Christmas at the Second Chance Chocolate Shop

by Kellie Hailes

  Ritchie’s face fell. ‘But what if I want to?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be right. I can’t have you giving up your career in order to pander to my wants. You’d only end up harbouring a grudge, and eventually we’d fall apart.’ Serena took Ritchie’s dipped chin by her fingertips and brought his gaze up to meet hers. ‘So, here’s the deal. You can build that house for us. But you need to build another wing. It will house the recording studio. You will write your songs, you will record your songs – and you will tour. But on a reduced schedule. And if Barry is annoyed he’ll have to deal with me.’

  ‘Sweet thing.’ Ritchie breathed, as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her towards him. ‘You’re back.’

  ‘Not quite. There’s another matter we need to discuss.’

  ‘I know. The business. You have to build it up. I probably won’t see much of you since you’ll be doing it all. Although I’m happy to put our money into the business, so you could hire someone, free up some time.’

  Serena shook her head. ‘I don’t need our money. I’ve done this on my own and I’d quite like to keep doing it on my own. It gives me pride. And I still intend to pay you back. Every penny. If I ever bumped into that woman from the doctor’s office again, however unlikely, I’d want to be able to say I’m a business owner. A successful one. But that’s not the matter we need to discuss…’

  ‘Then what is it?’ Ritchie angled his head, his lush lips slackening.

  ‘Christmas. You never told me why you hated it. And I want to know. I need to know.’

  Ritchie paused, his lips mashing together, his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. A sharp inhale was followed by a quick exhale. ‘Christmas was the one day of the year that gave me hope as a child. I don’t know if it was the magic of the day, or if it were just another way that my father kept up the good family façade to the community. But nothing bad happened on that day. No beatings. No verbal attacks. We each got a gift. There was food on the table.’ Ritchie’s eyes misted up. ‘And every Christmas I found myself hoping that it was the start of something better for us. A kind family. A loving one.’ He shook his head, his lips lifted into a sneer. ‘But it never did. Over time Christmas became a day of imminent disappointment. And then one year, when I was seventeen, I looked around the dinner table, took in the plates full of food, the forced smiles, the fake laughter, and I knew I couldn’t face doing it ever again, so I left. And I swore I’d never celebrate Christmas again.’

  ‘Until now.’ Serena curled her hand around Ritchie’s neck and brought him to her. Forehead to forehead, their eyes closed, their breathing in sync. ‘I’m so sorry, Ritchie.’

  ‘It’s okay. It is.’ Ritchie sat back and took Serena’s hands is his own. A secretive smile playing about his lips. ‘Because I’m kicking that Christmas-hating tradition to the curb. And I’m ditching my fear of family too. That’s why I think we’ll need a big dinner table. To fit all the kids round.’

  ‘Kids?’ Serena shook her head, trying to make sense of Ritchie’s words. ‘Whose kids?’

  ‘Ours. I was wrong to barricade that option from our lives. You’d be an amazing mother. I think I could be a pretty good dad. And I definitely think we could throw them some epic Christmases.’

  ‘A pretty good dad? You’d be an amazing dad.’ Serena’s heart raced, as hard and fast as the pitter patter of tiny feet. Was this really happening?

  ‘I can but try. But just think, you could teach them chocolate making. I could teach them music…’

  ‘But if they’re not into it we’re not forcing them to do anything they don’t want to do.’ Serena stuck out her hand. ‘Deal?’

  Ritchie’s eyes crinkled at the edges, as his lips lifted as high as they could go. ‘Deal? Does that mean what I think it is? It’s a… yes?’

  ‘That’s a yes.’ Serena went to kiss Ritchie, but missed his lips as he ducked back.

  ‘In that case.’ Ritchie fished in his jeans pocket. ‘I have one more very important question.’ His fist unfurled to reveal two rings. One as audacious in size as it was in colour, the other a gold band studded with diamonds, more simple but every bit as wonderful.

  ‘How did you find them?’ Serena glanced up at Ritchie. ‘They were hidden in…’

  ‘Remember that suitcase full of jumpers you left at your parents’ house? Your mother found them when she was shoving that Christmas top you made her back in the suitcase. And don’t get huffy because your mum wasn’t a fan of your style. The important thing is I am, and that’s why, Serena Hunter, I ask… will you take this here man to remain as your lawfully wedded husband? To stand strong together.’

