‘You really missed that, didn’t you?’ Ritchie faced the front of the car, shoulders slumped and a hangdog look plastered on his face that, against her better judgement, Serena wanted to kiss away just to see him smile again.
‘I know we didn’t do traditional Christmas, but we did celebrate. In a fashion.’
‘Ritchie, we had wasted people passed out in various parts of the house. We had tequila shots instead of turkey. We had your band playing old hits instead of Christmas carols.’ Serena turned into the farm’s drive. ‘Oh, shit. Ritchie, duck your head, pretend you’re looking at your phone and angle your head so they see your bun and think you’re a girl.’
Serena glared at the photographers stalking the entrance, their camera flashes momentarily blinding her as she drove in as fast as she could, hopefully splattering them with mud.
‘Did they see me?’
Ritchie’s voice was tense with worry. Who’d have thought there would be a day when Ritchie Dangerfield wasn’t courting the attention of the press? Another change she hadn’t seen coming. Maybe… maybe that meant there was a chance he could survive in Rabbits Leap. More than survive. Perhaps he could thrive. And if he could maybe there was a chance they could be ‘them’ again.
She shook off the newly discovered optimism. There wasn’t any point wondering if Ritchie was changing, transforming into the man she’d always needed him to be. He was a musician. A famous, successful one. And he loved both the music and the attention. Even if Rabbits Leap had worked some kind of magic, causing him to be honest with her, to show her why he’d been the way he was for the duration of their marriage, she couldn’t expect him to give up his life, his career. Especially as she wasn’t willing to meet him halfway.
Her chocolate shop meant as much to her as his music did to him. And she was no more likely to leave that than he was to leave the one thing he loved as much, if not more, than he did her.
‘No, I don’t think so. I think the disguise worked. Thank God your hair’s longer these days. That bun idea of yours was a stroke of genius. Especially centring it off to the side like that and adding in a few sprigs of flowers. You make a great girl.’ Serena fluttered her eyelashes and grinned as she pulled up as close as she could to the back door.
Ritchie poked his tongue out, gave her a mock glare and went to reply but was interrupted by the back door opening. Marjorie ran out, a blanket tucked under her arm. ‘Oh, my darling girls, you must be freezing,’ she crowed. ‘Put this blanket on and come in before you catch your death.’
‘Mum, you don’t have to yell.’ Serena craned her neck and peered into the night, searching for any trespassers. Certain the coast was clear, she gave Ritchie the thumbs up and he stepped out of the car into Marjorie’s blanketed embrace.
She arranged the blanket so it covered his head like a hood and draped over his body. ‘There, that’ll keep prying eyes out until you’re in the house,’ she murmured, tugging the hood down a touch further. ‘Now get in quick. Dinner’s nearly ready and I was thinking we could do the tree after.’
‘Sounds good, Mum.’ Serena waited for her mother and Ritchie to pass, snuck one last look around the backyard, then tried to walk as casually as she could inside. She shut and locked the door, before pulling the curtain across the door window to be extra safe. Relief washed over her when she saw her mother had done the same to the rest of the kitchen’s windows, and no doubt through the rest of the house too.
‘I won’t be having that riffraff ruining my first proper family Christmas in more years than I care to count.’ Marjorie threaded her arm around Serena’s waist and gave it a squeeze.
‘Cheers to that.’ Serena kissed her mum on the cheek. ‘Speaking of “cheers”. Who wants a wine? Mum?’ Serena registering her mother’s interest, opened the fridge door, fished out a bottle of Pinot Gris, grabbed glasses from the cupboard next to it, and poured two decent measures.
She set a glass in front of her mother who was mashing a healthy knob of butter into a steaming pile of potatoes. ‘Can I help?’
‘You know how to cook vegetables?’ Ritchie’s mouth dropped open. ‘I thought you only knew how to order them.’
‘Oh, shush, you. Remember when we first got together? When we’d come home from late night gigs and there was always a plate in the fridge with meat and veg and whatnot on it? Who do you think made that? The food fairies?’
‘I figured it was a takeaway you’d picked up during the day.’
‘Or cooked up.’
