The door jingles cheerfully as she bounces into the shop, all decked out in her Saturday morning outfit. Wherever she turns, the clerks and salespeople greet her warmly by name.
"How
are you?!"
"Isn't that the most
darling dress I have ever seen!"
"Oh, look how you've grown; you look lovely as ever!"
She laughs and twirls her new dress as the shopkeepers gasp and clap. She has been going to this desserts shoppe for years and years, she couldn't remember not going there on a Saturday morning. She loves the rush of the shoppe opening, the calm buzz of early customers seeking sweet indulgence, but most of all, the smell of burnt sugar and roasted vanilla and warm chocolate buns just fresh out of the oven.
She never remembers the name of each shopkeeper who practically raised her here; she just made up names for them in her mind. Like Mr Overalls over there, a nice young fella who always tips his denim cap in a funny salute when he greets newcomers. Or Ms Lollipops and Mr Gums, who always flirt with each other when they think the Boss is not looking. Or Mrs Apron, the big old lady who roars when she laughs and always smells of cinnamon everytime she gets out of the kitchen back there. "Oh darling, always a pleasure to see you here! What can I get you? Cinnamon buns? Chocolate-filled croissants?" she bends down to the girl, who shakes her head shyly and curling up a smile, her hands behind her back. She rocks back and forth on her soles, enjoying the familiar rush of excitement and giddiness in her most favorite shoppe in the world with her most favorite people.
"Don't scare her, Apron. The girl already knows what she wants."
The old, raspy, familiar voice startled the girl and she squeals happily when she locates the source. Mr Mustache! She runs towards him and falls into his Santa-like bear hug. He smells like sugar and cigar and mint all mixed together and she smiles broadly. Her favorite candy maker! Mr Mustache is the ultimate Boss and he's owned the shoppe since he was a little boy, working side by side with his father. "Now, princess. What can I get for you?" he picks her up and sits her down on the wooden counter. "Or is it such a shame that I need to ask?" the man smiles warmly, knowing that the girl always, always, always orders the same thing: white chocolate crepes with custard filling.
She grins, kicking her feet in the air in excitement, already tasting the half-burnt crepes and the thick cream in her mouth. Her stomach grumbles unashamedly. "Can you sit down here for a couple of minutes while I take care of my customers?" Mr Mustache asks, and hands her a pen and a blank sheet of paper for her drawing while she kills time. "I'll be back; and no cheating. I know exactly how many candies I have in that jar so watch it," he winks, then hobbles over to the cashier.
The girl pushes the drawing sheet away instead and stares at the selection of chocolates in the wooden helves behind the cashier. One, two, three...even with her eyes shut, she knows exactly how many shelves are there and how many chocolates are stacked in each shelf. She opens her eyes and smiles. Her calculations never miss. She knows this place all too well and always knows what she wants without looking left and right. There it is, her ultimate target, a box of white chocolate sitting prettily which Mr Mustache will pour into her order soon. She glances around, humming tunelessly, until something steals her attention in the corner.
Her smile slowly leaves her face, and she titles her head to one side.
What is it about this box?
She gets off the corner and approaches the corner shelf. A blue, classic box of chocolate is sitting there, alone. She picks it up and runs her finger around the hard edges. How come she never saw this one before? The box doesn't have any title or engraving in it. It's just...there.
"That's dark chocolate. You will never, ever like the taste of it in a million years."
She turns, startled.
Mr Mustache is smiling down at her, eyebrows knitted questioningly, "Come on, come back to the counter."
"Why is it sitting alone?" she asks slowly.
Mr Mustache looks thoughtful. "It doesn't really match with the rest of the boxes in the shelf, don't you think? I put it there because customers are all oohing and aahing over its packaging. I love the blue color myself. But no one has actually purchased it; so it's just sitting there waiting to be made into drinks, cookies, cakes, or just, you know, plain dark chocolate."
"What is dark chocolate?" The term sounds strange in her ears.
"It's an original cocoa. It tastes bitter and doesn't have an inch of sugar inside. You know, dark chocolate." Mr Mustache explains. "But I'm not surprised you've never learned of the word before," he chuckles.
"Oh. Seems like it doesn't fit into my sugary world," she smiles, ready to put the classic blue box back onto the shelf.
"Anyways, it doesn't matter. Come on, I have your white chocolate crepes ready. This time, I told Apron to add more caramel swirls inside, just the way you like it," he winks. She follows him back to the countertop.
"Voila! One white-chocolate crepe to go," Mr Mustache hands her a takeaway box with a pretty ribbon on top. She looks at it, and she can already picture what's inside. Yes, it's mouth-wateringly delicious. The crepe will definitely leave a sweet aftertaste in her mouth. She knows how happy she'll feel when she takes that first bite. It feels..predictable. Safe.
She turns around to glance back at the box. It glistens under the morning sunlight. The color does look good and attracts customers to talk about it, but she isn't interested in the packaging. She wants to look what's inside. How many are they and what do they look like? Where did it come from?
What is it about the box that intrigues her so much?
"Actually.." she hesitates. "I don't feel like eating the vanilla crepes today."
It was as if the music stops playing and the earth freezes and somewhere in the kitchen, Mrs Apron gasps. Mr Mustache frowns, "Are you feeling okay, dear? Is it my sauce? Is the crepe not burnt enough around the edges; because we can..." he follows her trail of gaze and knits his eyebrows questioningly. "Would you like the blue box instead, dear?"
"No!" she shakes her head, a little too quickly. Not yet, not now. The idea of this strange, new item coming out of nowhere and breaking all her habits is still foreign to her. But it does radiate something else that she's sure not familiar about.
Mr Mustache smiles at her confusion and hands her the takeaway box. "Tell you what. Keep this anyway; it's on the house. And you're free to come back at anytime. Sounds good?"
She nods, almost imperceptibly.
Mr Mustache smiles as he walks her to the front door. "I have to say; I never thought in a million years you'd be interested in that dark chocolate. Or that I would live to see the day you say no to our world-famous white chocolate crepe."
"That makes two of us," she mumbles, still dazed. "Sorry for the troubles, Mr Mustache. It's not like I don't like your cooking--that would be crazy."
"Don't sweat it," he stops to plant a kiss on top of her head. "You just never meet something like that in your life before, so you're not familiar with it."
The girl stops walking and looks at him.
"Get home safe, and I'll see you soon!" Mr Mustache waves and waits until she disappears in the corner. She continues walking to the bus stop, her mind reeling. A wave of nausea and excitement flew through her veins. And she tells herself it's all because of the sunny, bright morning instead of an all-too-familiar feeling in her stomach that scares the living hell out of her.
