The Chocolatier's Secret (Magnolia Creek, Book 2)

by Helen J Rolfe

Molly pretended to look in the window of the gift shop as a teenager emerged from the chocolaterie, licking at an ice cream. It looked like rum and raisin, her favourite. Behind her a blonde woman manoeuvred a wooden board outside and crouched down to write on it. She used several different coloured chalks, and when she pushed herself to standing, Molly saw she’d drawn a picture of an ice cream in a cone with a wafer sticking out one side. She’d written a list of flavours: cookies & cream, rum & raisin, strawberry, chocolate, honeycomb, mint choc chip. The woman turned, smiled and went back into the shop and Molly turned back in the opposite direction, bumping into the same dark-haired woman as before.

  ‘Whoa, slow down there missy,’ said the woman, smiling.

  ‘I’m sorry, I forgot my purse.’ Molly scurried past her and didn’t hear what the woman said in her wake.

  When Molly reached the lake again the fear subsided. She hadn’t even made it to the entrance of the chocolaterie, let alone any nearer to Andrew Bennett. She could imagine it now. Going back home to the UK and saying to everyone, ‘Hey, I spent hundreds of pounds on a flight to Australia, got over my fear of flying and it was so worth it … I could practically smell the chocolate itself. Hey, maybe next time I’ll actually make it to the doorway and meet the man I went to see in the first place.’

  Molly sat by the lake a while. She dipped her hand into the water. It was colder than she’d imagined. For some reason she’d never associated cold, or winter, with Australia. It always seemed to her to be a tropical place, with nothing but sun, sea and sand.

  She climbed up onto the low wall, and balancing, walked most of the way round before she heard a voice behind her.

  ‘Careful you don’t fall in.’ It was the woman she’d seen writing the sign outside the chocolaterie. Her neat, blonde bobbed hair swung gently when she walked, a wide, shallow straw basket looped over her arm, and she was very pretty as she smiled. ‘Are you staying at the cottages?’

  Molly jumped from the wall to dry land. ‘I’m in cottage number six.’

  ‘How long are you staying for?’

  ‘Until the Easter weekend.’ Molly wondered how many times she could get back onto the wall and walk back and forth without falling in. How many hours could she waste messing about before the chocolaterie was shut and she no longer felt as though she should be doing what she came here to do?

  ‘Well, welcome to Magnolia Creek,’ said the woman. ‘Did you like the chocolates?’

  Molly noticed the contents of the basket, the looping silver Magnolia Creek Chocolaterie writing on each of them, the lettering standing out against the brown background of the wrappers.

  ‘It’s a new thing we’re trying,’ the woman continued. ‘My husband and I are attempting a little marketing ploy.’ She winked at Molly, who stood gawping in return. ‘You should stop by sometime, buy some souvenirs. Where are you from?’

  ‘England,’ Molly said in a small voice as it dawned on her that this was Andrew Bennett’s wife.

  ‘I’m sure the folks back home would love these.’ Thank God she didn’t ask why Molly was here. ‘I’m Gemma by the way. Ask for me by name if you do come in and I’ll make sure we give you some tasters.’

  And off Gemma went, humming a tune Molly didn’t recognise and completely unaware of Molly still standing in the same place, fixed to the spot, too shocked to move.

  *

  In the evening Molly messaged Ben, but when he still didn’t reply, she gave up and went out for a walk. This time, she was definitely walking right past the chocolaterie. Or at least up to the doorway. There was no risk involved. This man had no idea who she was, and as long as it stayed that way for now, perhaps for a day or two, then nothing could actually hurt her.

  Nothing could go wrong until she let it.

  Molly turned the corner and her heart thumped against her chest. She got all the way past the gift shop and right up to the chocolaterie. And she breathed an enormous sigh of relief when she saw the sign on the door: Closed.

  A rapping from the other side of the curved window suggested otherwise. ‘Hey!’ It was Gemma, crouching down, putting together some kind of Easter display with colourful eggs and bunting, and now she was positioning a basket with what looked like a giant egg in it, wrapped in shiny purple foil wrapping.

  Molly reluctantly lifted a hand to wave back. She tried to go on her way, but Gemma came out before she made it past the doorway.

