by Cassie Swindon
2025
Prequel/short story to “Of Venom & Vineyards”
I’ve made a decision. I will be seated at the best table inside Coco’s Cocoa for my date.
On the other side of the bay window, customers wait on Bewitcher Street, all the way around the block for the grand opening of this magical chocolate shop. Kids knock on the door excitedly and point to whatever has grabbed their attention. Hopefully the glass is charmed to not break, because those kids are reckless in their anticipation. At least the song carrying over the speaker is a band with a calm, mellow vibe.
The new owners, though, need a reminder to chill out as they bustle about behind the counter in preparation for their seemingly endless customers. Whoever they hired to blast this place all over social media certainly earned their money. Fuzers and Nergs alike are outside to experience the magic that one single divine bite of chocolate will give each customer. Because of how much help I’ve given, I’m granted early access– not that I asked for any favors for assisting them. It’s just the kind of person I am, willing to sacrifice my extra time for the greater good of Gashville’s economy. Plus, I’m sure every tourist they lure in will only help the sales at our winery down the street.
“You should probably straighten those chocolate bars,” I say, pointing to the display on the top shelf. “Never mind, I’ll do it.”
“No, no, Olivia, that’s alright,” Coco says, rushing over, her hand blocking my own from rearranging the clearly crooked stack of candy. “And you know how much we appreciate all your suggestions–”
“Do we?” Delilah shouts from the back. “Do we, really?”
Coco blushes as she swats her Partner’s comment away like an irritating bug. “Don’t listen to her, she’s just stressed. But, as you can see, we’re about to be very busy, so maybe you can just wait outside like–”
“Like. Every. Other. Person. In the valley?” Delilah snaps before the sound of a mixing beater blocks out her voice.
Shit, have I overstepped again? The answer becomes clear as Coco literally starts pushing me towards the front door, where eager, wide-eyed children set their sights on the mounds of sugar surrounding us.
“We’ll be sure to mention you when the reporters stop by tomorrow,” Coco says quickly, “But, for now, it’ll be best if you could just…”
“Oh, there he is! My date! You don’t mind if I let Santiago in, right?” I yank open the door, which explodes in a fury of sound and chatter, and pull Santiago through by his shirt. Miraculously, I manage to shut the door before a stampede tramples us all. “Phew, it’s nice to be on this side of the madness.”
Coco’s expression bounces between a thousand and one emotions, finally landing on resignation. Without a word, she scurries away, her hands moving a mile a minute with each last-minute touch up of their shop. Yeah, it’s clear that I’ve overstayed my welcome but since I’m here already, I may as well enjoy the perks.
“Hey, Olivia. Place smells like I’m breathing chocolate.” Santiago wraps one arm around my waist in a half-hug.
When he backs away, I release a breath I’d been holding. Huh. Strange. I dip my chin to check my outfit for smears of unwanted flour. Thankfully, my blue corset is still spotless and supporting the girls in all their glory, as usual. Since my breasts are small, it doesn’t hurt to lend them some extra support with my custom costume designs.
Santiago’s gaze lingers on my cleavage a moment longer than necessary, but I don’t mind. He’s probably hoping to finally fuck me tonight. For some reason, I don’t imagine that happening anytime soon. Maybe not at all. Ugh. What is wrong with me? He’s clever, a great kisser, and showed up tonight after working all day. Why am I taking things so slowly? It’s not like my libido is on strike. Until that hug, my body has always been pleasantly responsive on our other dates.
“What’s this poster for?” Santiago picks up a permanent marker and twiddles it between his fingers.
“Oh, that was my idea. Customers can write their ideas for the shop’s slogan, since they haven’t settled on one yet. If they pick one, that customer gets a gift card.”
Crouching, he writes, ‘Sweet Whispers of Yesterday,’ in loopy handwriting.
“Not bad,” I say, nodding, then add my idea, ‘Chocolate’s Memory Magic.’
What blissful memory will I experience after my first bite? The day I met Maveri as a puppy? The first day we opened our winery? Even though I’ve never been sneaky before, I grab a fistful of chocolates from a free sample plate and gesture for Santiago to follow me to the booth. He slides in next to me, his gaze reflecting my own anticipation.
Hopefully whatever memory is about to overtake me blocks out the chaotic sounds from outside the window. Delilah and Coco sure need to hurry up before their crowd turns into a mob.
“Ready?” He holds out a piece of chocolate as if to knock it against mine.
After I send him a quick smile, I accidentally smash our knuckles together instead. Smooth, Olivia. Smooth. Santiago chuckles, not minding in the least. He winks, then takes a big bite of his piece, the gooey chocolate coating crunching apart until golden liquid spills over his tongue.
Not wanting to be left behind, I lift my piece. Maybe the magic will take me back to the first time I met Santiago. Maybe he will experience the same memory at the same time. Wouldn’t that be wild?
I lift the dark truffle to my lips, inhaling its rich cocoa scent and savoring the velvet-smooth surface against my skin. As my teeth break through the delicate shell, there’s that perfect moment of resistance before it yields with a subtle snap.
