Mocha Pleasures. Pamela Yaye

a knock on the driver’s side window, Grace glanced to her right. Standing in the street, holding an oversized umbrella, Jackson looked more like a knight in shining armor than her business rival. Drawn to him, Grace feared she’d be putty in his hands when they were alone, but willed herself to resist his seductive charms. She saw his lips move, heard his voice, but the rain was so loud she couldn’t understand what he was saying.

      “Let’s go inside. Everything’s ready...”

      He gestured for her to come out of the car and stepped back to make room for her to exit the vehicle. Throwing open the door, Grace hopped out of her seat and took the hand Jackson offered. It was firm, felt nice around hers, and her heart smiled when he pulled her close to his side. Cold water covered her ankle-tie sandals and rain beat against her lace dress. The fabric stuck to her body like paint as they sprinted down the sidewalk and into the bakery.

      Her eyes wide in surprise, a gasp fell from her lips. Grace was struck by how intimate the space looked, how sensual and romantic it was. The air held a savory aroma, potted candles filled the space with light and Bruno Mars was playing, singing earnestly about the woman he treasured. The table at the rear of the shop—the one they’d sat at that morning—was dressed in fine linen. Roses sat in a glass vase and a wine bottle was chilling in a bucket of ice.