  ‘Hi, remember me from earlier? Gemma,’ she prompted.

  ‘I remember.’ Molly nodded, and then because Gemma’s look begged the question, said, ‘I’m Molly.’

  ‘It’s nice to see you again, Molly. I’ll see you around?’

  It was a question rather than a statement. She wished Gemma wasn’t so nice. It’d be easier if she was a real cow because right now with her sparkling eyes, friendly smile and a certain innocence, she had no idea of the bombshell about to blow up in her life. ‘I’m sure I’ll come in the shop before long,’ said Molly.

  ‘Please do. We’re a friendly bunch in this town.’

  Molly said goodbye and continued on her way, nerves pervading every part of her. It could easily have been Andrew she’d bumped into just now, instead of Gemma. How would she have reacted then?

  Walking along Main Street, Molly finally came to the town pub, Magnolia Tavern. It had the same Olde Worlde feel she was used to with English pubs, with a weathered brick exterior and its name hanging from two chains attached to the post out front. The beer garden was dotted with tables, and fairy lights were strung in the branches and already switched on, ready for the darkness to descend.

  She pushed the door open, relieved a local’s silence didn’t fall across the entire room. A few years ago, before Isaac had met Claire, Molly and her brother had gone through a phase known as Boring Sunday Syndrome and each week had taken turns to drive out into the countryside, the satnav switched off, no navigation other than an impromptu ‘turn right’ or ‘turn left’ when they reached a crossroads. Their antics saw them discover pubs all over Somerset, some less welcoming than others. One pub in particular had been terrible. They’d pushed open the door, and the entire room had fallen deathly silent. Pints fell from open mouths, the chatter of women came to a stop, eyes burrowed into them as they bought two orange juices, downed them as quickly as they could, and escaped into the fresh air.

  ‘Hello there.’ The man standing at the beer pumps greeted Molly with a smile when she went in and sat down on a stool at the mahogany curved bar.

  ‘Hi. I’ll have a bottle of Budweiser, please.’ She was relieved to see the familiar-looking brand in the glass-fronted fridge.

  He deftly flipped the metal top from the bottle using the opener attached to the bar. ‘I’m Chris, the landlord here. It’s nice to meet you.’

  ‘It’s nice to meet you too, and I’m Molly.’

  ‘Just visiting, Molly?’

  ‘I’m on holiday, over from England.’ She welcomed the cool amber liquid of the beer as it rid her of some of the stress from her day, coming face-to-face with a member of Andrew Bennett’s family.

  ‘England you say?’ He leant against the bar, tea towel slung across his shoulder, deep brown eyes inquisitive as a landlord’s should be. You couldn’t be an antisocial bugger to work in a place like this … a love of people was surely a prerequisite. ‘I’ve never been there myself. My wife keeps saying we’ll go on a tour of Europe when we retire, but I don’t know, there’s plenty to see here. I’ve got visions of hiring one of those enormous campervans – a Winnebago – just me and the wife, travel round the edge of Australia taking a couple of months.’

  Molly smiled, loving the way he talked so openly when they’d only met moments ago. He looked like he’d disappeared on his travels already, at least in his head. She wondered whether his wife was the typical woman, and instead of seeing the adventure he saw, she couldn’t see past the endless days of being couped up in a tin on four wheels, a bed that probably doubled as the dinner table and a toilet you
had to empty periodically.

  Chris beckoned to a man over in the corner who came to collect his drinks.

  The man in question was good looking with dark hair, and he was tall. The tail end of a tattoo on his arm poked out from the sleeve of his T-shirt as he reached for the drinks left to settle beneath the pump before the landlord topped them up.

  ‘Where’s your brother, Owen?’ Chris asked the man. ‘I hear he’s back in town.’

  ‘He sure is.’ The man smiled. ‘He’s on his way.’

  ‘Good lad, that one.’ Chris nodded in Owen’s direction when he left to take the drinks over to a table with three chairs and the girl with red hair who Molly had seen earlier as she strung up lights at Magnolia House. She figured the brother would be claiming his pint soon.

  ‘And Rosie’s a lovely lass,’ Chris continued. ‘She moved here from the city last year and they live up at Rosie Cottage.’

