Hot Cocoa Hearts Page 3

  For the last two evenings that I’d worked at the North Pole Wonderland with my parents, Alex had been dauntlessly trying to sway me with different hot cocoa flavors. Tuesday, it was Cinna-more Hot Chocolate, yesterday Pumpkin Perfection, and now this.

  “Strange. I would’ve pegged you for a zombie type,” he said, unfazed. Zombies were way cooler than vampires, but I wasn’t about to admit he’d guessed right.

  It was odd, the way we’d fallen into this easy banter, especially since we were such complete opposites. I’d amped up my snarkiness at first, thinking it would scare him off. If anything, though, it seemed to make him more persistent, which was surprising, a little annoying, but also, I had to grudgingly admit, entertaining.

  I sat down at one of the café tables, took a sip of his latest concoction, and shook my head as syrupy, bittersweet chocolate coated my tongue. “Sorry.” I handed the cup back to him. “Too chocolaty.”

  “Now I know there’s something deeply wrong with you,” Alex said. “How can anything be too chocolaty?”

  “Está bien, Alejandro,” a deep, rusticated voice called from behind the store counter, and I saw Alex’s grandfather smiling at us. “Not everyone likes so much sweetness all at once,” he said. “Maybe Emery likes more of a challenge for her taste buds.”

  “Thanks, Señor Perez,” I said, then gave Alex a look of triumph. “See? Even your grandpa knows it’s pointless.”

  “He didn’t say ‘pointless.’ ” Alex set my cup behind the counter, then sat down across from me. “He said ‘challenge.’ And I’m up for it.” His eyes stayed on mine longer than I expected, and I felt a confusing flutter in my stomach and dropped my eyes.

  “So,” he said, motioning to my camera, “I saw you taking pictures out there on the concourse. You looked completely absorbed.”

  “Yeah, that happens.” I blushed. I hadn’t realized he’d been watching me, and suddenly, I felt inexplicably self-conscious. I tended to lose track of everything when I was taking pictures. But I didn’t usually have an audience while I worked. As my mom always told me when she was photographing weddings, baby showers, and other big events, “It’s a photographer’s job to capture candid truths, and the best way to do it is to make sure people forget you’re there.”

  “Will you show me what you were taking pictures of?” Alex asked. “I’d love to see.”

  “I don’t know …” I hesitated. My pictures felt so personal, like a piece of myself. Aside from my parents, Jez was the only one I’d ever shown them to.

  “Oh, come on. You’ve insulted my hot chocolate four times in a row now.” He gave me a mock-wounded look. “It’s the least you can do.”

  I laughed. He had a point. “Okay. If I can get my viewing function to work. It’s been conking out on me lately.” I turned on my camera, a worn-out digital my mom had given me when she got impatient with its unpredictable breakdowns. I tried to handle it as gently as possible, but it was a moody old thing, and I’d been trying to save up money for a new one. Tonight, though, my camera seemed to be feeling cooperative, and the photos I’d taken popped up in the viewing screen right away.

  “Here you go,” I said, holding out the camera to him. He studied the pictures. One was of a mom and her little girl arguing as they carried bags of Toys for Tots donations. Another was of a crying baby pulling at the collar of a too-tight holiday jumper. There were about a dozen more, all of people frowning, babies crying, people arguing and looking exhausted.

  “Wow,” Alex said quietly. “These are amazing photos. I mean, your perspective is great, and I love the unusual angles you used.”

  “Thanks.” My face warmed with pleasure at the compliment.

  Then he looked up from the camera, studying me. “But … there’s not a smiling face in here.”

  “Exactly! And that’s what I hate about the holidays. All the stress and disappointments. I’ve captured the proof of that right here.” I patted my camera.

  “You make it sound so depressing,” he said.

  “It is!” I cried. “Christmas shopping brings out the worst in everyone. Take me! I’m supposed to be getting a Secret Santa gift for Nyssa right now, but instead, I’m here, talking to you! That’s how much I hate Christmas shopping!” My stomach dropped as soon as the words left my mouth. “Sorry,” I added quickly. “I didn’t mean that spending time with you is—”

  “Awful?” he finished for me. I expected him to look hurt, but to my surprise, he laughed instead. “I know you didn’t. Grumpy might be your MO, but I don’t take it personally.” He leaned toward me. “And … you’re going to be eternally grateful to me for giving you a gift idea for Nyssa.”

