So, Saturday was going to be an extra busy day. A full-on chocolate shop, no Holly, hopefully someone else to help, though, and then her meal to look forward to with Max. She’d give Bev a ring right away.
Bev could only do couple of hours on the Saturday morning as she had promised to take Pete’s mum into Newcastle to do her Christmas shopping. His mother didn’t drive any further than the local market town these days, being nervous in city traffic. Bev couldn’t let her mother-in-law down, and Emma wouldn’t want her to. Oh well, two hours in the morning would help, so she took Bev up on her offer, and she’d just multitask herself for the rest of the day. No point disappointing Holly.
She could tell Holly was literally bouncing as she heard the good news when Emma phoned her later.
‘Oooh, thank you so much. Love you, Em. Can’t wait to tell Adam. Yay!’
It felt good to make someone’s day.
It was a bit of a mad rush to get ready and changed that Saturday by seven for her dinner date with Max. The restaurant sounded fairly swish, so she’d opted for a red wraparound dress which she usually wore in the summer, but teamed it with tights and black leather knee-length boots for a winter look. She felt comfy in it, and it clung in just the right places. She flicked a brush through the curls of her hair, which she had left loose, falling past her shoulders, and checked in the dressing-table mirror to see if she had remembered to put any lipstick on. Grabbing a small black-velvet clutch bag, she popped in her purse and the red lipstick she’d just used and spritzed herself with some perfume. She felt a bit nervous: this was the first date since she had gone to see Max down in Jesmond and she hoped all her doubts and fears hadn’t spoilt things for them.
She heard an engine pull to a halt outside. She got up off the stool and checked out of the bedroom window. There he was, parked up in the jeep. She saw him get out of the vehicle, smart in dark chinos and a pale-blue shirt. He was also holding the most gorgeous bouquet of flowers, wrapped in tissue and cellophane, most definitely not from a supermarket. She saw his broad shoulders rise slowly as he took a deep breath before he knocked on the chocolate shop door. She felt his nerves too. It felt a bit like a new start for them both; they didn’t want to mess things up this time.
She settled Alfie in his bed in the kitchen, grabbed her smartest beige winter coat, and headed swiftly down the stairs, not wanting to keep him waiting.
‘Wow, you look gorgeous,’ he said, beaming, offering the bouquet at the same time as leaning in to kiss her.
He smelt divine, even better than the flowers. ‘Thank you so much, they are just beautiful.’ The blooms were white, cream, and a delicate soft pink with roses, carnations and some others she didn’t know the names of, with sprigs of green foliage that set them off perfectly.
‘Your carriage awaits.’ And he motioned to the jeep with a smile, bringing them both back down to earth in a lovely way. This was all rather fabulous, but they could be themselves too.
It was a twenty-minute drive north to the coastal village of Bamburgh. They passed through a couple of country villages, along winding lanes with farmland each side of the road, though it was too dark to make out much en route. Arriving in Bamburgh they passed the impressive stone castle lit up and set on the rocks above the dunes which marked the start of the village.
Lights were strung along the main street, highlighting cottages, a hotel, and small shops. In the centre of the village was a green with an area of grass and established trees, which had been lit with white lights. As they parked, she spotted a family of wooden reindeer, made of twined willow and fairy lights and all different sizes, in the middle. It looked like some mini magical forest.
‘Oh, wow, isn’t that just so pretty?’ she commented to Max.
‘Cute, isn’t it?’
It was cold as they stepped out of the vehicle, one of those crisp winter nights that would bring frost. She snuggled into her coat and took Max’s hand as they walked to the Saltwater Bistro. Max held open the door for her in a gentlemanly fashion, which was rather nice.
There was a central hall which had a large pine Christmas tree decorated with big silver and blue baubles and silver tinsel. It looked fabulous and festive in a coastal kind of way, which fitted perfectly with the restaurant, which was themed with sea and sky colours of blues, greys, and creams. A waiter came across and took Emma’s coat and led them to their table for two, asking what they would like to drink.
‘Oh, I’d like a gin and tonic, please,’ Emma said. That seemed a lovely drink to start with, and a treat.
