21. Hattie

HATTIE

T he country club was quiet as a cemetery today. The thunderstorm bearing down on us earlier may have had something to do with that, seeing that the women don’t like to get their hair wet—think cotton candy in the rain—and it doesn’t exactly help anyone with their golf swing either.

After noshing my way through a crystal cauldron brimming with fun-size chocolates, a lightning bolt hit me—well, just about literally, but that was my fault for sitting too close to the window. But I digress. After plowing my way through miles of Snickers bars, Mr. Goodbars, and hundreds of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, I finally had an epiphany. A slightly sugared-up, yet quite brilliant epiphany if I don’t say so myself.

I convinced Peyton that the patrons of our fine establishment deserved way better than the very same candy that people practically throw at costumed children to make them go away.

The Brambleberry Bay Country Club needs to have boxes of luxury chocolates on hand—such as the handmade confections they whip up at Moon’s Chocolate Delights.

Of course, she agreed. Of course, she insisted that I pick up fifty pounds asap.

Okay, so she said twenty-five, but I let her know the staff deserved a treat this time of year, too, and needled her with a gaze that suggested she was the staff member who deserved such a decadent treat. Suffice it to say, she didn’t fight me on it.

I push open the door to Moon’s Chocolate Delights, and the scent of rich, creamy chocolate hits me like a decadent wave.

The shop is decked out like a Halloween wonderland. Ghosts and ghouls hang from the ceiling, while orange and black streamers zigzag across the walls. Adorable jack-o’-lanterns flicker in the corners, and their glittering flames glow against the dark chocolate displays. The entire place is outfitted like a full-on haunted cemetery with quirky tombstones, tiny caskets set out here and there, and a whole slew of bats and sickles hanging from above.

Halloween does tend to lean toward the dark and dramatic, but with Silas Moon gone, the place feels a bit too macabre.

Peggy and Clarabelle are already inside and standing in front of a display case filled with chocolate truffles. As soon as I told them where I was headed, they sped out the door so fast you’d think the country club was about to explode like a pinata.

I don’t get the lure, Cricket mewls as she sniffs the air around us from the corner of my tote bag, practically hanging halfway out of it. Why does this chocolate substance cast such a dark spell on you hoomans?

“You have your catnip, we have our extra creamy, extra dreamy chocolate delights. Hey? I think Mrs. Moon knew exactly what she was doing when she named this place.” Another thought hits me. “And lucky for us, Rookie is with his daddy today. You know he can’t pass up a snack, and you know that chocolate is lethal to dogs, too.”

Drats , she hisses. Another opportunity squandered.

I make a face at her before craning my neck and seeing a small army of employees as they tend to the smattering of customers. Each and every one of them is dressed in a festive uniform—a black and orange striped apron adorned with tiny bats and pumpkins, complete with a witch’s hat perched precariously on their heads.

I don’t see that blonde from the other night, but I sure as heck see every chocolate dream I have ever had, live and in person, and just waiting to get into my belly.

“Chocolate is a lot like men,” Peggy declares, holding up a dark chocolate truffle with gold flecks. “The more gold they have, the richer they are.”

Clarabelle snorts, grabbing a milk chocolate square. “More like the sweeter, the softer. And trust me, sweet and soft is the way to go.”

I grunt as I walk over and my eyes widen at the sheer variety of confections. There are chocolate bonbons in every flavor imaginable, from Rocky Road to s’mores, both milk and dark chocolate with roasted almonds, peanuts, and walnuts.

There are truffles filled with everything from caramel to lavender, and an array of candied fruits dipped in smooth, velvety chocolate. There are almond and hazelnut truffles, milk chocolate butterscotch squares, chocolate-covered buttercream, divinity, and decadent chocolate with coffee centers.

They also have milk chocolate molasses sticks, nougat of every variety, chocolate bear paws filled with caramel and chewy nuts, milk chocolate with caramel apple bits and marshmallows, pumpkin pie truffles, and my personal favorite—milk chocolate peanut butter patties.

My mouth waters just looking at them. I think I just gained ten pounds—and I wish I were kidding.

“I think you’re both wrong,” I say to Peggy and Clarabelle as I insert myself into their men-are-like-chocolate debate. “Chocolate is like men because the more you indulge, the more you regret it the next day.” With the exception of Killion, of course.

The three of us share a quick cackle and Cricket joins in on the fray.

“Sounds like my ex,” Peggy says, popping a truffle into her mouth. “Started off rich, ended up costing me a fortune. Not to mention the thirty pounds I gained tryin’ to forget him.”

One of the women from behind the counter comes by and offers me a piece of chocolate from the tray she’s holding. I reach for a piece of milk chocolate bark studded with almonds and sea salt. The moment it hits my tongue, I’m in heaven. The creaminess of the chocolate, the crunch of the almonds, the burst of salt—it’s like paradise found in my mouth.

“You know,” I say, gobbling down the very last bite. “If they sold chocolates that were good for you, I’d be the healthiest person alive.”

“Same here,” Peggy agrees, her mouth full of chocolaty goodness. “But until then, I’m content to let these sweets be my guilty pleasure.”

Clarabelle nods, eyeing a row of Rocky Road bites. “And what a pleasure it is. These taste better than any man I’ve ever dated.”

I’m about to snap up every confection in the place when a wiry blonde enters the establishment and I zip her way. She takes one look at me and tries to dive right back out the door, but I block it with my body.

“You’re not going anywhere,” I tell her, and I mean it with every last chocolate-loving inch of me.