Chapter 9
“Milan?” Tony asked the darkness above his bed.
“Milan?” he asked the bathroom mirror a couple of hours later, still unable to sleep.
He went back to bed...for seventeen minutes. It was the middle of the goddamn night, but his brain didn’t seem to care.
“Milan?” he muttered to the chocolate conching machine grinding its way to a finish of the latest batch of dark chocolate.
He flipped through the battered wooden box of Granddad’s recipes. He stopped at the one with a small heart drawn in the upper-right corner. It was the chocolate he’d made sixty years ago for the woman he’d been courting. So simple it was laughable, so pure that the least mistake would ruin it. Chocolate-covered blueberries. This one card was covered with a dozen tiny corrections. He’d clearly worked and r