‘Coke for me, please, pint.’ Max added, ‘Driving,’ for Emma’s benefit. ‘Though I will stretch to a nice glass of wine with the meal. We’ll order that later though, thanks.’
It felt nice here, not too stuffy; the lights were muted and candle votives glowed on the table; you could relax and chat. The waiter delivered their drinks and then passed them menus, typed stylishly on thick cream card. They were left to peruse and muse, whilst Emma sipped her chilled, bubbly glass of fragrant G&T. She had never read so many gorgeous-sounding things in one place.
‘It’s a great place, isn’t it?’ Max said.
‘Have you been here much before?’
‘Just a couple of times. The food is always good.’
‘I’m sure it will be.’ She wondered then who he’d been there with. Siobhan, maybe, and weirdly felt a twinge of jealousy. But the past needed to stay exactly where it was tonight. Tonight was a night for moving forwards.
Emma ordered a scallop starter and turbot with a hollandaise sauce for main, Max, a crab cocktail, followed by seafood ‘Frito Misto’ – ‘fried in delicate breadcrumbs’. They were served homemade breads whilst they sat chatting, and Max asked for two glasses of Chablis, checking that Emma liked that. ‘If it’s a dry white, that’ll be fine,’ she said, smiling. She’d possibly had some at her parents’ before, but expensive wines were not something she could indulge in lately.
They chatted about work, the busy build-up to the festive season in The Chocolate Shop, their plans for Christmas. Emma realised she hadn’t actually got that far yet, but perhaps she ought to invite James and his family and her parents and cook a roast turkey dinner for them; after all, they had helped her so much this year. Yes, that’d be nice. In fact, having two days off in a row for Christmas and Boxing Day would be absolute bliss.
Max said he was likely to be staying at his parents’ house over Christmas; they lived in Morpeth, about forty minutes away from Warkton, and as he was an only child, they’d no doubt be looking forward to spoiling him. His mum was a good cook, so he said he’d be well fed and looked after. It sounded like he was on the meals-for-one syndrome too – something quick and easy after work.
‘So, what do you cook, then?’ Emma was curious. ‘Or is it all ready meals and takeaways?’
‘Hey, cheeky. I can cook! It’s just not that inspiring after a full day on site sometimes. But I can make a mean curry, from scratch I’m talking. I make a passable roast chicken. And pasta, yeah, bolognese, carbonara – I can manage those. Otherwise quite a few jars come in handy. Or yes, I confess, the takeaway down the road.’
‘It’s okay. I like cooking, but after a whole day making and serving chocolates, sometimes it’s just cheese and biscuits for me, or something easy on toast. So tonight is a real treat.’
The starters were served, and Emma was soon tucking into the most exquisite scallops thermidor, with flavours of cream and cheese, and the most juicy scallops.
‘Well, this is certainly a step up from beans on toast. Delicious.’
Max’s crab was served in a large v-shaped cocktail glass, with a crab claw and a huge shell-on prawn hung decoratively over the side of the glass that looked amazing.
The food was fabulous. Emma’s turbot was served with crisp-cooked asparagus and yummy herb-buttered new potatoes and Max’s plate was piled with a selection of seafood all in a light crispy-coating of breadcrumbs. Emma tried a piece of calamari, which she’d neve
r had before because she’d feared it might be rubbery from its thick, elastic-looking appearance, but it wasn’t; it was more like a delicate white-meat ring. Oh, it was good to try new things, new places, new experiences.
‘I’ve never been anywhere as nice as this,’ she admitted.
‘Well, you deserve to. Just relax and enjoy it. And tonight is my treat, okay?’
‘I will, and thank you.’ And with that she dipped another forkful of her thick white flaky turbot into the superb hollandaise sauce, wondering if she might yet have room to try a dessert. She didn’t want this experience to end just yet.
‘So, how did you first discover The Chocolate Shop?’