  ‘Lovely name,’ said Molly. ‘Is the cottage named after her?’

  ‘It is,’ Chris smiled. ‘Owen looks rough and ready, fights fires in his spare time, but he’s an old romantic at heart.’

  Molly smiled. ‘Do you know everyone in this town?’

  Chris emptied a drip tray into a bucket. ‘Pretty much. Lived here my whole life. Fair dinkum,’ he added when Molly looked suitably impressed.

  She giggled at the colloquialism. She intended to ask about the chocolaterie, but she didn’t have to say a word because Chris got there all by himself. He talked about Bella and Rodney Finnegan and how many years they’d been in Magnolia Creek, the school at the top of the hill where his daughter Stephanie had been a student and the fires that had come this way and destroyed so much of the surrounding bush.

  ‘The newest recruits are the Bennetts,’ he said.

  Molly’s beer bottle paused before she drank the last dregs.

  ‘Can I get you another?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ she managed to say. She prayed he wouldn’t forget his train of thought.

  He flicked the top off the bottle and placed it on the bar. ‘The Bennetts own Magnolia Creek Chocolaterie.’ He looked around, checked nobody else was within earshot. ‘It’s a dream come true for chocoholics like me. Don’t tell the wife’ – he patted a portly belly – ‘she’d have me dining with rabbits on lettuce if she could.’

  ‘You should go for the dark chocolate, it’s got health benefits.’ Molly sipped her drink. ‘Tell your wife. And also tell her it’s supposed to be an aphrodisiac.’

  Chris laughed. ‘I don’t know about that, but it’s definitely popular around here. The Bennetts seem like fine people too. And fine people always fit in well in Magnolia Creek.’

  Chris looked up as the door opened. ‘Ah, look what the cat dragged in! Welcome back, stranger!’

  A raucous cheer went up, and Molly turned on her stool to face the newest customer tonight, but as Owen whistled to his brother and held the fresh pint aloft to get his attention, the only eyes this man had were for Molly. And Molly couldn’t take her gaze away from him either.

  ‘Molly?’ In disbelief, Ben’s eyes crinkled at the sides, his smile revealed a slight dimple in his right cheek. She hadn’t noticed it on the plane. She’d been sitting to the left of him – maybe that was it – or else he hadn’t smiled as big as this until now.

  Molly hopped down from her stool and stepped towards him. He closed the gap and hugged her before pulling back, his hands on the tops of her arms. ‘I can’t believe you’re here.’

  ‘It’s a bit crazy, isn’t it?’

  ‘When you said Melbourne, I never would’ve thought you’d be all the way out here. I thought you’d be in a trendy, beachy suburb somewhere.’ He pulled a face. ‘Wait a minute … are you stalking me?’

  ‘I was here first,’ she laughed.

  His brother was looking their way, and Molly didn’t miss Chris giving them the odd glance.

  A faint layer of stubble lighter than Ben’s hair covered his chin … she expected he’d had more fun things to do in Singapore than shave and keep himself shipshape.

  ‘I still can’t get over it,’ said Ben.

  ‘Stop gawping at her,’ Owen called over. ‘And get the girl another drink!’

  ‘I suppose I’d better.’ Ben didn’t turn his body or his gaze away from her, and when the door to the pub creaked open again, she was too busy smiling at Ben to notice who had walked in.

  Two men went up to the bar. One patted Ben on the shoulder in greeting, and it was then Molly realised who the other man was.

  It was him. It was Andrew Bennett.

  Molly went hot all over. Her throat felt as though it was closing up. Ben was asking if she was okay, but eyes wide, mouth dry, she bolted. She went out of the door, without a word to anyone, straight past Andrew Bennett and out into the cool early evening and beneath a few spots of rain, she simply ran.

  She ran past the chocolaterie without a moment’s thought, past the gift shop and to the end of the street where she stopped at a corner. She could see a fire station ahead but turned right to go round the back and down to the lake where Magnolia House and the cottages sat.

  ‘Molly, wait!’ It was Ben, behind her, shouting.

  She stopped and doubled over, hands on knees. Heart racing, chest pounding, the black sky above her spinning as she stood tall again. She couldn’t catch her breath, she felt as though she was going to faint.