The outer layer melts instantly on my tongue, releasing an intense burst of deep, dark chocolate. Then comes the silky center – it’s impossibly smooth, spreading across my palate like silk. I can detect hints of vanilla and maybe a whisper of sea salt that makes the sweetness more delicious. There’s an earthy undertone too, something almost wine-like that lingers at the edges. Believe me, I’d know.
It’s one of those rare perfect bites that sends me lost in the pure pleasure of taste and texture. The chocolate immediately warms me from the inside like the best kind of spell under a full moon.
As expected, the confines of the Coco’s Cocoa fade away. My heart flutters and my skin tickles, but the anticipation evaporates when the location I land on is so pathetically mundane. Inside my winery, where I spend most of my days. Oh, come on. This is supposed to be an epic trip down memory lane, not an image from some average Tuesday.
Either way, I inhale the pleasant earthly scent of the winery–grapes and elderflower, my happy place. A dozen people I recognize all sit in leather chairs in a giant circle, with Maveri sleeping at my feet. As our group mascot, my furry black dog doesn’t miss a single meeting of our secret support group.
I reach down to scritch the top of Maveri’s fluffy head, full of thick hair that curls slightly at the tips. Only halfway listening to one of the member’s complaints about their recent ghostly encounter, I set my eyes across the circle on the man whose dark aura constantly acts like my personal magnet. I swallow down the sensation of a rock stuck in my throat while I stare at Beck Vennum.
When I realize he’s wearing THAT shirt, the one that’s haunted my dreams, I understand which night is about to play out. No, no, no. This is all wrong. I’m supposed to be experiencing one of my most blissful memories, one that I cherish and wish to carve every detail permanently into my brain. But this night I never want to relive; it had changed the course of our support group indefinitely.
Across the circle, Beck’s lips mouth as he speaks, but the image starts moving in slow motion and the vision fades until the edges become a haze. Each group member bleeds together into a blob of shapeless colors until Coco’s Cocoa comes to focus again.
Instead of being returned to the quiet shop of empty booths, I zap back into the room completely overfilled with patrons, young and old. Every customer zips around with energy specifically designed for amusement parks, the brightest of autumn days, and surprise presents.
On the other side of the table, Santiago sits dazed, still in his memory coma as he stares blankly at nothing over my head with a doofy boy smile. Well, there’s no need to wake him.
What is it about him that isn’t settling right? It’s like he’s the wrong sized puzzle piece forced into a spot he doesn’t fit. Oh well, it’s not like our relationship will last much longer anyways.
The bell above the door chimes for the hundredth time as someone new enters the cramped space. This time, unlike all the others, I feel a call from whoever arrived. Like a vibration deep in my bones stirs some ancient part of me. That doesn’t make sense but the only way I can describe it is … a knowing. A force of gravity. A pull beyond explanation.
I turn in my seat, the leather cushion squeaking under my thighs. Maveri barks, then swerves around the maze of knees and leaps towards me. I laugh and throw my arms open for him. Of course, my oversized pup is the essence that lured me into his trap of kisses. At least, that’s what I assume …
Until Beck emerges from the mass of bodies.
I’m fine. This is fine. Of course he’s here. It’s just Beck after all. The same Beck who I see at every group meeting. The same guy who rarely says a word. So, why is it that when he stands under the glow of floating chandeliers that I’m entranced? It’s not like I find him attractive. Sure, other women, or men, may like the look of soil always stuck beneath his fingernails from gardening in the cemetery. Or they might wonder about the callouses on his palms, if they’re from playing the guitar or something else.
He meets my eyes and nods. That simple, noncommittal nod makes my traitorous pulse quicken. I force myself to focus on Santiago, who is still wrapped in his memory coma. So when Beck rubs a hand down his beard, I don’t look back up to appreciate how his shoulders fill out that worn black shirt or how he seems completely out of place among the cheer of festivities.
I straighten my spine in my chair, lift my chin. I’m being ridiculous. He’s just… Beck. Solemn, mysterious Beck. The fact that my skin feels electric and warmth blooms in my chest is probably just from the perpetual heat of the enchanted ovens. Definitely not attraction. Absolutely, positively not that– especially not a guy who spends his days among the departed, who knows more about loss than most people know about life.
Beck moves through the evening crowd with purpose, like a shadow among the sparkling displays. Somewhere in his dark edges, he holds mysteries I don’t want to unravel, shouldn’t want to unravel. As he nears, I catch a whiff of his subtle scent of earth and cedar, and rain and secrets better left buried.
“Hey, Olivia. Mav wandered to my place again. Thought you might be here,” he says with a slight nod, and turns to leave.
Against all of my common sense I reach out and grab his wrist. In that moment, all air is sucked from my lungs. His gaze drops to where I clutch onto him, like a desperate clingy thing.
“Sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “Uh, thanks for bringing Mav back. If he does that again, which he won’t, I promise. But if he does, don’t make the trip. I’ll get him so you don’t have to leave home.”
“Mhm,” is all Beck says, his eyes still locked on where we touch.
Why haven’t I let go? I should let go. Subtly, in the smallest movement that even an artist could miss, Beck tilts his head ever so slightly. The smallest twitch of his lip twerks up in one corner in amusement. This man knows how to smile? That’s not possible.