She paused and took a sip of her wine. ‘After Luke died, I used to come up to the coast just to get away from the house, go someplace else that wasn’t too near the home that no longer felt like home, and walk Alfie. We’d go for miles. And then one day I headed further than normal and found Warkton. I was walking up the street, heading back from beach, when I saw that the little cottage with its shop was up for rent. I was already making chocolates as a hobby for all my friends – just focussing on crafting something helped me get by – and everybody seemed to love the end result. I saw the cottage and I remember that feeling of possibility, like it was something I had to do, as I wrote the number down. I got in touch with the agent, went and saw the property the next day, got myself booked on a formal chocolatier course. I had some savings, which I used to buy the equipment I needed to set up the shop, and the rest, as they say, is history.’
‘Good for you.’
They clinked glasses.
She realised then that her life in the past six years had focussed on work, work, work. It had kept her days structured, kept her busy, and she’d felt safe in its day-to-day confines, but this evening was just lovely, spending a little time out away from the shop, however much she loved her job. And her world was suddenly full of maybes, of new possibilities, all stacked up for her. She still wasn’t sure if she was scared or excited, but she knew she had to give it a try.
46
It was Friday evening, just before closing, when a call came from Adam.
‘Emma, we’ve had a bit of a nightmare here at the hotel. I really need your help.’
‘Okay, what’s happened?’
‘A mouse, or probably a whole family of bloody mice by the looks of it, got into the storeroom and had a right go at all the mini chocolate boxes for the turndowns. The little bastards – excuse my language, but they’ve made a right mess – nibbled through the boxes, pooped everywhere. We’ve had to throw the lot out – over a hundred boxes in all. That was our stocks to take us right up to Christmas. Rentokil are here right now, or we’ll be having Environmental Health on our case next.’
‘Oh, how awful, the little devils.’ Mice loved chocolate – she’d had an incident in The Chocolate Shop soon after she had bought it, when they munched their way through two very expensive packets of the chocolate callets. She had been extremely careful with storage and keeping traps down ever since.
Damn, Emma had been looking forward to a few hours’ chill out with Max, who was probably heading up from work right now. It had been one hell of a week and her wrists were aching from crafting chocolates every day as it was. She could feel a very late night coming on, and was racking her brains, wondering if she had enough supplies to make an extra two hundred or so chocolates out of the blue.
‘Okay. Leave it with me, Adam. I’ll do my best. I can get you, say, the first fifty boxes for now and some more in a few days’ time, because I’ll probably need to buy in extra supplies, and being the weekend …’ She let the words drift.
‘Yeah, I understand. But anything you can do to help will be appreciated.’
‘Do you have enough for this weekend’s turndowns?’
‘Doubt it. We really can’t use any of them. There are droppings everywhere, even if they don’t appear to have been eaten.’
‘Ah, okay. Well, I have some chocolates in the shop that I can box up for you. Will a dozen or so boxes do for now?’
‘Yeah, that’d be brilliant. Don’t want to disappoint the guests. They love your chocolates – it’s become part of the stay, now.’
‘I’ll get those organised right away. If you can pop down to the shop in say, fifteen minutes, I’ll have them made up and ready. Then I’ll have to start making all the others.’
‘Emma, you’re a star. Thank you so much.’
So much for a quiet night in.
Ten o’clock, and she and Max had a little production line going. Truffle centres ready to dip in the melted chocolate was the next stage and Max had even learnt how to make the little alcohol-infused balls evenly sized, by rolling them in the palms of his hands. It was delicate work for big builder’s hands, and it made Emma smile watching him. One day, there he was sawing wood and making window seats, the next truffles; where would it end? Hopefully in bed, she mused, though that seemed a distant prospect at this point. She stifled a yawn.
The dark chocolate was tempered now; time to dip the whisky infused truffles carefully in with metal tongs. They had to work quickly, whilst it was at the right temperature, yet still ensure all sides of the truffle were evenly coated, so it was quite an art and the truffles might not have been quite as neat as usual, but the fifty they made looked pretty good. Emma left them to cool on the metal board on the side and cleared the other equipment to the dishwasher.
Earlier on they’d had a snatched supper of cold chicken and salad. She’d cooked the chicken, but hadn’t had time to do the full roast dinner she’d intended.