  Serena’s heart soared as he slipped the rings on. She knew these words. They were engraved in her heart. ‘To bend with the winds but never to snap.’

  ‘To roll with the tides but never let them drown us.’ Ritchie leant in and kissed her cheek, the pad of his thump brushing her skin as he ran it over the rings.

  ‘To never let the hottest sun sear our love.’ Serena kissed Ritchie’s cheek. Surprised to find it tasted of salt.

  ‘To never allow the frost to freeze each other out.’

  She thumbed away another tear. Then thumbed away her own. ‘And I have to add a new one.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘To breathe, and not bolt.’ She touched her hand to her heart. ‘And I won’t Ritchie. Not ever again.’

  ‘Til death do us part.’ They whispered together, sealing the vows with a lingering kiss.

  A snip and a rip of zip broke the moment. The brown material of the costume fell away.

  ‘Oh thank God, you’re just kissing.’ Her mother’s booming laugh broke the spell. ‘We were beginning to think Serena was throttling you to death, or that the two of you had suffocated in that suit.’

  ‘Well, if I’d died with your daughter I’d have died a happy man.’ Ritchie swung an arm around Marjorie’s shoulders and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘She’s worth it.’

  ‘As are you.’ Marjorie nodded her approval. ‘I’m glad we gave you a second chance.’

  ‘I’m glad your daughter gave me one.’ Ritchie returned to Serena’s side and scooped her up in his arms. ‘You’re freezing. What you were thinking wearing only this flimsy jumper, jeans and sneakers when bad weather was predicted I’ll never know.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking straight. You have that effect on me.’ Serena snuggled into his embrace. ‘Now enough of all this happy families stuff, there’s plenty of time for that. The clouds are lowering by the second and I don’t fancy spending Christmas morning shivering in my shoes.’ She pointed her finger in the direction of The Sweetest Thing. ‘To the chocolate shop. The hot chocolates are on me!’

  Roger and Marjorie made for the chocolate shop. Ritchie hung back, Serena in his arms.

  ‘What’s up?’ she asked, snuggling into the heat of his body.

  ‘Can you smell it?’ Ritchie whispered, his head tipped towards the black cloud brooding above.

  A snowflake landed on his lips. Then another. And another.

  ‘Snow.’ Serena stretched her arms out and watched as bright white drops settled on her hot pink jumper. ‘It’s a Christmas miracle. I won The Bullion’s sweep.’ Serena clapped in delight.

  ‘You’re right, it is a Christmas miracle.’ Ritchie set her down on the ground and encircled her waist once more. ‘And I’m not just talking about the snow.’ His lips met hers, warm and soft – a promise of always and forever.

  If you loved this wonderful Rabbits Leap story then read on for an excerpt from The Cosy Coffee Shop of Promises…

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘Wine. Now. And don’t get mouthy with me.’

  Mel watched Tony’s sea-blue eyes light up as his lips parted slightly…

  ‘What’s got your knick…’

  ‘I’m serious,’ she cut in, before he had a chance to be the second person to grind her gears that day. ‘I’m in no mood for your cheek. And
I can tell by that twitchy jaw of yours that you’re contemplating still trying to give me some.’ Mel took off her navy peacoat and shuddered as wintry air wrapped its way around her thin form. She promptly buttoned up again and tugged her scarf tighter around her neck. ‘All I want from you is for you to do your job, pour me a glass of pinot gris and leave me to drink it, alone, and in peace. And why is it so cold in here? It’s freezing out. It shouldn’t be freezing in.’ She shook her head. ‘No matter. I don’t care. The wine will warm me up.’

  ‘Bu…’

  ‘No. No buts. No whys. No questions.’ She pointed to the glass-doored fridge. ‘Just get the bottle, get a glass, and pour.’ Mel gave Tony her best glare, hoping to get past his notoriously thick skin.

