Marjorie crossed her arms over her chest, shifted her attention from Ritchie to the roaring flames. ‘Haven’t seen the shop. Haven’t had the time.’
‘Then you’ve no idea about the chocolates she’s making? That daughter of yours has talent. She’s found her passion. I just wish that passion included me. Ugh.’ Ritchie shook himself. ‘And there I go feeling sorry for myself again. I’d better get over that. And quick. Down on their luck, sad-faced rock stars are hardly sexy. I just have to figure out what I’m going to do next. Without her.’
‘Well you could stick around here for another couple of days.’ Marjorie let out a heavy sigh. ‘I can hardly send you to an empty home just before Christmas.’
‘No. That’s fi—’
Marjorie held her hand up, stopping him in his tracks. ‘And, well…’ She shifted in her seat, the apples of her cheeks reddening. ‘Well I still need entertainment for the Farmer of the Year awards, and I may have been kind of hoping… I mean we have the Revolting Rabbits, but I think a world famous singer would probably be more enjoyable to the ears. And to the eyes. Also, you’re not as horrible as I’d built you up to be in my mind. In fact, you’re actually quite decent.’
‘Marjorie, are you hitting on me?’ Ritchie winked, smiling as her face flamed as pink as her fuchsia jumper.
‘Not at all. But I’m not blind. Anyway, you’re not my type. Because…’
‘You’re too young. Too rich. Too thin. And you’re name’s not Roger. Isn’t that right, pet?’ Roger ambled through the door, dressed in dirty overalls, a woollen jumper underneath, and socks so holey half his toes were hanging out. ‘God, it’s cold out there. The girls are in the shed, so that’s that done. Now, do I smell stew?’
‘That you do, my love.’ Marjorie stood, pulled Roger underneath the kitchen’s doorframe where a sprig of mistletoe hung, then kissed him on the lips and cheekily pinched his bum. ‘Ritchie here has just agreed to be the entertainment at the awards.’
‘Has he now?’ Roger grinned at Ritchie, his brown eyes sparkling as brightly as his daughter’s. ‘Or have you been forced into it, lad?’
‘Well I haven’t actually said yes, so it’s probably a touch of the latter. But I’ve nothing on. Not really. I’m meant to be working on my next album, but the inspiration’s run a bit dry.’ Ritchie shovelled a forkful of tender beef and chunky carrot into his mouth. Even if Rabbits Leap had a cone of silence he couldn’t risk it getting out that he was having artistic trouble.
‘And since the awards are on Christmas Eve, then that means you’ll be sticking round for Christmas as well.’ Roger dipped his chin in a firm nod, the matter settled in his mind.
Shivers prickled down Ritchie’s spine. A family Christmas? The last one he’d done of those had seen him leave the house he was meant to call home. For good. He shook his head. ‘I appreciate the gesture, Roger. It’s kind of you. But I couldn’t impose. I mean, I can do the awards. But Christmas is for family.’ And I don’t do family. Or Christmas.
‘Are you and Serena still married?’ Roger inquired as he set himself down at the table.
‘Technically. She hasn’t made any legal moves yet.’
‘And does that make you my son-in-law?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘Then I think it’s high time we had ourselves a proper family Christmas. Don’t you think so, pet?’ Roger glanced up at Marjorie as she set a plate of food in front of him with a soft ‘thunk’.
A soft thunk. Not a sharp one. Not a whack or a smack that would indicate that despite Roger offering Ritchie a place at Christmas dinner, she actually wanted him to leave as soon as he’d performed at the awards.
And was that a gleam in her eye? A knowing look passed between the elder members of the Hunter family. Why did he have a feeling that a whole conversation had taken place without him being privy to a single word of it?
‘I think it’ll be great to have someone here to peel the potatoes and carrots on Christmas day.’ Marjorie’s gleaming eyes met his, a smile deepening the marionette lines on either side of her mouth.
Ritchie nodded, not trusting himself to speak without his voice cracking with the emotion choking his body.
If Serena’s parents could give him a second chance then perhaps their daughter could too.
He wasn’t giving up. He was going to find a way to win Serena back.
CHAPTER SIX
‘For someone who wants nothing to do with me you’ve a funny way of showing it.’ Ritchie’s bemused tone floated from the front door towards the counter, where Serena was boxing up chocolates.