  A hand on her shoulder steadied her. ‘Breathe, Molly. Breathe. In, out, in, out.’ Ben’s voice soothed her.

  She tried to focus on his voice, let him lead her over to the gum trees marking the top of the path. And leaning against the trunk of a tree, she felt calm quiver its way through her as she breathed in, then out, over and over again. The dizziness abated, the pressure on her chest lessened.

  ‘My God, you can run.’ He put his hands gently on her shoulders. ‘I hope you know I’ve left a pretty good pint of Guinness in there waiting for me.’

  Molly managed a smile.

  ‘You had a panic attack,’ he told her. ‘What happened back there? I know it’s a shock seeing me, but—’

  ‘That was him.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘My birth father.’ She closed her eyes, it helped her to concentrate on breathing normally. She’d never had a panic attack, not in all the time she’d been terrified of flying, not in life-threatening situations at work, never.

  ‘Your birth father? In the pub?’ Ben got to his feet. ‘That was him!’

  ‘Yes. Andrew Bennett.’

  Ben sighed, and then he started to laugh and slumped against the tree next to her.

  ‘It’s not funny. It’s the first time I’ve seen him.’

  ‘It’s not that.’ He was still laughing.

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘He walked in with my dad. For a minute I thought … well, I thought …’

  Molly laughed out loud, wondering if the swaying branches of the trees above would carry her whispers to the pub and tell Andrew Bennett all about her without her having to. She looked up at the stars starting to make their grand entrance in the sky. The moon crept out from behind the white pointed roof of Magnolia House.

  Ben smiled. ‘Of course, my dad is no chocolatier so I should’ve known, but let’s just say we’ve had a bit of strife in our family regarding paternity. It’s a touchy subject. I won’t go into detail now, it’s family stuff, but it could be why I was a bit more understanding than others might be, when you told me about your search.’

  ‘You were adopted?’ Molly asked.

  ‘No, but there were family secrets and the truth took a long time to come out. The man in question, my brother’s biological father, isn’t likely to ever be a part of our lives. Something we’re all grateful for. But the secrecy did make me wonder, when it came to your situation, whether this birth father of yours has his own story, a story that needs to be told by him, and only him. It’s the reason I encouraged you to find him.’

  ‘I still can’t believe you’re
here, standing next to me,’ said Molly.

  ‘Neither can I. Small world, eh?’

  Molly giggled, mostly from nerves.

  ‘What’s funny?’

  ‘The look of panic on your face that we could be related.’

  He blew air out from between his lips. ‘Yeah, not funny at all. If we were related, it would mean nothing could ever happen between us.’

  She laughed loudly this time. ‘Never going to happen.’

  Who was she trying to convince? Him? Or herself?

  ‘That’s what they all say. Where are you staying?’

  She tipped her head in the direction of the lake and the holiday cottages beyond. She knew his dimple would be back now as she felt his smile on her, but she didn’t look up at his face as they walked down past the lake, dark but ever present. She’d felt a pull to him even when they only knew one another online, then again after the plane journey he’d helped her through. And seeing him tonight had felt like coming home in a way she couldn’t explain.

  ‘You know,’ said Ben when they reached Molly’s cottage, ‘you can’t run a mile each time Andrew Bennett comes near. You need to let him know who you are.’

  She leant against the white wood of the veranda. ‘I know.’

  Ben took out his phone. ‘Sorry, it’s Owen. He’s getting impatient.’ He declined the call.

  ‘Do you know anything about him?’

  ‘Owen, or the chocolatier?’ He grinned.

  ‘You know who I mean.’

  ‘All I really know is that he’s new to town.’

  ‘But he knows your dad. They were chatting when they walked in.’

  ‘It’s a small town, Molly. Everyone knows everyone else. But if you like, I’ll ask about him, you know, casually. See what I can find out.’

  She smiled sheepishly. ‘Thank you, Ben.’

  ‘I’d better go and have that Guinness. Are you sure you won’t come back with me? Rosie and Owen are a good laugh.’

  ‘I can’t, not with him in there.’ She didn’t need to explain who she was referring to.

  He smiled. ‘Then have a good sleep, Molly.’

  ‘You too, goodnight.’