And you should back off, Serena told herself as the world around her went lopsided when the oh-so familiar swoon took hold. She should back off, send him away and get back into the kitchen. If she was busy, she wouldn’t have time to see the intent in Ritchie’s sapphire sparklers. Wouldn’t have to remember how his lips were as plump as hers, but sharper-edged and capable of demanding things from her that she could give no other man.
He brought her towards him, his muscular calves linking over the backs of hers, locking her into position.
‘Damn it, Ritchie.’ The words came out husky, desperate. But desperate for what? For him? To get away from him? Her heart and head couldn’t come to an agreement.
His fingers, soft on her back, stroked rhythmically, while the silkiness of her shirt slipping over her bare skin tantalised. Her shins caught on the stool’s footrest as resistance fled and lust took hold.
She bit her lip then released it, as Ritchie’s mouth hovered above hers, the edges tipped up ever so slightly before they grew closer still.
‘If you want to. It’s up to you. I’m not pushing,’ he whispered, his breath tickling her lips, setting them on fire.
Her hands captured Ritchie’s face. She could move away. Or she could move closer. It was up to her. She had control.
And she liked it.
She brushed his lips with her own. Sampled their softness. One touch wasn’t enough. She moaned softly, giving in to herself, as their lips met. Hot. Demanding.
His mouth opened to her as hers opened to him, their tongues finding each other, devouring each other. Ritchie’s hands left her waist and tangled in her hair, bringing her closer, deeper. Her body leaned into his, melding as her hands ran up and down his back, settling on his neck as his lips left hers and kissed along her jawline, trailing down her neck, nibbling along her shoulder. A groan filled the air.
Except it wasn’t from her mouth. And Ritchie wasn’t a groaner.
‘Oh, God. I’m blind. Or I want to be. I mean, I was expecting to see some treats… but not this kind of treat…’
Ritchie bobbed back up from Serena’s shoulder and nodded politely to the woman hovering at the open door. ‘Sorry, and you are?’
‘Mrs Harper.’ Serena breathed the word out, dread pushing away the passion.
‘Serena. Your mother said you and this fellow had broken up. Is that no longer the case? She usually tells me everything, so I’d have expected to hear about this.’
Serena turned around, inch by inch, not wanting to face the town’s biggest gossip, but knowing she was going to have to if she had any chance of damage control. ‘Mrs Harper, meet Ritchie. Ritchie, meet Mrs Harper. And no, Mrs Harper, we’re not back together. Ritchie was just helping me…’ She cast about for a decent excuse.
‘Helping you find your tongue?’ Mrs Harper cackled. ‘Reminding you where your shoulder was?’
‘He was helping me tie my apron.’ The words came out as lame as the excuse.
‘And I’d gladly do it again.’ Ritchie winked as he slipped off the stool. ‘Now I’d better get going. Promised your mum I’d help feed the cows and clean out the shed. I’ll let her know you’re coming home tonight for family dinner?’ Ritchie grinned before tipping an imaginary hat to Mrs Harper as he sauntered out of the shop.
Bollocks. Serena strode to the window and flipped the sign to ‘Closed’. Family dinner. The kiss had made her forget she’d said that particular white lie to poor Jack. And it seemed Ritchie wasn’t going to let her out of it. She touched her lips, still hot and tender from their kiss. And maybe, just maybe, she was a little happy about that.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘You sure make a good roast chicken, Marjorie.’ Ritchie lifted his glass of beer in appreciation. ‘And these roast potatoes? The finest I’ve had in years.’
‘Suck up,’ Serena murmured under her breath.
‘Serena.’ Marjorie raised her eyebrows, and waggled her fork at Serena. ‘That was uncalled for. Apologise, please.’
Okay, apparently she should’ve murmured more quietly. ‘Sorry, Mum.’ But she wasn’t. She was too flummoxed at the sight before her to feel apologetic. Since when had Ritchie and her mother got on? And why was she treating him like the son she’d never had? She could’ve had this for ten years for Pete’s sake but she hadn’t wanted to know him.
