Christmas at the Second Chance Chocolate Shop

by Kellie Hailes

  ‘God, no wonder you wanted to leave this.’ Ritchie shook his head slowly, half-horrified, half-amazed. ‘No wonder you never came back for Christmas. It’s just so over the top. God, I bet people sing carols and have big long never-ending family meals together, with, I don’t know… turkey. And bread sauce. And Christmas pudding.’ He stuck his finger down his throat and mock-gagged.

  Serena looked up from the screen, her face passive. ‘The only reason I never made a big deal about Christmas, Ritchie, is because you made a big deal about how much you hated it. And the only reason I never returned home at Christmas is because you always ensured that time of year was so jam-packed with social engagements that I apparently had to be there for, that I didn’t feel I could leave.’

  ‘But your shop… it’s not decorated.’ Ritchie pulled his hand out of his pocket and ran it through his hair. A feeling he wasn’t used to took shape low in his stomach. Bulky, uncomfortable, stony… guilt.

  ‘Not yet. That’s on the list for tonight. The shop opens tomorrow. I need it to be picture perfect. And don’t worry, Ritchie, despite your refusal to take part in Christmas I didn’t deprive myself completely. I would buy myself a present and open it on Christmas morning. Usually while you were sleeping off a hangover.’

  Serena had wanted to celebrate Christmas? She’d bought herself gifts to make up for his lack of interest? Had he really been that oblivious?

  The guilt crept up to his heart. He tried to push it away, but it refused to budge. There was only one thing for it. He couldn’t fix the past, but he could do his best to make things up to her. ‘What else needs to be done before the grand opening? Is there anything I can help with?’

  Serena went to shake her head and tell Ritchie no. Stopped herself. She wanted to do this all herself, but, dammit, she was running out of time. She’d built up a bank of chocolates, but more needed to be made as online orders were running hot after the social media ad she’d placed had started doing its thing. She still needed to make the place look Christmassy and somehow on top of everything she needed to get an hour or two of sleep so the dark circles under her eyes didn’t scare off customers.

  But letting Ritchie help? Really? Was that the best idea?

  ‘Come on, Serena. I’m not entirely useless. I could even… I don’t know… sing carols as we work. Wouldn’t that be jolly?’ Ritchie took a step towards her, his hands stretched out, palms up. ‘These hands are just as capable of doing menial labour as they are strumming a guitar.’

  His blue eyes begged her not to reject him. And how could she? She’d never been able to. So much so that to free herself from him she’d had leave when he wasn’t there.

  ‘Fine. I’ll get you to bag up some of the hand-dipped macadamia nuts. Ten to a bag. Tie it with a piece of red ribbon. Then set it on that silver tray over there. Nicely.’

  Ritchie nodded, a wide smile appearing on his sharp-edged and dangerously handsome face.

  Don’t think of him as handsome, Serena, she cautioned herself. Thinking of him as anything other than a man she used to know could lead to a crumbling in the wall she’d built to resist his advances. Even now as he took a step towards her, as that familiar swoon clutched her stomach, she could feel chips falling away.

  She took a step backwards, then another; the Ritchie Effect weakening with every extra inch separating them. ‘I’ll go upstairs and grab the decorations. You get bagging. The macadamias are in the pantry in a container marked “macadamias”. Bags and ribbons are under the counter.’ She turned on her heel and rushed up the stairs, her heart beating an unsteady rhythm as she stepped into the lounge. She hefted up the box of decorations she’d ordered online then, giving into the frenzy of thoughts whipping about her mind, sank onto the couch.

  Serena rested her head on the cardboard lid. It was too hard having Ritchie here. She’d hoped sending him to her parents to stay would see him scuttling out of town, but he’d stayed. More than stayed. He’d milked the cows without complaint. Hell, by the end of the milking he’d had them eating out of the palm of his hand. His pitch-perfect voice humming along with the music as he’d checked them over had seen them positively glowing. Not to mention, Daisy had nuzzled him. Twice.

  And here he was, offering to help her. To do whatever she said. Not demanding, not inserting his will, but just being there. This was so unlike Ritchie. Did he really think changing who he was in order to make her happy would work?

