she wore a red turtleneck sweater, dark jeans and black leather boots with tall heels—clothes that emphasized her curves and height.

“Do you have one of those hat things, too?” Zephyr asked. “A toucan or whatever it’s called?”

“A toque. Here you go.” She handed the two men tall, paper chef’s hats, then donned her own headgear.

“Sweet!” Zephyr admired himself in the mirror, then turned to Brix and gave him a thumbs up. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

While Brix and Zephyr conferred, Bryan sidled over to Angela. He leaned in close enough to smell her vanilla-and-spice perfume. “Do I have this hat on right?” he asked.

“You look great.” Pitched slightly above a whisper, her sultry voice sent heat straight through him.

“Quiet on the set!” Zephyr bellowed, loud enough to make Angela jump. The manic blond grabbed an electric guitar, played a loud fanfare, then grinned at the camera. “Welcome to The Z Hour. I’m Zephyr and every week I bring you the hippest and hottest happenings of Crested Butte and beyond. Today we’re at the Chocolate Moose, visiting with the owner, Angela Krizova. Also joining us is Bryan Perry of the Elevation Hotel at Crested Butte Mountain Resort. The two of them are going to show us how to make chocolate truffles and talk about the fund-raiser they’re coordinating at the Elevation Hotel to benefit the Mountain Theatre community theater group here in C.B. Take it away, Angela.”

He swung around and pointed the neck of the guitar at her. Though Bryan’s stomach was doing backflips at the thought of appearing on camera, Angela was as serene as if she did this every day of the week. Obviously her acting experience helped. She smiled for the camera and said, “Thanks, Zephyr. Today, I’m going to show you how I make my sinfully delicious dark chocolate truffles.”

“What makes them so sinful?” Zephyr asked.

“The chocolate is so rich and sweet and sensuous—” she lowered her voice to an intimate tease “—one bite and I think you’ll agree that anything so good has to be a little bit naughty.”

“What do you think about that, Bryan?” Zephyr asked.

Bryan sucked in a deep breath and tried to look calm. Focusing on Angela instead of the camera helped. “I think Angela wants to lead us astray,” he said.

She smirked. “You men are so easily led.” She moved a bowl to the center of the counter and uncovered it. “Come over here and I’ll show you what to do. First, wash your hands.”

They dutifully washed and dried their hands, then arranged themselves on either side of her at the counter. “This bowl contains chocolate ganache,” she explained, scooping out several clumps of glossy, dark goo. “It’s made with cream and chocolate shavings. I’ve refrigerated it so it’s thick enough to be shaped. So start by pinching up a little ganache and rolling it into a ball in your palms.”

She demonstrated, and Zephyr and Bryan attempted to copy her. Angela made it look easy, but the ganache immediately stuck to Bryan’s hands and refused to form any kind of sphere.

Angela had six little balls lined up on the counter in front of her by the time she noticed the two men had made no progress at all. “Having problems?” she asked.

“It’s tougher than it looks,” Bryan said. He frowned at the gloppy mass of chocolate in his hand.

“It’s sticky,” Zephyr said. He licked chocolate off his fingers. “But it tastes good.”

“You’re being too rough,” she scolded. She scooped up a fresh bit of ganache and demonstrated the technique again. “You want to roll it lightly and work quickly. Think of the chocolate as being like a woman.”

The men exchanged glances. “How is chocolate like a woman?” Zephyr asked. “Is this a new joke?”

“No, it’s not a joke.” She shaped another sphere. “This chocolate is like a woman because with the right gentle touch it becomes pliable and smooth. But apply too much pressure or allow too much heat to build up and it won’t cooperate at all.”

“So the secret is knowing how to touch it,” Bryan asked. No woman had ever complained about his skills as a lover before, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t learn something new. He copied Angela’s movements once more, getting it right this time.

“That’s good.” She leaned closer to examine his efforts. “Coax it into the right shape.”

Zephyr had abandoned trying to shape the chocolate into spheres and was busy making a pile of irregular pellets. “What are you doing?” Bryan asked.

“Moose droppings,” Zephyr said, and popped one into his mouth.

