Christmas at the Second Chance Chocolate Shop

by Kellie Hailes

  ‘You think everyone fancies you.’ Serena shook her head, an amused sigh escaping her lips.

  ‘That’s because I’m handsome. And charming.’ Ritchie winked.

  ‘And oh, so humble.’ Serena stuck her tongue out, then laughed. ‘Poor old Alfred, he looked shocked when we asked him to take us to a burger drive-thru joint.’

  Ritchie nodded. ‘Probably used to his clients heading out to poncy restaurants. But he liked it when we bought him a burger too.’

  ‘Indeed, and he was kind enough to give us privacy once we parked up on Mulholland so we could take in the Hollywood sign.’

  ‘I recall we spent more time taking in each other than we did the sign.’ A twitch from below told him it wasn’t just his memory that remembered how they’d kissed in the back of the Rolls. Long and slow. Then hot, wet, hard and fast. Their surroundings disappearing as they threw caution to the wind and made love, sealing their day of indulgence in an unforgettable way. ‘I felt like the king of the world. And I had my queen beside me.’

  ‘And I enjoyed the role, Ritchie, being on your arm, being part of your whirlwind life. But in time it got old. Whereas this?’ Serena set the spoon down and swept her arms out. ‘This I could do forever. All the flavours. The creativity. The science. I mean if I don’t stir that chocolate fast enough I end up with dull chocolate. Or chocolate that won’t set. If I let a flavour steep too long in cream it can go from wow to foul in two hot seconds. But when I get it right… it’s… I can’t explain it.’

  ‘Orgasmic? Like standing in front of a crowd of thousands upon thousands all chanting your name. Screaming hysterically when you come on stage. Cheering until they’re hoarse when you sing their favourite songs.’

  Serena dropped her arms to her arms to her side and laughed out loud. ‘I was looking for “satisfying”. But yeah, orgasmic pretty much fits the bill. Especially when I bite into one of my creations and it’s more than I’d hoped for.’ She raised one finger. ‘Hold on a second.’

  She disappeared into the pantry, leaving Ritchie to bask in the glow of that laugh of hers. Open, loud and infectious, it was a laugh capable of making a whole room full of people stop and stare at the tall, wild-haired, gorgeous woman it came from. And just now, that laugh had been for him, because of him. God, he’d missed it.

  ‘Here.’ Serena half-skipped out of the pantry, and held a chocolate out for him. ‘I know you said you weren’t hungry, but try it. Please.’

  Ritchie plucked the chocolate from between Serena’s fingers and inspected it. Glossy, deep in colour with what looked to be a sprinkle of sea salt on top. ‘Chocolate and salt?’

  ‘Just eat it,’ she urged, giving him an impatient nod.

  He put the chocolate between his lips and bit into it, enjoying the crack of the chocolate that gave way to a soft, creamy centre. ‘Oh my God, it’s delicious. What’s in this? Lime?’

  Serena held up one finger.

  ‘Chocolate, obviously.’

  Two fingers.

  ‘Salt. Also obviously.’

  Three fingers.

  ‘And something else… it reminds me of…’ His mind touched on it, but surely not? It couldn’t be.

  ‘Steaming hot days, balmy nights… tonnes of tostadas, gob-loads of guacamole.’ Serena’s grin broadened, her chest puffed out with pride.

  ‘Tequila. That’s the last ingredient.’ Ritchie confirmed. ‘It’s like our honeymoon in a chocolate.’

  ‘I know, right?’ Serena scooted a chair over and sat in front of him. ‘That was such a good time. If it were possible to drink a country dry of tequila I think we very well nearly did it.’

  ‘And you made this?’ Ritchie popped the remaining part of the chocolate into his mouth and finished it off.

  ‘Of course. It’s part of a range I’m creating. Inspired by…’ She paused, her face flushing, the redness racing down her neck towards her chest.

  ‘Inspired by what, Serena?’ Warmth flooded Ritchie’s stomach. He had a feeling he knew what she was about to say, but he wanted to hear it from her.