  Changing just to make another person happy wasn’t possible. No one knew that better than Serena.

  She’d tried to be the perfect farmer’s daughter, set to follow in her parents’ footsteps, and failed. She’d tried to be a rock star’s wife – with the outfits, the parties, the pandering – and failed. She’d returned home to give farming another try in the hopes of making her family happy. And failed. Again.

  Each time, as always, the hollowness had taken hold. But this time she’d realised that trying to satisfy those she loved meant she wasn’t being true to herself.

  She pushed herself up off the couch, hugged the box to her chest, and made her way downstairs. She stopped at the door separating the kitchen from the shop and watched as Ritchie bagged the nuts. His lips moving silently as he counted each one into the bag. He looked so earnest and endearing – entrancing even.

  All the more reason he had to get going. Soon.

  She moved to the front window, crouched onto her knees, opened the box and began to take out the tissue-wrapped decorations, unwrapping each one carefully, and tenderly setting them on the floor. Gingerbread men. Candy canes. Stars and snowflakes covered in silver glitter. There wasn’t a lot of room to work with on the windowsill, but enough that the food-related decorations could be propped up, and the others could be hung on invisible twine and dangled from the window, creating a snowy scene of festive delights.

  ‘I never knew you were a big fan of Christmas.’ Ritchie broke the silence. ‘I’m sorry. I would have absolutely bought you all the presents in the world if I’d known you cared so much.’

  ‘Well I didn’t see any point in making a big deal about wanting to experience it.’ Serena ran her thumb over a glass star. Wondered if it were as delicate as her heart. If it could crack as easily if mishandled.

  ‘That would be because I didn’t give you a chance.’ Footsteps echoed about the timber-panelled walls. Ritchie sank down beside her and picked up a snowflake. ‘I shouldn’t have forced my dislike of that particular holiday on all those around me.’

  She took the decoration away from Ritchie, their fingertips brushing, sending sparks shooting through her hand, up her arm. She let out an involuntary gasp and pulled away, but not before seeing a jubilant grin appear on Ritchie’s face. Damn it.

  ‘You okay, sweet thing?’ Ritchie picked up a gingerbread man, placed it on the sill, took another and positioned it next to the first one, so their gingerbread hands were touching. ‘Did I give you an electric shock?’ There was mischief in his knowing tone.

  Serena shook her head as his familiar scent, all musk and leather mixed together, impinged on her senses. On her common sense. That was the last thing she needed.

  ‘No. Not at all. I just realised there was yet another thing that I don’t know about you, despite all our years together, and it surprised me.’

  ‘And just what would that be?’ The humour in Ritchie’s eyes disappeared, replaced with shadows that told her to back away. To not ask questions.

  Serena threaded twine through a snowflake and stood to pin it to the top of the window frame. ‘Ritchie, I know you don’t like Christmas. But what I don’t know is why you don’t like it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Ritchie’s eyebrows drew downwards, inwards, then knitted together. His chest heaved up. Paused. Deflated.

  ‘What happened in your life to make you hate Christmas?’ The words came out slow and kind… like she was talking to a young child.

  ‘I just do. It’s commercial. And over the top.�
� Ritchie’s head angled away, a shadow covering his features. He could hide his feelings, but the twitch in the vein at his temple was giving him away.

  ‘You’re a rock star, Ritchie. You are commercial. You are over the top. What is it really about Christmas that’s meant you’ve never once celebrated it since I’ve known you?’

  Muscles tensed in his neck as his shoulders hitched up.

  ‘People don’t just hate Christmas for no good reason, Ritchie.’ Serena reached out and laid a tentative hand on his shoulder.

  He shrugged her hand off. ‘Yeah, well. It’s personal. And we’re not together, so I don’t owe you an explanation about why I don’t do Christmas.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Serena picked up another snowflake, pushed against its pointy edge with her thumb, and allowed the pain to wash away the disappointment. Of course, Ritchie wasn’t going to talk to her about Christmas or his feelings. That was pure Ritchie. He may be able to help on the farm, to help her out, but he couldn’t be the one thing she needed. Although maybe Rabbits Leap might change your mind about the season. It only gets more full-on.’