‘No idea what you’re on about,’ Serena muttered, concentrating on the work at hand. Placing the last peppermint cream chocolate in the box, she flipped the lid down, sealed it with a gold sticker emblazoned with ‘The Sweetest Thing’ in maroon script, tied curling green and red ribbon around it, and added it to the pile, ready to hopefully be snatched up by eager shoppers looking for last-minute Christmas gifts when the doors officially opened in two hours’ time. ‘There. Done.’
Serena shifted her attention to Ritchie, who was lolling against the open front door. His black motorcycle boots made way for faded black denim jeans that clung to his legs in all the right places, emphasising his muscular thighs, honed to perfection, not from the gym, but from hours spent traipsing over the stage. A red and black plaid flannelette shirt peaked out from underneath…
Serena started. Surely not? ‘Er, Ritchie? Is that my dad’s woollen jumper?’
‘Yeah, it is.’ Ritchie plucked at piece of pilled wool and let it float to the floor. ‘He lent it to me. I wasn’t quite prepared for an English winter. I’m too used to our Malibu winters.’
Serena inwardly cringed at the mention of ‘our’. Ritchie still saw her life as with him. As part of his. Clearly her attempt to make him see otherwise had failed.
‘I take it you and Dad are getting on alright then?’ Serena picked up a flattened box and shaped it into a square. ‘And if you’re just going to stand there doing nothing you can come in and help. The shop’s due to open and I’ve more chocolates that need boxing up.’
Ritchie sauntered in and picked up a box. ‘Sure, anything you want, Serena.’
Bloody hell. Why did he have to say that in a totally double entendre way? In that low and husky tone which promised nights of pleasure, days of hedonism, anything and everything she wanted. And what kind of fool was she to ask him into her space right now? It was her body doing the talking, obviously. Pity she needed her body to do the work around here, because it seemed her head was the only thing thinking clearly.
‘Shall I make the boxes up and you arrange the chocolates in them?’ Ritchie raised an inquiring eyebrow. A seemingly innocent question, but again Serena knew it was more than that; it was an offer of compromise. But she knew Ritchie’s kind of compromises – they ended up with him getting what he wanted. With her folding to please him, because that’s what had always happened in the past. Not anymore.
She curled her fingers under, digging her nails into the palms of her hands. She would not budge. She would not give in. Ritchie could try all he liked. ‘Sure. Sounds like a plan. Just be gentle with the boxes when you’re putting them together. Fold them gently. I don’t want them looking a hot mess.’
‘Like us now, you mean.’ Ritchie’s hair fell in front of his face as he looked down and flexed the folds of a box. Serena couldn’t tell if he was joking, or making a poignant point. The stillness in his shoulders suggested the latter.
‘We’re not a mess, Ritchie. We’re just in different places. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. It’s given me room to grow. Confidence. The chance to find out who I am. Perhaps it could do the same for you, if you let it.’ Serena’s heart cramped. If only Ritchie understood how his inability to let her in, to let anyone in, had been the major reason she had to leave.
If only he could change. Perhaps then they’d have a chance. Except that kind of ch
ange would mean him upending his life and moving here. And she couldn’t see that happening. Living in a small village would strangle his creativity, and his music gave so many people so much pleasure. Music gave him so much pleasure. She couldn’t take that away.
‘So, leaving me to start your own shop was how you found your self-belief? Found yourself? You know I would’ve paid for a chocolate shop to be built from scratch for you if I knew it would have made you happy, made you feel whole. I still would if it meant you’d come home.’
The carefree grin and teasing tone didn’t hide the desolation in Ritchie’s eyes. Her heart, already so tight with, began to feel like it was making a break for her throat.
The Ritchie next to her wasn’t the cocky rock star who had the world at his feet, it was a man who was suffering. And only she had the ability to soothe him, to comfort him. To make him happy again. There was only one thing to do. Distract herself before she caved.
‘Come on, Ritchie. Let’s go get a coffee. There’s time before the doors open and I’ve been up since four.’ She went to grab his hand as she had a million times before, before stopping herself, but not quickly enough that Ritchie didn’t notice her hand jerk in his direction.