  She hesitated and her eyes softened. ‘Inspired by my life with you.’ She shook her head ever so slightly. Her eyes brightened once more as she sprung up and bounced towards the fridge. ‘I’ve also got plans to utilise what goodness we create here in Rabbits Leap to further showcase the town. I’m currently working on chocolates infused with the butcher’s homemade cheese. And of course, there’s the milk from our farm. Remember that gourmet chocolate milk we tucked into while you were touring in New Zealand? Best hangover cure ever. So I thought, why couldn’t I do that?’ She pulled a bottle of milk from the fridge, grabbed two glasses, placed them in front of Ritchie and emptied the milk into them. ‘I made my own version of chocolate syrup, combined it with milk from our farm, and it’s pretty good. Well, I think it is.’ She skipped back to the fridge, pulled out a squeeze bottle, bounded back and began to pour a vanilla pod-coloured liquid into the milk, which she mixed in with a spoon.

  ‘How did you come up with all of this? All these ideas?’ Ritchie leaned forward and watched as the creamy milk swirled through the syrup, transforming into the colour of raw umber.

  ‘One thing that life on the road with you did was expose me to all sorts of flavour combinations I’d probably not have had the chance to try had I done as Mum expected and stayed here in Rabbits Leap. Without you…’

  ‘Without us.’ Ritchie corrected.

  ‘Semantics.’ Serena grinned. ‘Without our life I don’t know that I could have done what I’ve done here. Created the flavours. Come up with the ideas.’

  ‘I guess our marriage was good for something then.’ Ritchie had aimed for light-hearted, but it came out bitter.

  Serena flinched, as if the rebuke caused her physical pain. ‘Our marriage was good for a lot of things, Ritchie.’ Serena gave the milk one final stir, and set the spoon down next to the glasses. ‘You gave me so much. More than a girl like me ever expected. But…’ she paused as she carefully inspected the glasses before giving a nod of satisfaction and pushing one closer to Ritchie. ‘But the money, the fame, the high life. It wasn’t enough. I needed more.’ Serena slid the glass in front of him. ‘I guess I’m just as difficult as my mother always said I was.’ The dullness in her eyes belied the gaiety of her tone.

  He took a sip of the chocolate milk, held it in his mouth, luxuriated in its richness, it’s full flavour. Decadent, sweet, yet a touch bitter and oh so creamy.

  ‘Good, huh?’ Serena took a sip. ‘And it’s not the same without the milk from our farm. I tested the store-bought stuff earlier today, but it wasn’t anywhere near as creamy. I just hope Mum doesn’t decide to change the contract that allows me access to it.’

  ‘The contract?’ Ritchie cocked an eyebrow. ‘You have contracts in your family?’

  ‘No. Not us. With the dairy co-op. When we signed with them I asked that a portion of the milk be supplied to my business.’ Serena sucked her lower lip in, bit down on it, then released it. ‘I kind of did something a little dodge. With Dad’s help. He signed the papers saying it was okay for me to have the milk. Then after they were safely in the hands of the co-op we told Mum.’

  ‘And how did that go for you? And your Dad?’

  ‘Well, she didn’t speak to him for a day. Didn’t speak to me for a week. But in the end Dad talked her round. Apparently told her it was better they gave me the milk than risk the business failing and having me leave Rabbits Leap altogether. But the contract’s only for a year, and she’s so upset at me for setting up the chocolate shop…’

  ‘You worry that when then contract comes up for renewal she won’t re-sign, or allow your father to? That she’ll interfere with your business because, what? Because you moved out of home?’ Ritchie set the glass down and reached for Serena’s hand. She froze for a second, and he wondered if she was going to snatch it away, but then she relaxed. Allowed him to be with her.

  ‘Exactly. She w
as upset enough about the milk, but when she found out I pulled out of the Young Farmer of the Year category and entered the Product of the Year category instead…’ Serena’s shoulders slumped. ‘Mum means well. I know she does. I come from a long line of women who’ve worked the farm. It’s our legacy, according to Mum. She believes we’re the land’s caretakers and she thinks my place is at home. That I need to carry on the tradition. Whereas I don’t see it that way. I believe we belong to our name. Strong. Tenacious. Passionate.’

  ‘Stubborn, too, from what I can see. Maybe you should both have been in that donkey costume…’

  Serena’s nostrils flared. ‘Yeah, well. We dig our heels in when we have to. It’s why every man before you took the Hunter name instead of the usual way around. We’re proud of who we are. We won’t change for anyone.’