‘How’d the first official day on the job go, Serena?’ Her father gave an encouraging smile and Serena’s heart warmed. For all the issues that existed between herself and her mother, her father had done his best to not take sides, while still encouraging Serena to do what made her happy.
‘Good thanks, Dad. There was a decent queue at the door when I opened. People popped in and out all day. Most of them bought something, which is great. Don’t know that I’m going to be rich anytime soon, but the online store’s ticking along nicely, and Tony’s just put in a standing order for complimentary chocolates for guests staying at The Bullion, so things are on the up.’ Serena speared a green bean and bit into it, enjoying the way it still tasted as fresh and green as the day she’d harvested and snap frozen them. ‘You and Mum should come in some time and check it out.’
Serena glanced out the corner of her eye just in time to see her mother’s face lose all expression. Serena’s stomach shrunk. She placed the half-eaten bean back on her plate. Why couldn’t her mother just accept that Serena was walking her own path? Or at least pretend to be supportive.
‘You should taste the chocolate milk Serena has created.’ Ritchie’s foot touched hers under the table. A fleeting smile aimed her way saw his eyes crinkle at the edges. ‘It’s amazing. The best I’ve ever tried.’
Ritchie was going to back her up here apparently, in trying to make her mother see sense. But why? Wasn’t it in his interest for The Sweetest Thing to fail so she’d see him as a viable option? So she’d return to him, tail between legs, rather than swallow her pride and return to the family farm?
‘I’m glad she’s entered it in the Product of the Year category. I’m sure it will win. I can’t imagine anything could beat it.’ Ritchie continued, ignorant to the tensing of her mother’s shoulders.
But Serena hadn’t failed to notice. A look at her mother to see if there’d been a hint of interest in her daughter’s achievements was met with a further tightening of lips.
‘It’s good you have, Serena.’ Roger laid his hand over Serena’s and gave it a squeeze. ‘If you get into the finals, or even win, it would be a great boost to you, and to the farm. People would see all the hard work you put into creating that chocolate milk of yours, and they’d see how going free-range has the flow-on effect of better tasting milk.’
‘They’d have seen that if Serena hadn’t pulled out of the Young Farmer of the Year award, Roger.’ Marjorie stabbed at a pea, wrinkled her nose at it, then set her fork down.
Serena pushed her plate away. ‘I’m sorry I took myself out of the running for that category, Mum. But to stay would have made me a fraud. I’m not a farmer anymore. I never really was.’
Marjorie followed suit and pushed her plate towards the centre of the table. ‘You were every bit the farmer, Serena. You upped milk production. Planted out enough kale that the girls were well-nourished in the lead up to winter. Something I’d not thought to do in all my years of farming.’
‘God, Mum. I just read about it on the internet and thought I’d give it a go. Doesn’t make me special or anything…’ Serena cursed herself for trying to beat her boredom by attempting to apply herself. She’d only proved her mother’s misguided beliefs.
Ritchie snorted into his beer. ‘Cows eat kale? How Californian of them. Do they do yoga as well?’
‘They prefer Pilates,’ Serena shot back. ‘And kale’s good for them.’
‘See, Serena. This is what I’m getting at. You can deny who you are all you want, but you were born to be a farmer. All we Hunter women are. It’s in our blood.’
‘What’s in our blood
is milk, Mum. And creating. And I’m using one to do the other. God, it’s like you don’t want me to be happy.’
‘Of course I want you to be happy. But I also want you at home. Because I miss you.’ Marjorie’s chest heaved slow and steady, as if she were trying to control her emotions. ‘I’ve always missed you. And I worry so much. At least if you’re here I can take care of you. Ensure you never come home looking the way you did when you arrived on our doorstep all those months ago. Tired, beaten and sad.’
‘Mum, you’re being dramatic.’ Serena kept her gaze on the table, not wanting Ritchie to see the truth in her mother’s words. To know how not being with him had taken its toll. How it stole her joy, her happiness, leaving her barely able to sleep or eat. How, had she not hatched her plan to start her shop, she’d have still been living in that miserable state without him.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw her father’s hand touch her mother’s, then squeeze it in a sign of unspoken support.