  I sighed. “Unless you have a Prada bag you’d like to donate to the cause, I doubt it.”

  “A girl who has everything doesn’t want more of everything,” Alex said. “The key is to give her something she’d never expect.”

  I threw up my hands. “It’s supposed to be some sort of food, and all I’ve ever seen her eat are salads and veggie wraps.”

  He raised an eyebrow, then motioned me toward the back of Cocoa Cravings. “Come with me.”

  “Why?” I asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

  He smiled. “It’s a stretch for you, but you’re going to have to trust me on this.”

  “Okay,” I said. “But I reserve the right to boycott anything involving frosting or sprinkles.”

  “Fair enough.” Alex laughed and tossed me an apron, which hit me square in the face. “Now suit up. It’s time to get your bake on.”

  “Cookies?” I asked doubtfully when Alex divulged his plan. “Nyssa probably hates cookies.”

  Alex laid out flour, butter, and eggs on the counter. “Nobody hates cookies. If they say they do, they’re in denial. Besides,” he added, setting a bag of chocolate chunks on the counter, “I was born in Oaxaca, Mexico, and my family comes from a long line of chocolate makers. I bet Nyssa’s never had Oaxacan chocolate gingerbread cookies before. They’re special.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Come on. Chocolate is chocolate.”

  “Shhh.” He glanced over his shoulder. “If Abuelo hears you say that, he’ll kick you out of his kitchen.” He motioned to a sign hanging on the wall above the ovens, which read OH DIVINE CHOCOLATE, WE GRIND IT ON OUR KNEES, WE BEAT IT WITH OUR HANDS IN PRAYER, AND WE DRINK IT WITH OUR EYES LIFTED TO THE HEAVENS. “See? In Oaxaca, chocolate is almost sacred. Abuelo still makes ours by hand.”

  Alex pointed to a straw mat on the floor toward the back of the kitchen. On it sat a low, rectangular stone table alongside what looked like a long stone rolling pin without handles. “This is a metate,” he explained. “Where we grind the cocoa beans by hand. Most chocolate makers use machine grinders these days, but Abuelo does things the old-fashioned way. It’s been a tradition in our culture for hundreds and hundreds of years. He says it’s his legacy to pass it down to me.”

  Alex’s story was fascinating, but I felt a sudden heaviness as a memory of Grandma came rushing back to me.

  “It’s my legacy to you,” she’d said that day so long ago in the hospital, slipping her favorite holiday necklace from over her head. It had a Christmas tree charm that opened to reveal an intricate diorama of Victorian villagers ice-skating across a tiny, quaint pond. The necklace had always intrigued me, and I loved sitting in Grandma’s lap cradling the locket, imagining the tiny scene coming to life in some magical Nutcracker-esque way.

  “My locket is yours,” she’d said, “along with my Christmas spirit.” Her silvery hair fanned over the pillow until it seemed to disappear into it, almost translucent. “Keep it alive for me, will you?”

  She’d hugged me then and held the locket out to me. But how could I possibly take it? She’d never spent a Christmas without it, and for her to let it go would make everything too final, too permanent. Something I couldn’t accept. I’d jerked away, and the necklace dropped to the bed as I left the room, crying. When Mom brought me back into the room a little while later, the lock
et was nowhere to be seen. I knew I’d let Grandma down, but it was a legacy I couldn’t accept. Not then. Not ever.

  “Em?”

  I startled at the sound of my name and blinked to see Alex watching me, concern in his eyes. “Sorry,” I stammered. “I was zoning.”

  He nodded. “Where’d you go? It didn’t look like someplace happy.”

  “Nowhere I feel like talking about,” I said, a little too abruptly.

  “Fair enough,” he said quietly. “Maybe you’ll tell me sometime, when you’re ready.”

  I dropped my eyes, searching for a change of subject. “So … do you ever go back to visit?” I asked as he handed me a measuring cup. “To Mexico, I mean?”