  ‘I’m figuring that out… big time.’ Ritchie continued before Serena decided to clock him round the head with her glass or, worse, pull her hand out of his. ‘I’ve only spent a few hours with your mother, but I can see that you’re also fierce like her. Determined, too. And I suspect a big reason for her being annoyed at you moving out is because she’s concerned for you. About you.’

  ‘Well she doesn’t have to be. I’m fine.’ Serena’s hand left his. Left him. ‘I’m doing better than ever.’

  Better than ever. Better without him. Ritchie brought his glass to his lips and tipped his head back to let the last few drops fall into his mouth, grateful that Serena couldn’t see the dampness that had sprung to his eyes. So unlike him, but then abandoning his rock star lifestyle and chasing a woman halfway round the world without telling his manager wasn’t like him either. He breathed the tears away, then set the glass down. ‘People are going to come from miles away for this.’

  Serena scooped up his glass along with hers, took them to the sink and began rinsing them out. ‘Hopefully. I proposed the idea to the dairy co-op and they’re all in. Turns out my timing was perfect as they’re looking to expand their range.’ Serena set the glasses on the drying rack then turned and leant against the bench. ‘The plan is to start small, then widen distribution if the milk’s well received. Who knows, if it wins Product of the Year, maybe Mum will see that I’ve found my calling. Maybe she’ll begin to come around.’ Serena picked up a cloth and started to wipe down the bench.

  Ritchie’s heart twisted. He was fighting a losing battle. Serena was committed to the shop, to Rabbits Leap. ‘You never did tell me the name of this shop of yours, Serena.’

  Serena bent a little lower, and the curls that had come loose from her top knot shielded her face as she worked hard at a stain he couldn’t see. She spoke quietly. ‘I’ve called the shop “The Sweetest Thing.” In fact, you’ve just reminded me. I still need to hang the sign up.’

  Relief surged in Ritchie’s heart, as soul-warming as the drink he’d just had. ‘The Sweetest Thing,’ he repeated the words out loud. Relishing them. ‘So similar to my pet name for you.’

  Serena stared out into the darkness and cursed. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She’d chosen that name because it had meant so much to her. A term of endearment that could soften a bad mood, ease a worried mind, or lead on to things of a more romantic nature. Just like chocolate could too. It had felt like the obvious choice after spending days brainstorming.

  She hadn’t counted on Ritchie coming to Rabbits Leap, let alone learning she’d called her shop that.

  ‘I like the name.’ Ritchie’s voice was warm with approval, and more than a touch of hope. ‘It suits the shop as much as it suited you. You were so sweet, Serena. Especially when I met you. All young and innocent. A proper country girl.’

  ‘Hardly.’ Serena scoffed as she picked up a tea towel and finished drying off the glasses. ‘I’d been at boarding school in London for a couple of years and was studying at university. It wasn’t like I was fresh off the field or anything.’

  ‘Compared to the born and bred city girls, you were. Those girls with their done-up hair, immaculate nails and tailored clothing. So put together. So unlike my wild and free Serena. The way you danced the night I met you. Throwing yourself about the floor, not caring who looked at you. I knew the moment our eyes met that we were meant to be together. That you would be able to handle anything I threw at you, and then some.’

  In the darkened window Serena watched Ritchie slip off the stool and stroll towards her. She turned to dodge out of his way, but he placed his hands on either side of her, gripped the bench. Trapped her.

  ‘Remember that first night, Serena? I came off the stage and you already had a beer in hand for me. Told me you loved what I did. We didn’t stop talking, except for when we started kissing. Then you came back to mine, and you never left.’

  Serena turned and focussed on the chocolate glistening in the pan, used it as a touchstone. A reminder of why Ritchie’s rasping voice, so sexy, so dangerous, was not to be a distraction. That the charisma radiating off him was not to engulf her, not to sink into her pores, to capture her as it once did. As it still threatened to do.

  She held her breath, reminded herself she was no longer that teenage girl hell-bent on not returning to the farm, to Rabbits Leap. She didn’t need to run anymore, didn’t need to find something, someone, to attach herself too. She had all she needed, right here. In this shop.

  ‘We had something special, Ritchie. I won’t deny that. I refuse to regret it. But I stopped being able to catch everything you threw at me. Stopped being able to handle you.’