  ‘Really?’ Ritchie turned towards her, his shoulders more relaxed now that touchy subjects had been pushed aside. ‘What else happens?’

  ‘It only gets better, or worse. Depending on your perspective.’ Serena rolled her eyes. ‘Any day now the villagers will spray fake snow around all the windows in the anticipation of real snow. And then they’ll set the nativity scene up outside the church. Then of course there’s the Rabbits Leap Farmer of the Year Awards that Mum was talking about. It’s basically the town’s Christmas party. A quiet affair. Locals only. Rustic as anything, but I’ve been told it’s a lot of fun. And it all ends the next day, on Christmas day, with a parade.’

  ‘A Christmas parade on Christmas day?’ Ritchie’s blue eyes widened.

  ‘The whole town gets involved. The local band, the Revolting Rabbits, march down the street tunelessly playing Christmas carols. The nativity scene comes to life and follows behind the band. Sweets are thrown out for the kids. Santa is usually still drunk from the night before and falls asleep on his sleigh. And it’s all just horrible really.’

  ‘Horrible?’ Ritchie peered at Serena. ‘Hold on. You like Christmas. Why are you calling the parade horrible? That’s what I’m meant to say. I’m the Noel naysayer, not you.’

  Serena shuddered as she recalled her part in the parade for so many years. ‘There’s a donkey in the live nativity scene. It takes two people to make the costume work. From the time I was tall enough to fill the costume, which was at about seven years old, until the time I left Rabbits Leap, I was one half of the donkey.’

  ‘So?’ Ritchie pushed a lock of hair away from his face. ‘You played a donkey, big deal.’

  ‘It bloody well was a big deal.’ Serena stood and hung up another snowflake. ‘I wasn’t just the donkey. I was the arse end of the donkey. And I spent every Christmas being farted on for the full twenty minutes of the procession.’

  She waited for Ritchie to sympathise. To rage against the injustice of being farted on in a donkey costume for years on end. Nothing came. She glanced down.

  He was crumpled over at the waist, his forehead flat on the floor, his shoulders shuddering with soundless laughter.

  ‘Don’t you laugh at me, Ritchie Dangerfield. It’s not funny. I was always teamed up with Ridge bloody Harper and I’m sure he used to eat pickled onions by the jarful the night before just so he could fart his worst.’

  ‘That’s bloody hilarious.’ Ritchie panted as a fresh wave of laughter sent his shoulders shaking some more. ‘Serena, you were the arse end of an ass. And considering your recent treatment of me I feel it’s a prophesy of some sort. Played an ass. Became an ass!’ A fresh batch of laughter shook Ritchie’s shoulders.

  ‘I don’t need to be putting up with this. I’ve work to do.’ Serena gingerly stepped over Ritchie’s prostrate body. ‘Laugh at my Christmas tale of woe? Well you can finish doing the decorations.’

  She took in his convulsing form. Her lips twitched, threatened to rise. As usual, Ritchie’s emotions were catching. But that didn’t mean she had to like it, and it didn’t mean she was warming to him again. Or that some part of her was still under his spell.

  All it meant was that if he had been the arse end of a donkey she’d have found it funny too.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘What is that heavenly smell?’ Ritchie collapsed into a chair in the kitchen and breathed in, allowing the rich and exotic scent to infuse his mouth and trickle down his throat.

  ‘You’re in a chocolate shop, Ritchie. What do you think it is?’ Serena replied, with a shake of her head and a roll of her eyes.

  ‘Chocolate. Obviously. Dumb question.’ Ritchie shook his head. It wasn’t like him to be so bird-brained. But then it wasn’t like him to take part in the Christmasification of a shop. Perhaps the intoxicating aromas, the cheeriness of the town, the happiness of being in Serena’s presence again were getting to him. ‘I finished the decorations. Even strung up the fairy lights.’

  Serena craned her neck to check out his work, then gave a nod of approval.

  ‘I did good?’ Ritchie drummed his fingers on the bench top, impatient for praise. For acknowledgment that he might be worth keeping round. ‘Good enough to earn a chocolate?’

  A huff of impatience came from Serena’s bent head. ‘Fine. But you’ll have to sort yourself out. I’m busy. If I stop now I could bugger the tempering of the chocolate. See the pantry next to the fridge? Go have a look in there. See if something takes your fancy.’