I really should be content with the successful, polished man across from me, who sends calendar invites for coffee dates and brings me roses. Instead, I find myself drawn to the quiet undertaker who probably knows the weight of a last goodbye better than the lightness of a first hello. No, I won’t like him.
“No,” I say – or, at least it sounds like my voice.
“No?” He glances around, confused. “No? No to what?” This time I swear he does indeed smirk. “Are you saying no to Mav? Should I bring him back to the cemetery? Let him wander around all night? Or did you let him out on purpose? Knowing I’d have no choice but to leave home on my one night off and hunt you down so the poor beast doesn’t get hit by a damn car?”
For some reason, I burst to my feet, my eyes only reaching his shoulder, thanks to my three-inch heels. “Beck Vennum! That’s the longest you’ve ever spoken! We need to record this moment in history!”
His weighted stare doesn’t scare me, so I hold my ground and stare harder, better, and longer. With more intensity than he can ever muster. I may not be the smartest of my sisters or the most creative, but I’m the most fuckin’ stubborn of us.
I win, because he breaks first and points to the table. “Already relive your memory? What was it? Let me guess,” he says casually, crossing his muscled arms over his chest. “The first sketchpad you filled up? The day you adopted Mav? Or how about when you graduated college?”
Mirroring him is too enjoyable, just for the simple fact that it pisses him off. So, I also cross my arms and match his stance. “Actually, it was my first orgasm.”
Yup. There’s that miniscule smirk. It truly does exist. I’ve done it. I’ve created a miracle. Ladies and gentleman, I’m the reason why Beck has found amusement–not once –twice in the same night. If I die here and now, it’d be a successful life.
There’s no chance I’ll ever tell him that my subconscious forced me to relive the night that Beck confessed to our entire group that he doesn’t only hear messages from ghosts, or see their letters, like the rest of us. Nope. Beck Vennum can also see the deceased and he has voluntarily chosen to communicate with them as his monthly spell.
The rest of us members all attend group to discuss the repercussions and challenges we face from being haunted, since none of us feel the safety to openly inform our family and friends about our situations. Yet, that night, Mr. Graveyard himself freely admitted to choosing this life full of specters.
I’ll never understand. What’s worst … now the message that my ghost has been sending me for so many months finally makes sense. She has repeatedly made one specific demand: to talk to the one who can see her.
It won’t be tonight, or any night for that matter, that Beck learns what my ghost wants.
Maveri weaves around my ankles, tripping me. Since the Mother Crone has it in for me, I topple forward and into Beck’s arms. Of course he catches me. Even if he didn’t, his broad chest would’ve been a wall that I’d simply smack into. Honestly, I doubt I could move him an inch if I pushed with all my might.
“Goodnight, Olivia,” Beck says, steadying me on my feet.
Before I can say a word, he disappears into the crowd like a ghost himself, like he wasn’t even there. His scent remains behind, taunting me with that delicious aroma. I shake my head and slip into the booth again. That exact moment, Santiago finally snaps out of his trance, jaw dropped and eyes wide.
“Whoa!” He slaps both palms on the table. “What a fuckin’ trip! I forgot my seventeenth birthday party was so epic. Damn, that night was fun. Man, I gotta call Brady. Wonder what that son of a bitch is up to these days.” He digs into his pocket and pulls out his phone.
It’s a bit unfair that I could care less what memory Santiago experienced. I have zero desire to ask for details or have him reenact their conversation and choices.
Ready to come up with an excuse to leave Santiago, I lean forward, but the man is already fully engrossed in a conversation with someone on the other end of his phone. His free hand covers his other ear as he smiles and laughs wholeheartedly. This man won’t be broken-hearted when I call it quits.
I can’t quite slip through the group like liquid with an eighty-pound mountain dog by my heel. Mav has the uncanny knack of parting a cluster, right down the middle, until he has an aisle to strut down like the certified prince he is.
Outside, the evening air brushes my skin like a whimsical promise. Under the moon is where I feel most at home and immediate relief washes over me as I move further away from the crowd and noise. Sure, I like to convince myself that I’m an extrovert who needs to be in everyone’s business. Yet there’s a chance that version of me is the furthest version from the truth.
A cozy contentment bubbles through my veins like hot chocolate and I practically shiver with the blissful awareness that I’m alone again. Except I’m not alone.
Across the street, leaning against the cemetery’s iron gate, Beck watches me. In the same stance as before, arms crossed over his chest. I feel his gaze like a blanket, the type I pull closer to my chin and happily burrow under. He’s the kind of blanket I like to wrap around the tips of my toes and tuck under my sides so not an inch of skin is exposed to the outside world.
Maybe that’s why I turn in the other direction and walk away as quickly as possible. This night needs to be wiped from my memory completely. Someone needs to open an enchanted shop that erases moments from our lives. Because this feeling is not something I want to sink into. Not now. Not ever. Especially not about Beck Vennum.
*Please keep in mind this short story was not professionally edited or formatted and is just for fun*
*There are also short story/prequels to my other books on this website*