  She watched the muscles in his jaw continue to work, as if debating whether to ignore her order to be left in peace or do that clichéd ‘had a bad day, tell me about it’ barman patter. Sensibility must have won, because he turned and bent over to grab a bottle of pinot gris from the chiller, giving her a fantastic view of his toned and rounded rear. A view she’d usually take a moment to appreciate, but not right now, not after the unexpected, and not in a good way, phone call she’d just received from her mother.

  Tony sloshed the wine into a tired-looking, age-speckled glass, pushed it in her direction, then punched at the card machine. ‘Here you go,’ he said, proffering the handset.

  Mel squinted at the numbers on the screen. ‘Tony, um, that’s not right. You’ve overcharged me.’

  ‘No, that’s the price.’ Tony nodded, but kept his eyes firmly on the bar. ‘Since the beginning of this week.’

  ‘Really? You can’t tell me a bottle of wine rose in price by almost double in the space of seven days?’

  ‘You’re right, it hasn’t.’ He glanced up. ‘But the hole in my muffler is yelling at me to put the prices up. And I haven’t in years, so…’

  ‘Oh. Okay. Sorry.’ Mel handed over her bank card, embarrassed to have questioned the price rise. She’d heard the village gossip. Tony’s business wasn’t doing so well. Apparently hadn’t been for years, but had got worse since his dad passed away the year before. Not that she knew much about that. She’d been new to town, and didn’t want to get a reputation as a gossip, so had only heard the odd conversation here and there over the coffee cups in her café, nothing more.

  ‘So, are you going to just stare into that glass of wine or are you going to drink it? Because I don’t have a funnel to pour it back into the bottle. Although reselling it would make my mechanic happier faster. And if you buy two glasses I might even be able to afford to put the heating on.’

  Mel shot Tony a grateful smile. Despite his infamous reputation as a ladies’ man, he was also known about the small farming town of Rabbits Leap as being something of a gentleman and had quite the knack of making you feel at ease, which, considering her current heightened state of irritation, was quite a feat.

  ‘You’re still not taking a sip, or a slug. And, well, it sounds like you needed a slug.’

  Mel narrowed her eyes at Tony, hoping to scare him into shutting up with a stern look. ‘What did I say about getting mouthy? And teasing for that matter?’

  ‘I’m not teasing. You look pale. Paler than usual, and you know you’re pretty pale, so you’re almost translucent right now. Even the bright streaks of pink in your hair are looking a little less hot.’

  ‘You pay attention to my hair colour?’ Mel’s hand unconsciously went to her hair and tucked a stray lock behind her ears. Tony looked at her hair? Since when? She’d always assumed he’d seen her as nothing more than a regular customer, a friendly acquaintance, not someone to take notice of. Sure, they got along well enough, would chat for a moment or two if they passed each other on the street, or if it was quiet in the pub, but that was the extent of their relationship.

  ‘Well, you’re about the most exciting thing to happen in this place for the last ten years…’

  ‘Me? Exciting?’ A tingle of pleasure stirred within her.

  Tony winked and turned that tingle into a zing. Since her last boyfriend, the local vet, had taken off to care for animals overseas, Mel hadn’t had any action, let alone a compliment, from a man. And apparently, if that unexpected zing frenzy that had zipped through her body was anything to go by, she’d been craving it.

  ‘Yeah, exciting.’ Tony’s glance lingered on her face, as if drinking her in. ‘And pretty, too.’

  She rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the way her body reacted to the words of approval. She picked up her glass and took the suggested slug. She was being stupid. Tony wasn’t calling her exciting, just her hair. And the only reason he was calling her pretty was because that’s what he did; he called women pretty, he charmed them, he took them to bed, and that was that. And she’d had enough of her love life – heck, her life in general – ending with ‘that was that’ to be interested in someone who’d pretty much created the phrase.

  ‘Feel better?’ His eyes, usually dancing with humour, were crinkled at the corners with concern.

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Have another slug.’

  As she lifted the glass she glanced around the bar, taking in the bar leaners with their tired, ring-stained, laminated tops and obsolete ashtrays in their centres. The tall stools next to them looked rickety from decades of propping up farmers, the pool table needed a resurface, and as for the dartboard… it was covered in so many tiny pin holes it was amazing a dart could stay wedged in it. The village chatter was right, Tony was doing it tough…

  Her eyes fell on a machine sitting at the far end of the bar. All shiny and silvery and gleaming with newness. That shouldn’t be there.

