Читать книгу Texas Christmas - Nancy Robards Thompson - Страница 10

Prologue

Maya LeBlanc dusted the batch of white chocolate truffles with a sprinkle of crushed pink rose petals and edible gold dust. As the glittering potpourri rained down from her fingertips, she infused it with a love wish.

The rose petals represented passion and romance, of course. The gold dust, which shimmered in the sunlight that streamed in through the window on the stucco wall above Maya’s marble-topped worktable, was for prosperity. And, as if the fine golden powder were in cahoots with the intention at the heart of her handiwork, it shimmered and winked up at her conspiratorially.

Europeans had a long-standing love affair with edible gold. Alchemists believed it was good for the heart. Royalty adorned fruits and other delicacies with it to sustain the health of their hearts. The Elizabethans created sumptuous banquets by adding edible gold dust to fruits such as oranges, grapes, pomegranates and dates and figs.

But Maya’s creation was intended for loftier purposes than feeding royals; it was meant to conjure true love.

Ardent, passionate love.

The thought warmed Maya from the inside out, and she smiled with quiet satisfaction as she stepped back to admire her handiwork.

Yes, this was a particularly beautiful batch of chocolate. However, just who would receive the dozen bonbons wasn’t quite clear...yet.

The answer had not yet revealed itself, but it would come in due time. Of that, Maya was sure. There was no mistaking that the winds of love had danced around her this morning as she’d walked down the ancient cobblestone streets of St. Michel on her way to open the shop. When the winds had called her to action, there was no resting until she’d filled the heavenly order. She wouldn’t rest until she’d done everything in her power to bring the intendeds together.

Whoever these intendeds might be.

Excitement, shimmering as brightly as the gold dust, shook her. Finding the lucky couple who belonged to these chocolates would be the reward for her hard work.

But first things first. Right now, she had to finish her work. Since the truffles weren’t quite set, she pondered whether or not she should add another element...or two, perhaps? Maya surveyed the bunches of twine-tied dried herbs and flowers hanging from wrought-iron rods suspended above her workbench. There was lavender that had dried to a wiry grayish-purple, looking like veins that stood out on an old crone’s hand. Lavender denoted purity, silence, devotion and...caution.

Non. It didn’t fit. Maya’s intuitive heart insisted that that this batch of chocolat was intended for true love that thrived on passion. Lovers whom fate would send careening toward each other; a lovely collision resulting in two hearts becoming one. She sighed in breathless delight, her hand fluttering to her heart.

Caution would never do.

Her gaze lingered on several fat bunches of rosemary that were bound so tightly they bristled out like small hedgehogs. Rosemary signified remembrance. While it was a sweet sentiment, it didn’t quite fit this order, either. Besides, the robust fragrance would overpower the delicate rosewater she’d used in the recipe.

Non. She gave her head a resolute shake. Rosemary wouldn’t do, either.

She purposely averted her gaze from the bouquet of dried yellow chrysanthemums because that flower meant love slighted. It wasn’t as if merely looking at the flowers would infuse the chocolates with bad juju, but when crafting an aromatic enticement for something so delicate as l’amour du cœur, one could never be too careful.

Maya, of all people, knew that. As a third generation chocolatier and un marieur—a matchmaker—she listed chocolate and love, not necessarily in that order, as her passions. But chocolate paid the bills and afforded her the pleasure of answering the call when the winds of love blew in, summoning her to work. It was a challenge she couldn’t resist, and she wouldn’t rest until her job was done.

In the realm of matchmaking, many factors were out of Maya’s control. With that in mind, she’d adopted the philosophy that she was simply the messenger. Still, she always approached her work with care and vigilance, because matters of the heart were as delicate and fragile as spun sugar.

Her gaze danced over the dried flowers and herbs one last time. When nothing spoke to her, she went completely still for a moment and listened to the communiqué her heart had been receiving since she’d awoken that morning with the urgency to whip up this special concoction.

Keep it simple. Rose petals and gold dust. Fini.

As she opened her eyes she was compelled to pick up one more pinch of gold. She blew it off her fingertips, infusing it with another wish and a prayer...for true love of the purest, most selfless sort.