‘Sorry, Max, this wasn’t the kind of evening I meant for you to have. I think we’ve done enough for now. Thanks so much for your help. Let’s call it a day.’
‘I didn’t know making chocolate was so physically demanding.’
‘Hey, tell me about it. I could do with a hot bath.’
‘Me too.’ He had that cheeky look on his face again.
Well, that idea was almost better than going to bed. She filled the tub, pouring in some scented bubbles. It wasn’t the biggest of bath tubs, but she managed to sit between Max’s sturdy legs and squashed herself in. The water slopped out over the side a little, the bubbles popping and crushing around them. This was rather lovely. She lay back resting her head on his chest, and Max began to smooth the soapy bubbles over her breasts, washing her very sensuously, until a sigh escaped her lips. His hand then slid down temptingly between her thighs and she could feel him ready behind her; if she just shifted a little here … and there – oh yes! And she was gliding down on to him, the water warm around them. It was difficult to move much at all, but she could rock just enough. She felt his hands tighten round her waist, gripping as he could hold back no more, beautiful, hard thrusts within her. And then, a little later, she turned to face forward to kiss him, resting her forehead against his, and closed her eyes, to just hold the moment.
Max had another early start, told Em not to get up, to catch up on her sleep. He said he’d come back again on Sunday evening and see her around six. She vaguely remembered him kissing her forehead, then a short while later heard the noise of his jeep engine start and move away. She rolled back under the duvet for another hour.
When she got into the kitchen to check on last night’s truffles an hour or so later, they seemed to have been moved. Strange. She put the kitchen light on; they appeared to form letters, words in fact. Was she still in bed dreaming? She squinted. No, they’d definitely been rearranged. She focussed her sleepy eyes, read ‘I Love You’ made from whisky truffles. There was a handwritten note beside them saying ‘Don’t worry, I used the hygiene gloves!’ Max obviously not wanting to ruin all their hard work last night.
How sweet was that? Aw. She was left with a soppy grin on her face and took a photo on her iPhone to keep, as she’d soon have to box them for the hotel. Oh Max. Thank heavens she hadn’t let him slip through her fingers. He was sexy, and he was kind and loving too. She
couldn’t wait to see him again on Sunday. But until then there was more work to do. Adam’s hotel order was yet to be completed.
Saturday afternoon and Max had usually called her by now, or at least texted, especially when they’d just spent a night together. It was like they couldn’t stop thinking about each other. She wanted to thank him for the chocolate ‘I Love You’ message, so tried his mobile a couple of times. It seemed like it was dead, the battery down or something. Oh well, he must just be busy at work. She’d speak to him soon. Her happy loved-up bubble couldn’t be burst that easily.
47
‘Hello, is that Emma? Max says you are a friend.’
It was late on the same Saturday afternoon.
The voice was of a middle-aged, well-spoken woman. It sounded far too formal, and for some reason the hairs on the back of Emma’s neck rose and she felt a cold prickle run through her.
‘Yes, this is Emma speaking. Is everything all right?’ She noticed her hands had started to tremble holding the mobile phone.
‘Well, he’s had a bit of an accident at the building site.’ The woman paused, seemingly gathering herself. ‘He’s serious but stable in hospital in Newcastle. They have to do some CT scans before we know more. He asked me to call you, to let you know.’
Oh dear God, no. ‘What’s happened?’
‘He fell off the scaffolding early this morning; one of his colleagues found him in a bit of mess, maybe an hour or so later. We’re not quite sure. The doctors say he’s broken his collarbone and cracked some ribs, but they need to check his brain …’ The phone line went quiet for a few seconds, then Emma thought she heard a stifled sob, followed by a slow breath. ‘They think he hit his head, though thank the lord he did have his hard hat on.’
Thank heavens for the yellow helmets.
‘Oh …’ Em’s throat was starting to thicken with the knot of threatening tears. Dread filled her soul. Please, dear God, not again. ‘Can I see him?’
The Cosy Christmas Chocolate Shop Page 28