‘You always had the softest hands, Serena.’ He reached out and encircled her wrist, bringing her to him. Flipping her hand over, he inspected her palm. He ran his fingers over the lines. Head line, heart line, joined as one. Fused. A palm reader she’d met at one of Ritchie’s musician friends’ parties had told her that it meant she was to live life like few others would. That what she felt and thought were indistinguishable. That whatever she decided on she would make happen, no matter what it meant to those around her. Serena had thought it codswallop at the time. Those lines on her hand were just one of those things that happened sometimes. But now? Now that she’d hurt Ritchie by choosing herself? Now that she’d upset her mother by choosing the chocolate shop over the farm?
Now she needed to stop thinking and figure out how to escape Ritchie, whose stroking of her palm was sending tingles up her wrist, not to mention somewhere a little lower. The world spun as the dizziness that overwhelmed her whenever they were close took hold.
She sucked in a breath, only to feel herself wilt, her knees becoming as soft as the cream in the peppermint chocolates, and her mind as thick and heady as the aroma coming from the kitchen – a remnant of that morning’s cooking. Her resistance to the man in front of her – with his luminous blue eyes, sensuous lips, and face as angular and hard as a cliff face – well, it was fading, and fast.
Get. Out. Now. Serena.
Serena shook her head and focused on the door a metre away. ‘Seriously, Ritchie. Could you just give me some space? For once in your life?’
Ritchie released her wrist, his lazy lopsided smile disappearing, in its place a frown that revealed parallel lines running between his eyes. Had they been there before she left? Or had her leaving been the cause of them? She grabbed her tote and shooed the thought away. It didn’t matter either way. He wasn’t her priority anymore. Worrying about him wasn’t going to help the situation. She just had to believe that Ritchie would be fine without her. Just as she was going to be fine without him. Eventually.
***
They headed to a café down the road, where the door opened with a welcoming jangle of bells, and Serena looked up to see a warm smile on the woman behind the counter.
‘Serena. It’s been too long. I’ve missed you.’ The woman walked around the counter, her arms open for a hug.
‘Ha ha. Funny, Mel. It’s been just over sixteen hours.’
Ritchie watched, amused, as Serena embraced the woman, then playfully tapped her on the arse.
‘Would you look at that bum of yours, it’s filling out along with that stomach. Beautiful. I swear you glow more by the hour.’ Serena broke the hug and admired Mel’s small, rounded stomach, enwrapped in a white fifties-style dress featuring a holly print.
‘Oh, shush, you.’ Mel waved the compliment away. ‘I’m not glowing. But I am growing. I’ve had major hankerings for burgers and strawberry milkshakes. It’s all I eat. Poor child’s going to pop out thinking it should run some sort of American-style diner.’
‘Sounds good to me.’ Serena grinned. ‘Growing up knowing what you want to be sounds a hell of a lot easier than doing it my way.’
‘Serena,’ chided Ritchie. ‘Don’t swear in front of the baby.’ He held his hand out to Serena’s friend. ‘Hi, I’m Ritchie. Serena’s husband. Pleased to meet you.’
‘Husband?’ Mel’s brows furrowed together and her eyes snapped from Ritchie to Serena.
‘Well first of all, it’s ex-husband. We just haven’t made it official yet.’ Serena rolled her eyes. ‘And second of all, I really don’t think the baby is at the stage where it can comprehend a good word from a bad word. And all I said was ‘hell’. I have far worse words I could use if I really wanted to traumatise it.’
‘When did you become a baby expert?’ Ritchie retorted, hurt from the use of ‘ex’, and annoyed she could use the word so freely.
‘I didn’t. It’s called common sense,’ Serena shot back.
‘Hey, you two.’ Mel held her hands up. ‘No scrapping in the café.’
‘Fair enough. Sorry.’ Ritchie took in the lay of the land and spotted an empty table. ‘Serena, how about you take a seat over there and I’ll get us some coffee.’
Serena nodded and walked to the table, sank down into one of the chairs, buried her head in her hands and began massaging her temples. Something was up with her, and he wasn’t going to let Serena use her common ‘I just need caffeine’ excuse to get out of whatever conversation they clearly needed to have.
