TWO

                                    

                                          
KANDY
                          
My love-hate relationship with Cane grew in size, dwindled, and then blossomed again with each passing year. It was like watching cycles of clothes washing inside a washing machine, the back and forth, wishy-washiness. The same routine over and over again.
                          
He came around at least twice a month for dinner, always with a new bottle of wine his company had created, some Belgian chocolates—some caramel-filled and some not—and his smart-ass mouth.
The only reason it wasn't a full-blown hate-hate relationship was because he brought me sweets every time. 
                          
By age thirteen, I felt I was getting too old for the gift of chocolates. I'd finally hit puberty, had gotten my period months ago, and like all teenage girls assumed when they were thirteen, I was pretty much a "woman" now. 
                          
I remember the day he came to our home with two bags instead of one. 
"You can keep it. I won't eat them," I told him when he offered them. "They'll screw up my diet." My parents were nowhere in sight, both in the kitchen preparing the food while I sat in the living room reading.
                          
"Bits, I brought this chocolate for you, just like I always do." He tossed them onto my lap. "Don't break the tradition. Eat it."
                          
"And if I don't?" I challenged.
                          
He rolled his neck, and it cracked. I was so sick of that damn neck roll. Then again, a lot of things made me sick of people at this age.
                          
"Give it to a friend for all I fucking care." He turned his back to me. It was interesting. He would only curse when my parents weren't around. But around them, he was practically a saint.
                          
"God, you're so annoying," I muttered.
                          
"Right back at you, Kandy Cane," he said without looking back.
                          
I was pretending to be the careless teen—you know, the one where nothing ever fazed her and she just shrugged everything off? Yeah, that definitely wasn't me and it wasn't working.
                          
Every time he called me Kandy Cane, I wanted to squeal. I wanted him to say it over and over and over again. His voice was like silk, smooth and delicate. It was deep and, somehow, hypnotizing. He constantly joked with me and my parents about how my name went so well with his. To be honest, I liked it. Too much.
                          
When he walked out back with my parents, I went up to my room, storing the chocolates in the drawer of my vanity, like I always did. I would eat it at night—some before bed - or I'd take some to school and share it at lunch with Frankie—but I was never going to tell him that.
These chocolates were too good to pass up and when I did some research online and saw they were $15 a bag...well, I couldn't be that much of a bitch by wasting them. 
                          
I found out a lot about Cane during my research on Tempt, too.
He'd launched Tempt, the infamous wine and chocolate company, when he was only twenty-five years old. By age twenty-seven, he'd won many awards for his wines, and was ranked #1 in a popular magazine, which boosted the Tempt name and it's sales. Celebrities began posting images of his wine, and it slowly became a household wine brand. 
He was featured in an entrepreneur magazine for Miami, his face all over the cover, and there was even an article about how he got started. There was nothing about his personal life, though, or his family, which left me curious because even with us, he hardly spoke about his family or personal life. He did speak of a sister and that she lived in Hollywood and wanted to be an actress, but not much else. He was seventeen years older than me. It seemed like such a big number, but at the same time, not too far off.
                          
I began to warm up to Cane several years later, though. Around sixteen, I'd gotten over most of my hormonal nonsense, and not only that, he began bringing me pens and notebooks from his job, along with the delicious chocolates. They all had the word Tempt on them, his company's name. I loved to write, and I loved collecting pens, so getting them was a true pleasure, even moreso than the chocolates.