  “We still have a lot of family there, and my parents try to take me every few years,” he said. “So many people in Mexico have so little, and that’s hard to see. But still, I love going. Everything seems brighter there than here, even the flowers, the sun, and the sky. And walking down the streets, you can smell chocolate on the wind.”

  He grinned, then leaned forward, his arm brushing my shoulder, and I caught my breath as his face came within inches of mine. I flushed. Oh no … what was he doing? He couldn’t possibly be trying to flirt, could he? His touch was warm and unexpected, and surprised me so much that I pulled back awkwardly, almost knocking over a bag of flour in the process.

  “S-sorry,” I stammered, righting the bag.

  He shrugged. “I just need the ginger, that’s all.” He reached around me to get it from the counter, while I busied myself feeling like a complete idiot. Of course he needed the ginger. That was all. Phew.

  “What?” he asked, picking up on my awkwardness.

  I stared at him, then giggled more out of relief than anything else. “Nothing.”

  “Good,” he said, setting some vanilla on the counter, too. “Now that that’s settled, can we bake?”

  I nodded. “I’m not great at baking, though,” I admitted. “It’s not my specialty.”

  “That’s okay, because it’s mine,” he said. “I’ll teach you.”

  And for the next hour, that’s what he did. He helped me blend the ingredients into a big mixing bowl, all the while sprinkling in little dashes of cayenne pepper or cinnamon. I felt like I was fumbling every step of the way, but Alex was so relaxed that soon I got comfortable, too. There was simple confidence in the way he moved around the kitchen, and the affection he had for chocolate showed in the way he handled it—carefully, with an air of respect. It wasn’t until after he declared the dark brown batter ready that I realized that we hadn’t looked at a recipe even once.

  After the cookies were out of the oven and cooled, Alex pulled out a bag of cookie-decorating supplies. “Now, I know you said no frosting or sprinkles. But they won’t be finished without you adding a touch of your style.” He waved. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’m going to help Abuelo clean the tables out front.”

  I stared at the people-shaped gingerbread cookies in front of me, resolved to avoid any Christmassy type of cuteness. Then, inspiration struck, and I smiled in spite of myself. Reaching for a bag of colorful candy, I got to work.

  Ten minutes later, Alex came back into the kitchen. I held up the baking sheets proudly, and he burst out laughing. “They’ve definitely got style,” he said.

  I nodded. “Nyssa style.” I’d used gumdrops and candy beads to create gingerbread cookies that looked as un-Christmassy as possible. Each of them was dressed in a telltale glee club uniform, with treble clefs emblazoned on their shirts. I’d used black sprinkles to make little music notes popping out of their mouths. I’d even taken a chance and given one cookie Nyssa’s long blond hair and blue eyes. “You said to give her something she’d never expect.”

  “You definitely managed that, no question about it.” He glanced back as a bell jingled from the counter out front. “Abuelo ran over to the food court for a sec, so I’ve got to get this customer.”

  “I can help, too,” I offered, following him through the kitchen door.

  As soon as I caught sight of the customer, my heart leapt to my throat. There at the counter, wearing a crumpled olive-green safari jacket, was Sawyer.

  “Hey,” he said in that slightly distracted, aimless tone he had. He gave a single nod to Alex, and then his eyes flicked to me. “Emily, right?”

  My insides shrunk with disappointment. I shouldn’t have expected him to know my name. Still, though, I’d hoped …

  “Um. It’s, it’s …” Come on, I thought as my racing pulse left me completely tongue-twisted. It’s your name for crying out loud. Spit it out. “It’s Emery!” I smiled in relief and said a silent thank-you to the fates that I’d changed out of my elf costume before I’d gone on my Nyssa-gift mission.

  “Right. Emery.” His eyes shifted to my ears. An amused, slightly puzzled expression flitted across his face. “You work at the mall?” The word “mall” fell flat, like it was almost too boring to bear saying. “I thought all Undergrounds hated this place.”

  “I do hate it! I wouldn’t be caught dead working here.” It was an automatic response, one I would’ve instantly given to anyone who ever would’ve pegged me for a mall groupie. As soon as I said it, though, Alex shot me a questioning look, and my face blazed, because technically, what I’d said wasn’t exactly true anymore. “I mean, not here here,” I blabbered, motioning to Cocoa Cravings. “But, you know, anywhere … in the mall.” Cripes, I was digging myself in deep with this one. “Alex was just helping me with some Secret Santa stuff here tonight.”