‘When you left that first time I cried every night for a month, Serena. And then every second night for a month. Then when the tears came no more I resorted to counting down the days until you’d come home from boarding school so we could be a family again. Except you didn’t. You went to university, met Ritchie and began your grand adventure without looking back. Then you came home, gave me hope that you were going to stay, then left again. Every time you choose someone else or something else over your home, my heart aches.’ A tear trailed down Marjorie’s cheek. She swiped it away. ‘You’d have thought I’d have had enough tears to last a lifetime. And would you look at that. There’s one more to add to the pile.’ She attempted a smile, her lips trembling as they lifted at the edges, only to sink down once more.
Serena’s chest tightened as more tears formed in her mother’s eyes. Part of her yearned to run, to escape the emotions, the guilt that was choking her, but she couldn’t leave a family dinner like this. It had started off so well, and she could see her mother was trying. She hated roast chicken, yet she’d made it knowing it was Serena’s favourite.
Serena stood, went to her mother’s side and laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘God, Mum, I had no idea. We fought so often when I was younger, heck, even now we go toe-to-toe… I guess I figured you would be happy to see the back of me. It’s how I justified leaving.’
Marjorie swiped away another tear with the cuff of her sleeve. ‘Serena, you’re my only child. I wanted to give you the world. Our world. And you didn’t want it. You still don’t. It’s hard for me to understand that. I fought against your freedom, fought for you to stay on the farm, because I didn’t want to lose you. And in doing that you did the one thing I feared, you left. All I’ve ever wanted is to be part of your life. For you to be part of ours.’
Serena sank down and took her mother’s hand. ‘And I do want to be part of your life. You’re my mum. I love you. But I need you to accept that I have to go my own way. That being a Hunter woman doesn’t mean being a farmer. It means being strong. Like you.’
‘I don’t feel strong right now.’ Fresh tears glistened on Marjorie’s lower lashes.
‘There is strength in tears, Mum. It shows you care. You love. It shows that our relationship matters, to both of us.’ Serena blinked as her mother blurred before her. She reached for her wine glass. ‘To starting afresh?’
‘To starting afresh.’ Marjorie clinked her glass against Serena’s, then set it down with a shuddering breath, before wiping away her tears and attempting a smile. ‘Now who’s up for a game of cards?’
***
‘Snap!’ Ritchie cackled as his hand landed over two pairs of Queens, beating Serena out by a fraction of a second. ‘I can’t believe I’m sitting at a table in the middle of nowhere playing card games and not hating it,’ he grinned, as he drew his bounty of cards towards him.
‘And I can’t believe you’ve never had bread and butter pudding.’ Marjorie slapped another card on the table. Her eyes were still red from her earlier tears, but her smile was buoyant. As was her daughter’s.
Ritchie’s chest swelled with quiet joy. No matter what happened with he and Serena at least he knew she would be happy here. That she would be taken care of and supported.
‘Honestly, what kind of mother doesn’t make that for her kids growing up?’ Marjorie clucked her tongue. ‘It was always a staple in our house. Serena had it. I had it as a child. My mother raved about the version my granny would make. Added chocolate chips and dried apricots to hers apparently.’
‘See, a love of chocolate does run in the family.’ The tip of Serena’s tongue stuck out between her lips.
‘I do believe that’s just a love of dessert in general, dear.’ Marjorie tossed another card on the table, then fixed Ritchie with a questioning eye. ‘What kind of puddings did your mother make you, Ritchie? Come to think of it, we know nothing about your family. You really must tell us about them.’
Ritchie’s pulse picked up pace. He hated talking about his past, and his family. At the beginning of his career he’d avoided any questions directed at him by journalists by making light of the fact that he was the runt of a large Catholic family and joking about how stereotypical they were. Anything to hide that his childhood had been one of poverty, misery and bullying.
He hadn’t even told Serena the full story. He’d kept his childhood murky. Brushed it off as your standard big family with no money affair, never revealing how brutal things really were. He was worried that it would make him look weak and that the truth of his childhood would repulse her, maybe even give her a reason to leave him.