  Her blood heated up, and not in an ‘oh swoon, a man just complimented me’ kind of way.

  ‘What is that?’ Mel seethed through gritted teeth.

  She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. What was he thinking? Did he have it in for her, too? Was it ‘Let’s Piss Off Mel Day’? She’d moved to Rabbits Leap just over a year ago to try and create a sense of security for herself. A place she could settle down in, call home, maybe even meet a nice, normal guy she could fall in love with. And in one day what little security she’d carefully built was in danger of being blown apart. First her mother calling to tell her she was coming to town and bringing her special brand of crazy with her, and now this?

  ‘What’s what?’ The crinkles of concern further deepened.

  ‘That.’ She pointed to the cause of her ire.

  ‘The coffee machine?’

  ‘Yeah, the coffee machine. The coffee machine that should not be in your bar, because I have a coffee machine. In my café. The only café in the village. You remember that? The one place a person can get a good cup of coffee? The place that just happens to be my livelihood, and you want to screw with it?’

  Tony took a step back as if he’d been hit with a barrage of arrows. Good. His eyebrows gathered in a frown. But he didn’t look sorry. Why didn’t he look sorry? And why had he straightened up and stopped looking stricken?

  ‘It’s just business, Mel.’

  ‘And it’s just a small village, Tony.’

  She looked at her wine and considered throwing the contents of it over him, then remembered how much it had cost. Taking the glass she brought it to her mouth and tipped it back, swallowing the lot in one long gulp.

  She set the glass back on the bar, gently, so he wouldn’t see how shaken she was. ‘There’s only enough room in this village for one coffee machine.’ She mentally slapped herself as the words came out with a wobble, not as the threat she’d intended.

  ‘And what does that mean?’ Tony folded his arms and leant in towards her, his eyebrow raised.

  Mel gulped. He wanted her to throw down the gauntlet? Fine then. ‘It means you can try to make coffee. You can spend hours trying to get it right, make thousands of cups, whatever. But your coffee will never be as good as mine and all you’ll have is a big hunk
of expensive metal sitting unloved at the end of your bar.’

  ‘Sounds like you’re challenging me to a coffee-off.’

  How could Tony be so cavalier? So unfazed by the truth? He’d spent a ton of money on something he’d only end up regretting.

  Mel took a deep breath, picked up her wallet and walked to the door. She spun round to face her adversary.

  ‘There’s no challenge here. All you’re good for is pulling a pint or three. Coffee? That’s for the adults. You leave coffee to me.’

  She leant into the old pub door, pushed it with all her might and lurched over the threshold into the watery, late-winter sun and shivered. Could today get any worse?

  ***

  Had he done the wrong thing? Was buying that ridiculous monstrosity and installing it in the pub a stupid idea? He’d spent the last decent chunk of money he had to get it. What if it didn’t fly? What would happen next? He couldn’t keep the place open on the smell of a beer-soaked carpet, but he couldn’t fail either. It was all he had left to remind him of his family. The Bullion had been his dad’s baby. The one thing that had kept his dad sane after his mother had passed away. More than that, it was where what few solid memories he had of his mother were. Her smiling at him as he sat at the kitchen table munching on a biscuit while she cooked in the pub’s kitchen. The violet scent of her perfume as she’d pulled his four-year-old self into a cuddle after he’d fallen from a bar stool while on an ambitious mountaineering expedition.

  Then there was the promise he’d made to his father, the final words they’d shared as his father breathed his last. His vow to preserve The Bullion’s history, to keep her alive. Dread tugged at his heart. What if he couldn’t keep that promise?

  God, why couldn’t his father have been more open, more honest with him about their financial situation? Why couldn’t he have put away his pride for one second and seen a bank manager, cap in hand, asked for a… Tony shoved the idea away. No. That wasn’t an option. Not then. Not now. The McArthurs don’t ask for help. That was his dad’s number-one rule. A rule his father had also drilled into him. No, he wasn’t going cap in hand to a bank manager. He didn’t even own a cap, anyway. He just had to come up with some new ideas to breathe life into the old girl. The coffee machine had been one of them, and he’d spent the last of his personal savings buying it.