‘Now what can I get you?’ Mel’s hands fell to her bump, her hands clasping the roundness in a loving, protective fashion. ‘And, can I say – though let’s not be awkward about this – it’s great to meet you. I’m a long-time fan.’
‘Well it’s good to meet you too.’ Ritchie returned her smile, the rush of meeting a fan momentarily easing the worry weighing on his mind. ‘I’d love a long black, a flat white for Serena, and an orange and date scone, with butter please.’
‘Absolutely.’ Mel went to the coffee machine and began to make the shots. ‘You can take a seat if you want. I’ll bring the coffees and scone over.’
‘No, it’s cool. I’ll hang out up here. No point making a pregnant woman walk more than necessary.’ Ritchie anchored his elbows on the counter and smiled at the barista. He could wait for the coffees and pump Mel for information on Serena at the same time. ‘So how long have you known Serena?’
Mel poured milk into the jug and began to steam it. ‘Oh, since she arrived home. She comes in a couple of times a day for her fix. She’s a good woman. Talented chocolatier too. I’ve started using her syrup for my hot chocolates. Best I’ve ever tasted.’ Mel’s face broke into a smile. ‘Oh, and I love her fashion sense. It’s so nice to see someone wear so much colour.’
Ritchie glanced over his shoulder at Serena, resplendent in neon pink figure-hugging jeans, a canary yellow cable knit sweater and purple high-top sneakers. ‘Yeah she’s always had her own sense of style. Glad to see that country life hasn’t changed everything about her.’
‘You think she’s changed?’ Mel passed the long black to Ritchie and poured the milk into Serena’s coffee cup with a practised flourish.
Ritchie shrugged. ‘Seems so to me. Never knew her to be so driven, so ambitious. Setting up her family’s farm so it’ll make more money, and now setting up her own shop? It’s not the Serena I know. Knew.’ He corrected himself.
‘Yeah, we were all surprised when Serena leased the shop. We thought she was back on the family farm once and for all. At least, that’s what her mother was crowing to anyone who’d listen. I’m glad she’s opening the chocolate shop though…’ Mel patted the bump. ‘This one likes its sweets. As do my nephews. Poor Jody and Christian, they’re going to go broke.
All the boys do is talk about that shop opening… It’s the grand opening today, isn’t it?’
The jangle of shop bells filled the café, startling Ritchie.
‘Speaking of the little devils.’
‘Hey, Aunty Mel!’ two voices chorused.
Ritchie turned to see two identical faces eyeing him with curiosity. A blonde woman came bustling in behind them, followed by the guy who’d saved his freezing arse the other night, Christian.
‘Tyler. Jordan.’ Mel nodded at the boys as she placed Ritchie’s scone on a dainty pink plate with gold trim. ‘I guess you’re here for something healthy to eat? An apple perhaps? Or a carrot with hummus?’
‘Yuck, Aunty Mel. Gross.’
‘No, we want cake. Chocolate cake.’
‘What does your mum have to say about that?’ Mel grinned.
‘Mum says give them what they want if it’ll give me a moment’s peace.’ The blonde woman winked and turned her attention to Ritchie.
‘So, you’re Ritchie.’ The woman stuck her hand out. ‘I’m Jody, Serena’s oldest friend. These are my boys, Jordan and Tyler. And I hear you’ve already met Christian.’
Ritchie straightened and squared his shoulders as the woman’s gaze ran up and down his form. Why did he have a feeling he was being judged and found wanting? Or was it something Serena had said to Jody? He forced himself to relax his rigid grin into an easy smile. ‘Nice to meet you. You’re a lucky woman being married to Christian. He’s a modern hero. I think he saved me from dying of frostbite the other night.’
‘Yeah, he’s a good man. I’ll keep him on.’
Ritchie averted his gaze, as the squirming in his stomach strengthened. Were those pointed words? Was she saying he wasn’t a good man? That he wasn’t worth keeping on?
‘Here’s the butter to go with your scone, Ritchie.’ Mel pushed the plate in his directions. ‘Escape the madness and go sit with Serena. I’ll bring the coffees over.’
‘But I said—’ Ritchie’s protest was shut down by the lifting of Mel’s palm.
Christmas at the Second Chance Chocolate Shop Page 8