‘You’re a woman of hidden talents, Serena, I’ll give you that. Knitting. Cooking. Chocolate making. Business running. However will you surprise me next?’ Ritchie smoothed down his skirt, then glanced up at Serena, his eyebrow arched, awaiting an answer to his question.
Damn, even dressed in full girl’s gear he was hot as all get out. Too hot for her to go near. One night, or a few, carried too much risk of her falling under his spell again. Of bending to his will. Of leaving all she’d created just to make him happy.
‘No more surprises here.’ She nudged her mother away from the pot and took over the mashing. ‘What you see is what you get. Chocolate creation. Business success. That’s all I want.’
‘Sounds lonely.’ Ritchie’s tone was matter-of-fact, but there was a tinge of sadness in there as well, as if he now accepted things were done between them.
‘A busy person doesn’t get lonely.’ Serena lied through her teeth.
‘Besides, she’s got us. Right, Rog?’ Marjorie pulled the casserole dish out of the oven, set it on the stovetop and took the lid off, a flourish of steam puffed out into the air.
‘Of course, the girl’s got us. We’re not going anywhere.’
Serena looked up in her father’s direction and shot him a small smile. As always, he had her back, and right now, whether Ritchie knew it or not, her father was very much implying that leaving Serena was a daft idea.
Serena picked up the pot of mash and spooned it into a serving bowl, then placed it in front of Ritchie. She kept her head down, but from under her eyelashes she could see him chewing on his upper lip.
Her dad had got to him. Good.
‘Shall I pop the plates in the oven to warm for a sec, Mum?’ she asked, smiling to herself.
‘Yes please. And Ritchie, can you get the knives and forks out? They’re in the top drawer just to the right of the sink.’
Without a word Ritchie left his chair and went to the cutlery drawer, his shoulder grazing Serena’s as he passed, and her hip brushing against his as she followed him around the table, filling the water glasses after he’d set out the knives and forks. Unapologetic smiles passed between them as each little contact created a hum, then a drone, then a silent buzz that filled the space around them with the intensity of the air before a storm.
So much for keeping away. It was like their bodies were determined to get them back together.
‘Is it just me, or is it getting a little hot in here?’ Roger chuckled to himself.
‘It’s the oven, Roger. It’s been on for hours.’ Marjorie’s lips quirked.
Serena caught her father grinning into his beer. Her parents were looking to play cupid. She’d have to tell them later on, in private, that it would be better for everyone to point their arrows elsewhere. Just as she’d have to demand her own body stop aiming for Ritchie every time he came near.
***
Serena took a step back, folded her arms over her chest, her lips pursing, eyes narrowing, as she inspected the tree she’d cut down that morning, that was now ensconced in the lounge.
A lump appeared out of nowhere in Ritchie’s throat. Serena looked beyond beautiful. Returning to Rabbits Leap had caused the dynamic woman he’d loved to grow into herself. There was a serenity about her. She’d found her purpose and it fulfilled her. All this time he’d thought their love was enough for Serena. Thought he’d been enough. That idea had been turned on its head, then whisked round like a spinning top when
she’d up and left.
He coughed into his clenched fist to dislodge the growing knot, knowing the act wouldn’t move it. Unlike a chunk of food that could be nudged along, this lump was all emotion and until he figured out what to do about Serena, how to live without her, he didn’t think that uncomfortable lump was going anywhere.
‘You alright there, Ritchie?’ Serena’s attention moved from the tree to him. A line crinkled between her eyebrows as her eyes searched his, looking for an answer he wasn’t about to give.
‘Fine, Serena. Just a tickle in the throat. Nothing to worry about.’ Ritchie waved her concern away.
‘Well make sure you have a spoonful of honey. Can’t have you getting sick since you’re meant to be performing at the awards tomorrow night.’ Serena paused. ‘Actually, will you still be performing? You’re meant to be going incognito. That’s hardly keeping things on the down low.’
Ritchie dropped down onto the battered hazelnut-coloured leather couch. ‘I promised your mum I would and I don’t break my promises. Besides, that lot around the gate will have given up by tomorrow. They’ll figure out there’s no story to be had and will have buggered off home.’