  He sank down so his eyes were level with hers, trying to get her attention. She was not going to play ball. Because if she took one look at those piercing eyes of his, if he moved one inch closer, if he dared to lift that hand off the counter and run it through her hair… she’d be lost all over again. Because as much as her head screamed no, her body was on fire. She wanted to touch him, taste him… devour him.

  But she knew letting go just once would lead to wanting more. Ritchie was an addiction she’d worked hard to break, and she wasn’t going to fall over the edge again.

  It was time to break out the big guns.

  She ducked under his arm and stepped out of seduction’s way. ‘Ritchie, why haven’t you asked me where the money for all of this has come from? You must know I didn’t touch any of our accounts. Surely you’re curious?’

  Ritchie spun round and folded his arms over his chest, his eyes hardening, his jaw set, as if preparing himself for something he didn’t want to hear. ‘So, where’d the money come from? You clearly want to tell me.’ He widened his stance, lifted his chin.

  Serena’s stomach shrank as nerves and guilt clashed. ‘I sold some stuff.’

  ‘Stuff?’ Ritchie’s eyebrows arrowed together. His jaw jutted out the way it did when he was unhappy and trying to hide it.

  ‘You know. Some clothes. Jewellery. I figured I wasn’t going to have any use for my designer frocks anymore, so someone may as well buy them.’ Serena tightened her grip on herself, and swallowed hard as bile rose.

  ‘Jewellery. You said jewellery, Serena.’ His tone was measured, yet taut. ‘Exactly what jewellery did you sell?’

  ‘Oh, just some pieces I had that I didn’t think I’d have any need for, like the ruby and sapphire tennis bracelet.’ A gift he’d given her after she’d pulled him from the brink of drug-related destruction. ‘Oh, and the emerald earrings.’ A gift for when he’d been two hours late to her birthday party because he’d been jamming with the boys in the recording studio and lost track of time. ‘And the twenty-strand gold and diamond necklace you gave me after I was nearly run off the road by the paparazzi.’ Gifts to say I’m sorry. Gifts to remind her why being with him was worth it. Gifts that asked her to stay. And she had, through so much, thinking her place was next to Ritchie. Until she’d begun to believe it wasn’t next to Ritchie so much as one step behind him – doing what she was told, when she was told, and never asking questions. Accepting the way he’d retreat for days on end whenever she broke tha
t unspoken rule.

  Ritchie’s glance flicked down to her bare hands. A vein popped at his temple as he registered her bare ring finger.

  Her wedding rings. He thought she’d sold her wedding rings. Which of course she hadn’t. She couldn’t.

  It had been tough to part with the rest of the jewellery, each with their own meaning, but she’d convinced herself they hadn’t been about her. They’d been about Ritchie making himself feel better for the pain and loneliness his job and his behaviour had caused.

  But those rings?

  He’d enquired ever so surreptitiously about her favourite stones. Stopping in front of jewellery stores to point out settings. Then he’d had a design custom made. Borrowed one of her rings from her jewellery box to ensure the sizing was right.

  Those rings were the one time Serena was utterly sure Ritchie hadn’t been all about himself, but instead that her happiness had been all he’d cared about. There was no way she could sell those rings. Instead she’d tucked them away in her other suitcase, under her childhood bed back at the farm. Still in their navy leather jeweller’s box.

  ‘How come you haven’t started divorce proceedings, Serena?’ Ritchie’s voice, as soft as the velvet her rings were encased in, as hard as the stones set into the gold.

  Because I couldn’t cut the last string. ‘Because I haven’t had time. And I’m sorry about selling the jewellery. I’ll pay you back. I promise. I’m breaking even with the online business and once this shop opens, more money will come in and I’ll set up a payment system. Get what I owe back to you as soon as possible, and then you’ll be free of me.’

  His jaw softened. His blue eyes dulled. His arms fell loose from his waist, dangled helplessly at their sides. He exhaled, long and slow. ‘Well that’s that then.’ He dropped his hands to his side, turned, then trudged out of the store without looking back.

  Serena fought the urge to race after him and tell him the truth. But admitting to keeping the wedding rings would give him reason to believe there was a chance they might reunite. And if he had faith in their relationship he wouldn’t leave, and the defences she’d spent six months building would surely tumble with every brush of their fingers, every lingering glance, every smile, every laugh, every shared moment.