  “Oh, that.” Sawyer rolled his eyes. “Such a waste of energy.” He swept a lock of bangs out of his eyes, and I could practically hear my soul sighing as he did. “I’m so much better at brainstorming songs than gift ideas. I figured out a solution to that problem, though.”

  I was about to ask what he meant when Alex cleared his throat loudly, gesturing to the menu on the blackboard behind him. “So, what can I get for you?”

  “Oh, right,” Sawyer said. “I’ll take two large Cinna-mores, with extra marshmallows, chocolate shavings, and whipped cream. And I need them in to-go cups.”

  “Coming right up,” Alex said, and turned to the enormous brass dispensers lined up behind him, each one keeping a different type of hot chocolate warm and ready for serving.

  “So you like hot chocolate?” I asked Sawyer.

  “Not so much. But my mom asked me to grab some for her and my grandma. Gran loves this place.”

  “That’s so nice of you.” I smiled.

  He leaned forward, catching his reflection in the shiny side of one of the dispensers. He adjusted the angle of his hat, then turned back to me and shrugged. “It gave me an excuse to get out of the house so I could pick up some new music for the band from High Notes.” He nodded toward High Notes, the music store next door.

  I was about to ask about the music when Alex set the hot chocolates beside the cash register, and Sawyer’s attention turned to paying. He thanked Alex just as a buzzer went off in the kitchen.

  “I’ll get that. Those are probably the pastries Abuelo was working on earlier.” Alex gave Sawyer a quick wave, then headed for the kitchen, adding, “See you in history tomorrow.”

  Sawyer nodded, and turned to me. “Catch you at school?”

  “Definitely,” I said, smiling. It could’ve been my imagination, but I thought his eyes held mine for one extra meaningful second before he turned toward the concourse. I watched him as he walked away, my heart hammering happily, then went to find Alex. He was unloading the pastries onto a cooling rack, and he glanced up at me with curiosity.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “Your face is redder than Rudolph’s nose.”

  “It is not.” I tried to sound as nonchalant as possible while simultaneously worrying over just how ridiculous I had actually looked. “And could you please not compare me to reindeer … ever?”

  Alex scoffed at that, handing me a pastry box to put Nyssa’s cookies in. “Fine, if you’re go
ing to be touchy about it. You just don’t seem like the blushing type.”

  “I’m not.” My face tingled with heat as I gingerly placed the cookies in the box and reached for the red cellophane paper. “Usually. It’s just that …” I hesitated. Was I actually considering telling Alex about my crush on Sawyer? Jez was the only person I’d ever admitted it to. Alex couldn’t possibly be interested in hearing about my wannabe love life. Then again, if we were going to be hanging out at the mall most days, he’d figure it out sooner or later anyway. “It’s just that … maybe I have a little bit of a thing for Sawyer. There. I said it. Happy now?” He shrugged, and I rolled my eyes. “Oh, right. You’re always happy.”

  “Not always,” he said casually. “So, do you hang out with Sawyer a lot?”

  “Um, well, Jez and I hang around in his group at school. But I don’t usually talk to him. Ever, actually. Tonight was sort of a first.” I cringed, not believing I’d admitted that, too. Why did Alex make me spill the truth like this?

  “Huh.” He nodded. “Then it’s more of a worship-from-afar sort of thing?”

  I gritted my teeth in irritation. “No. It’s way more than that.”

  “Easy there.” He held up his hands with a half smile. Then he shrugged, frowning slightly. “But if he doesn’t know who you are, then how can he like the real you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You lied to him about working at the mall,” he said quietly.

  “So? He wouldn’t understand. He’d never let his parents force him into anything he didn’t believe in. He’s too original for that.”

  “You seem to have him pegged pretty well, considering you only talked to him for the first time ever five minutes ago.”

  I glared at Alex. “Ooh. Why do you have to be so … so aggravating?”

  He laughed. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

  “So what if we haven’t had a ton of one-on-one time together? I see him every day in homeroom and at lunch. That’s plenty of time for me to get a read on him.” I blew out a frustrated breath. “And I don’t want him to see me as a total sellout.”