If he had known then what he knew now, he’d have been better off telling her ages ago – he’d have spared himself the extra dose of heartache that losing the woman he’d loved for ten years had brought.
‘Geez, Mum. Give the man a break. You’ve spent all of a few days with him and you want to know his life story?’ Serena’s foot touched his under the table. It was her turn to rescue him, the same way she always had. Was this her way of saying they were still a team? This, combined with that hot as hell kiss they’d shared earlier that day – well, he couldn’t help but wonder if the answer was ‘yes’.
‘What’s wrong with me wanting to get to know Ritchie better? Isn’t it about time I got to know my son-in-law? Especially now that he’s playing at the awards, as well as staying with us until after Christmas.’
Serena’s eyebrow arched in surprise. ‘You’re playing at the awards? Really? Isn’t it a little… low rent… for you?’
Ritchie shrugged. ‘Figured it was the least I could do. Your mother’s giving me free board and food.’
‘In exchange for labour, remember?’ Serena tossed a card down, not looking to see whether it created a match or not. ‘I don’t get it. Did you agree to play at the awards because it would keep you here longer? Because it would give you more time to work on this mad idea of yours to get me back?’
Hope fled Ritchie’s heart. The kiss meant nothing. Neither had Serena’s show of having his back just now. Yet had he detected a hint of waver in her voice? Was she slowly talking herself out of leaving him? Maybe she didn’t even know it herself. ‘Shock horror, Serena, but this isn’t about you. Or us. I just thought it’d be a fun gig.’
‘Fun gig?’ Serena’s nose crinkled in disbelief. ‘When people find out you’re playing they’ll flock into town. You’ll turn our awards ceremony into a media debacle.’
‘Not true.’ Ritchie threw another card on the table, not even checking to see if it was his turn or not. ‘You forget the cone of silence is in place. No one will say a thing.’
‘Is that so?’ Serena turned to her mother. ‘And have you told Mrs Harper Ritchie’s playing? Ritchie, you remember Mrs Harper? She’s the woman who walked in on us today when we were… arranging chocolates. The woman can’t keep a secret to save her life. She’s probably already told half the town about how we were arranging chocolates.’
‘Serena, Shirley w
ouldn’t give two hoots about the arrangement of chocolates. And…’ Marjorie focussed on her cards as something that looked suspiciously like guilt darkened her eyes. ‘I’ve sworn her to secrecy about all the things I’ve told her about Ritchie. Not that I have to, mind. Shirley, of all people, knows the importance of keeping things quiet – after all, how many times has her son had to hide away from all his rugby fans here? Whatever she talks about with other people won’t go any further than the village.’
‘Erm… just how were you two arranging these chocolates?’ Roger interrupted, a gleam in his eye. ‘Don’t tell me you were making rude shapes with them?’
A flush of red crept up Serena’s chest, hitting her cheeks. ‘Um, something like that, Dad. It was a quiet moment in the shop and we were just having fun. That’s all.’
‘Riiiiight.’ Roger nodded, as silent laughter shook his shoulders.
‘What am I missing?’ Marjorie’s gaze whipped between the three of them. ‘And we haven’t finished the conversation I started. I want to know about Ritchie’s life.’
‘Mum, seriously.’ Serena touched Marjorie’s forearm, a pleading look in her eyes. ‘Just look up Ritchie on the internet like everyone else does. You’ll find all you need to know. Ritchie is one of seven children. He’s the youngest. His mother stayed at home, his father worked as a groundsman at the local school. The end. I’m sick of Snap. Should we play Last Card?’
‘Good idea.’ Ritchie brought the abandoned cards towards him and started setting them into a neat pile, shuffled them, then began to deal them out.
‘Being one of seven must’ve been hard.’ Marjorie spun her wine glass round in a slow circle. ‘Especially being the youngest. Can’t have had much in the way of money…’
Serena swiped up the cards Ritchie had dealt. ‘What part of leave it alone are you not understanding, Mum? Ritchie’s life is on constant display, maybe there are some parts of it he’d rather not have picked over?’
Christmas at the Second Chance Chocolate Shop Page 10