She stands in her doorway, looking across the street at my shop and wringing her hands.

“Thanks for these. I’ll have to hide them from the kids or they’ll be gone before I have a chance to eat one.” Jenna, a friend from my high school days, stuffs some spiced chocolate drops into her purse.

“Good to see you again.”

“You too.” She hurries out into the blustery night, and I flip the switch to turn off the glowing candy sign.

Olive hesitates, and I can almost hear the war going on in her head. I want to put her at ease, but I also want to push her over the edge. And I think she’s more interested in falling than she lets on.

I open the door and call out to her, “Come on over. You’ll like what I have for you.”

I know how it sounds, and the double entendre is very much intended. After that kiss this morning, I ran to the shop, up the stairs to my apartment and took a cold shower. It was the only way I would be able to function for the rest of the day. A constant hard-on, thanks to Olive, didn’t seem like a good business plan for selling candy.

She looks both ways, then crosses the slick street. Her yoga pants hug her legs, and her heavy coat covers whatever top she’s wearing. When she steps onto the sidewalk, she inhales deeply. I don’t think she even knows she does it, but the sugar in the air is too much of a temptation, even for her. She revels in it, just like I do.

“What did you want to show me?” She hovers outside my open door.

“Come on in where it’s warm. It’s almost done.”

She scrunches her nose, then checks the street for any onlookers. Once satisfied that we’re alone, she steps inside, and I let the door close behind her.

“What is that?” She closes her eyes and shucks her coat, revealing a gray, long sleeved t-shirt underneath. “It smells even better than usual in this devil’s playground.”

I laugh. “Devil’s playground?”

She runs her fingers along the jars of lollipops. “Yep. Definitely.” She seems more at ease this time, though still liable to bolt if I make the wrong move.

“It’s your surprise.” I pull out a chair from a back table for her. “Please, have a seat, and I’ll bring it right out.”

A timer dings in the kitchen as she sinks into the chair.

“I’ll be back.” I hurry through the door into the kitchen and slide a mini pie out of my convection oven. The crust is a deep golden brown, and the apples inside bubble in a brown sugar syrup that coats the lattice along the top.

I slide the small pie onto a plate, scoop a dollop of ice cream on top, and drizzle caramel all over it. The ice cream begins to melt as I grab two spoons and head out into the dining room.

Olive’s eyes widen as I approach and set the plate in front of her.

“Your love of candy apples gave me an idea.” I hand her a spoon. “This is a candy apple pie. It has the same ingredients, just done a little differently than what you’d expect. I hope you like it.”

She holds her spoon, but doesn’t make a move to taste it. “I can’t. I mean, this is nice and all but, I don’t eat sweets anymore.” Even as she says it, she licks her lips.

“Just a taste is all I ask.” I lean back, trying to give her enough space to make her own choice. “If you don’t like it, that’s fine. But I’d like you to be the first to try my recipe and tell me if it has that special Christmas magic.”

“I …” She chews her lip.

“Please?” I catch her gaze and hold it. “Just a bite?”

She eyes the pie like it might explode. “One bite and that’s it?”

“Yes.”

She’s still waffling, but then she does something that blows me away. She opens up to me. “It’s just that I’ve worked really hard to turn myself into this.” She speaks in a near whisper and glances down at her trim body. “I don’t want to go back to being that girl who sat on the bleachers and watched you run. Or the girl who was a little too fond of chocolate. Or the girl who never had a date until she went to college.”

My heart expands and booms against my ribs as I reach out and take her free hand. She doesn’t pull away, and I feel as if I’m floating. “I liked that girl. A lot. Still do.”

“You don’t mean that.” She shakes her head and looks down.

“Hey.” I pull her chin up so our eyes meet. “I mean every word. I liked you then. I like you now. You’re still Olive to me—sweet, shy, and unbelievably sexy.”

“But you don’t even know me.” Her eyebrows draw down. “Not really.”

“I know enough.” I lean back. “Now give it a taste before it gets cold.”

A small smile creeps across her lips. “You’re bossy.”

You have no idea.

She takes a deep breath and presses her spoon into the crust, then deeper into the apples and caramel filling.

I mentally cross my fingers as she pulls the spoon out and blows on the hot apples. Thinking back, I remember the first time I saw her once I got back to town. My realtor had taken me to the rundown Sullivan Shoes building across from her studio. He touted that I could convert it into my candy shop. After going through the dilapidated downstairs and inspecting the junk-filled upper floor, I’d written the location off my list. That is, until I saw Olive across the street. She was standing in her front window affixing holiday decals to the glass. Her hair was free and flowing as she sang along to some tune I couldn’t hear. When I saw her that day, I realized I’d finally discovered what happiness could be. I told the realtor the location was perfect, and I’d set about wooing Olive.

Now, as she tentatively puts the first bite into her mouth, I hold my breath. She can’t possibly know how much she means to me, but I intend to show her if she’ll let me.