‘Well let’s hope so.’ Serena fingers brushed over the fir needles. ‘I’d much rather you perform than the local band. They’re terrible. As you’ll find out at the Christmas Day Parade. Unless of course you decided to perform at that too …’
‘He will not. Christmas is a family day, and we’ll be spending it together.’
Marjorie bustled in with a large box in her arms. ‘Here are the decorations. If you’re hoping for one of those colour-coordinated jobs then you’re out of luck. I’ve stuck to buying three decorations each year, every year – even the ones you weren’t here for, Serena – so it’s all a bit random.’ She dropped the box at Serena’s feet and placed her hands on her hips, her head angled identically to Serena’s as they considered the tree.
Ritchie grinned to himself. God, they were alike. He glanced at Roger who was sitting on the other couch, a glass of whiskey in hand, his gaze focussed on his wife, with a hint of a smile on his lips and adoration in his eyes.
Roger clearly felt the same way about his wife as Ritchie did Serena. Maybe there was something in that? Maybe Roger could explain to him how to re-win the heart of a Hunter woman.
‘Oh!’ Serena clapped her hands and jumped up and down. ‘I forgot something. Don’t put a decoration on that tree until I come back. I’ll only be a minute.’ She bounced from the room, her footsteps echoing down the hall.
‘What’s that girl up to now?’ Marjorie bent down, opened the box and pulled out a decoration. A fuzzy white snowman with silver tinsel wrapped around his neck in a scarf-like fashion and a black top hat atop his head. ‘This was the first decoration I bought for Serena. Look…’ She turned it to face Ritchie. ‘No nose. Serena bit it off.’ She brushed her thumb over its fuzzy body, then placed it back in the box.
‘I’m back.’ Serena’s arms were full of knitted jumpers in a startling array of colours. ‘I knitted us Christmas jumpers. This one’s for you, Dad.’
Roger held up a bright green jumper, with a reindeer knitted on the front. Except it wasn’t in tones of brown, it was yellow and pink, with a bright orange nose. ‘Well. That’s… festive.’
‘I know, right? Try it on.’ Serena passed a jumper to Marjorie. ‘Here’s yours, Mum.’
‘Oh, it’s very purple.’ Marjorie lifted it up to her frame to test it for size. ‘It looks like it’ll fit. Though I can’t say I’ve ever seen a Christmas pud in shades of magenta, tangerine and cerulean.’
‘Well I didn’t want to be too traditional with it. Had to put my Serena stamp on the designs. Check mine out.’ She held it up, her smile as bright as the tomato-red wool she’d used – and as open as the naked Santa knitted into the wool. His privates covered by a box-shaped present, complete with wrapping and a sparkly gold bow.
‘Really, Serena?’ Marjorie’s mouth was a perfect oval.
‘Very good, Serena. Creative.’ Roger nodded before tugging off his plain grey sweater and pulling on his new, festive, one.
‘Thanks, Dad. I decided when I moved back here that if we were going to have our first family Christmas in years then we may as well do it properly, so when I wasn’t milking I was knitting. Do you like them?’
‘Sure do.’ Roger flashed her the thumbs up.
‘I think it’s good you didn’t open up a knitwear store, myself.’ Marjorie pursed her lips. ‘But in saying that. I appreciate the thought. Just don’t expect me to wear this on the day of the parade. And don’t you dare wear that.’ She jabbed her index finger in the direction of the naked Santa. ‘You’ll have the children in fits of laughter and their mothers having kittens.’
Serena laughed as she shrugged the top over her head and shoulders, tugging it down until it settled just below her hips.
Oh, so no sweater for him. Disappointment swamped Ritchie. A wave of grief clutched at his heart. Of course there was no sweater for him. Serena hadn’t expected him to be part of her family Christmas. No, she hadn’t wanted him to be.
He thrust his clenched fists under his thighs and forced a neutral expression. There was no way he was letting Serena, or her parents, see his hurt. Thank God he’d had a childhood’s worth of experience in keeping emotions below the surface. He didn’t need their pity. He didn’t want them to see how much he hated being left out of their family or how much he had come to realise that more than anything he wanted to be part of it. They may have had their issues, but there was no denying they were a family who cared for each other, were kind, loving, and had each other’s backs.