Angela slapped his hand away. “Maybe you’d better just watch.” She set the bowl of ganache aside and reached for a second bowl in which sat a flour sifter. “Next, we’ll cover the balls with powdered cocoa. This helps to set the shape.” She cranked the handle of the sifter and a cloud of cocoa drifted over the ganache.

“You finish them,” she said, and handed the sifter to Bryan. While he cranked, she turned the balls over until they were coated on all sides.

“Now what?” Zephyr asked. “Is it time to eat them?”

“No.” She slapped his hand away once more. “Now we coat them in a chocolate glaze.” She retrieved two more bowls from the counter behind her. “I have a white chocolate glaze and a dark chocolate glaze. Simply dip a truffle in the glaze, set it aside to dry, and you’re done.”

“That looks really messy,” Bryan said as he watched her dip the chocolates by hand.

“It is. That’s half the fun. It’s about experiencing the chocolate fully—sensually, from its creation to the last luscious, melting bite.”

After this show aired, she’d probably have a line out the door of men who would happily pay for the privilege of hearing her describe the sensual nature of chocolate in her throaty, alluring voice.

Bryan picked up a truffle and plunged it into the bowl of white chocolate. It immediately slipped out of his hand. He stifled a curse.

“What’s wrong?” Angela asked.

“I dropped it.”

“That happens sometimes,” she said. “Just fish it out.”

He probed the bowl of chocolate, sloshing some over the side, but the truffle eluded capture. “It’s a slippery little devil,” he said.

“Let me help.” Angela plunged her hand in alongside his, her fingers brushing against his in the slightly warm, silken chocolate. A disconcerting image of naked bodies smeared with chocolate flashed through Bryan’s mind. He couldn’t resist purposely stroking the back of her hand. “I see what you mean about this being a sensuous experience,” he said.

She jerked her hand from the bowl. “We’ll find it later,” she said, avoiding looking at him. “For now, let’s use the dark chocolate.”

While she washed her hands, he managed to dip and retrieve the rest of the truffles and set them to dry on a wire rack on the counter.

“Now can we eat them?” Zephyr asked.

“They need to set up first,” Angela said. “While we wait, let’s talk about the Mountain Theatre fund-raiser.”

The fund-raiser. Right. The reason they were here.

The two men washed their hands and joined Angela at one of the little tables. Zephyr once more assumed the role of television host. “Tell us all about this fund-raiser,” he said.

Bryan and Angela had talked on the phone the previous evening and discussed what they should say. “The event is being held at the Elevation Hotel this coming Saturday, beginning at 7:00 p.m.,” Angela began.

“It’s a chocolate extravaganza,” Bryan added. “Angela will be making some special chocolate desserts.”

“Yes, I’m working on some recipes especially for it.”

“Tickets can be purchased at the hotel or from any Mountain Theatre member,” Bryan said.

“And here at the Chocolate Moose,” Angela added. “All the proceeds go to support the Crested Butte Mountain Theatre, which has been active in the community for over thirty-five years.”

“Now can we eat the chocolate?” Zephyr asked.

“Yes. It’s all yours.”

She selected a truffle and bit into it. Mesmerized, Bryan watched her tongue flick out to capture a stray bit of chocolate on her lip. He looked away, for fear of embarrassing himself. You’d think he’d never seen a woman eat before!

“Primo chocolate!” Zephyr declared. He grabbed his guitar and began strumming a tune. “Don’t trifle with the truffles that Angela makes. Treat yourself to all the goodies that Angela bakes. Support our local actors, for heaven’s sake! Get your tickets to the party—you know it will be great!”

The last chords of this chorus still rang in Bryan’s ears when Zephyr pronounced they were done, and Angela began clearing away the bowls and remaining truffles. “Do you want to take these back to the hotel for your coworkers?” she asked. “I can box them up for you.”

“Thanks. That would be great.” He picked up the bowls of glaze and followed her into a back room that contained two refrigerators, a freezer and four sets of steel shelving filled with bags of sugar, flour and cocoa, boxes of chocolate chips, egg white powder and other ingredients he couldn’t identify.