  ‘What if I see something that takes my fancy out here? Can I have that instead?’ He stifled a smirk as Serena shot a warning frown across the kitchen island.

  Ritchie stepped into the pantry and eyed the shelves. ‘So, have you seen anything that’s taken your fancy since you’ve been back?’ He kept his tone casual. Wondering if she would bring up that guy at the pub, Jack. Hoping even more that she wouldn’t.

  ‘Not really.’ Her tone was non-committal. Not answering the question one way or the other.

  Irritation flared in his gut as he pulled open a container and eyed its contents. He wasn’t used to feeling out of kilter with Serena. They’d always had the same goals. The same likes and dislikes. They laughed at each other’s jokes, finished each other’s sentences. At times he’d half-wondered if she could read his mind, she knew him so well. But the woman in that kitchen? She was a stranger to him.

  His appetite ruined, he set the container of chocolates back on the shelf, returned to the kitchen and settled into one of the high-backed kitchen stools that were lined up along one side of the island.

  ‘Not hungry?’ she enquired, seeing his empty hands.

  ‘I think the smell is enough.’ Ritchie kept his tone amiable. ‘Now tell me, Serena, when did you decide that chocolate was your jam?’ He crossed one booted ankle over the other and leaned back in the chair, interlacing his fingers and using them to support his head. Maybe if he got to know her again, properly this time, instead of letting the heady rush of lust and love propel them along, maybe then they could reignite the spark that time had doused.

  Serena picked up a mould, indented with oval shapes, and spooned the melted chocolate into it. ‘It was that first week you were on tour without me. I was out one day, wandering aimlessly, if I’m honest, and I caught this aroma in the air… and, it’s hard to explain, but it drew me in.’ A small, almost secretive, smile played about her lips.

  The irritation that had begun to abate erupted in a flare of jealousy. Why didn’t he make her smile like that? How could she love making chocolate more than him? When had it all gone so wrong?

  ‘I found myself in front of a chocolate shop.’ Serena deftly scraped the extra chocolate off the top and sides of the mould. ‘There was a sign on the window advertising classes, so I went in and signed up on a whim. I mean, I had nothing better to do, so I thought “why not?
”’

  ‘Nothing better to—’

  Serena rattled the mould on the bench, the hard whacks echoing through the kitchen and cutting off his outrage. He reminded himself that getting angry wasn’t going to fix things.

  Peering down at the chocolate, Serena nodded with satisfaction, then tipped the mould upside down over the warmer, tapped out the excess chocolate, scraped the mould again and set it down on its side. ‘There. Perfect. Once it’s cooled it’ll be ready for its filling.’ A smile lit up her face.

  ‘What I don’t get is how you managed to do a course in chocolate making without it being a big deal?’ Ritchie rubbed the days old stubble on his chin. ‘Weren’t you mobbed by the other people doing the course? The wife of a famous rock star in their midst? Surely it would have been impossible for you to do something so… normal?’

  ‘I didn’t wear makeup. I wore a baggy pair of jeans and a plain t-shirt. Oh, and fake glasses. Also, I booked in as Serena Hunter.’

  ‘But that’s your name.’ Ritchie traced the pattern of the marble bench top, careful to keep things looking casual. ‘You never took mine when we got married. Family rule and all that.’

  ‘I know. But I was always referred to as Serena Dangerfield, so I knew my real name wouldn’t raise any red flags. Besides, people never cared about me, Ritchie. They cared about you. I was just arm candy.’

  ‘So you swapped arm candy for actual candy?’ Ritchie observed.

  ‘Yeah well, arm candy was fun for the first few years.’ The corners of Serena’s lips lifted a tad as she picked up the spoon and began to stir the chocolate in a slow figure-of-eight motion. ‘I’ll never forget that time when you began to make serious money and you decided we needed to celebrate in style, so you hired a chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce for the day. Do you remember, we hit Rodeo, did a Pretty Woman and bought as much clothing as we could stuff into the boot, then after we were all shopped out we had poor… what was the chauffeur’s name again?’

  ‘Alfred. He was a good guy. I think he fancied me.’