‘Shit, Ritchie, I’m sorry.’ Serena crouched beside him, covered his knee with the palm of her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘I didn’t know you’d be here. Obviously. Otherwise I’d have made one for you too. I still could, you know? Maybe not in the next two days, but for next Christmas? Although what you’d do with a heavy woollen Christmas sweater in Malibu, I don’t know, but I could knit you one. Maybe a nude Mrs Claus? With Christmas puds covering her sweet treats?’ Serena waggled her eyebrows.
Ritchie reached out and ruffled the top of her hair. ‘You’re a sweetheart, but it’s cool. It’s all good. Besides, I don’t think I could pull off your love of colour. It’s greys, blues and blacks all the way on this bod.’
‘Fair enough, but let me know if you change your mind. Right.’ She twisted around to sit next to her mother by the box of decorations. ‘Let’s do this.’
Ritchie settled further into the couch and watched as mother, father and daughter placed decoration after decoration onto the tree, their laughter intermingled, their smiles growing wider. Their history was as rich as the pungent and intoxicating scent of pine emanating from the Christmas tree, and their love as brilliant as the baubles they held in their hands.
The lump in his throat dissolved as he reached a decision. He’d missed out on being part of this family for ten years. He’d missed out on family his whole life. He wanted what Serena had. What he could have had, had he not been so determined to keep his past hidden, shrouding it in the rock and roll lifestyle, so set on soaking up the adoration from fans that he’d never got from his family, he hadn’t noticed the love of his life drifting away.
Serena glanced over and winked as she placed a golden bunny on the tree. Despite this lack of ‘swoon’ she apparently no longer felt, he was sure he’d sensed attraction between Serena and himself building, burning, back in the kitchen. If there was attraction, there was hope their love could be rekindled. He just had to make Serena see they were worth saving.
Even if it means risking your career? The one thing that has been there for you through thick and thin?
A shiver shot down Ritchie’s spine and spread through his bones, shrinking his veins. Give up the love of millions for the love of three? Give up music, the one constant in his life, for a woman who’d walked out on him without batting
an eyelid?
A fresh burst of laughter filled the room as Marjorie tickled Serena’s nose with the feathered tail of an ornamental bird.
Love or adoration? Fans or family? An empty heart or the renewed chance of having a happy heart?
Ritchie didn’t believe in miracles. He believed in hard work and determination. Still he closed his eyes and made a wish, because it was going to take a miracle of the Christmas variety to sort this situation out.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Serena turned the truck into the alley that led to the back of the shops and breathed a sigh of relief. There hadn’t been a photographer or reporter to be seen the whole way home. It seemed, as Ritchie had predicted, they’d given up and gone home. Thank God for short attention spans, and frigid wintry nights.
‘You good?’ She glanced over at Ritchie, who’d been pin-drop silent the whole way home.
‘Yeah. Good.’ He unbuckled his seatbelt and took off the floppy hat. ‘Guess I don’t need this anymore.’ He tossed it onto the backseat.
‘Looks that way.’ Serena opened the car door and got out, the bang from the passenger side telling her that Ritchie was following suit. ‘Want a hot chocolate before bed?’
‘Nah. I’m bushed. I think I’ll just hit the couch.’
‘Okay. Cool.’ Doubt gnawed at Serena’s stomach. Ritchie didn’t look all that tired. In fact, he looked wide awake. Alert. The same way he used to look when he was on a creative high, except there was no frenetic energy bouncing off him. If anything he had the look of a man who was attending his own funeral and would do anything to get out of it.
She slipped the key into the lock, wincing as bright lights danced before her eyes. ‘What the hell? What’s going on?’ She shielded her eyes as the flashes continued.
‘Shit. Serena. Bloody hell. Shit. Open the door, quick.’ Ritchie pressed up against her, demanding. But not in any way that might have indicated he was interested in her body.
Christmas at the Second Chance Chocolate Shop Page 14