Kellie Hailes - Christmas at the Second Chance Chocolate Shop

Serena shuddered as she recalled her part in the parade for so many years. ‘There’s a donkey in the live nativity scene. It takes two people to make the costume work. From the time I was tall enough to fill the costume, which was at about seven years old, until the time I left Rabbits Leap, I was one half of the donkey.’

‘So?’ Ritchie pushed a lock of hair away from his face. ‘You played a donkey, big deal.’

‘It bloody well was a big deal.’ Serena stood and hung up another snowflake. ‘I wasn’t just the donkey. I was the arse end of the donkey. And I spent every Christmas being farted on for the full twenty minutes of the procession.’

She waited for Ritchie to sympathise. To rage against the injustice of being farted on in a donkey costume for years on end. Nothing came. She glanced down.

He was crumpled over at the waist, his forehead flat on the floor, his shoulders shuddering with soundless laughter.

‘Don’t you laugh at me, Ritchie Dangerfield. It’s not funny. I was always teamed up with Ridge bloody Harper and I’m sure he used to eat pickled onions by the jarful the night before just so he could fart his worst.’

‘That’s bloody hilarious.’ Ritchie panted as a fresh wave of laughter sent his shoulders shaking some more. ‘Serena, you were the arse end of an ass. And considering your recent treatment of me I feel it’s a prophesy of some sort. Played an ass. Became an ass!’ A fresh batch of laughter shook Ritchie’s shoulders.

‘I don’t need to be putting up with this. I’ve work to do.’ Serena gingerly stepped over Ritchie’s prostrate body. ‘Laugh at my Christmas tale of woe? Well you can finish doing the decorations.’

She took in his convulsing form. Her lips twitched, threatened to rise. As usual, Ritchie’s emotions were catching. But that didn’t mean she had to like it, and it didn’t mean she was warming to him again. Or that some part of her was still under his spell.

All it meant was that if he had been the arse end of a donkey she’d have found it funny too.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘What is that heavenly smell?’ Ritchie collapsed into a chair in the kitchen and breathed in, allowing the rich and exotic scent to infuse his mouth and trickle down his throat.

‘You’re in a chocolate shop, Ritchie. What do you think it is?’ Serena replied, with a shake of her head and a roll of her eyes.

‘Chocolate. Obviously. Dumb question.’ Ritchie shook his head. It wasn’t like him to be so bird-brained. But then it wasn’t like him to take part in the Christmasification of a shop. Perhaps the intoxicating aromas, the cheeriness of the town, the happiness of being in Serena’s presence again were getting to him. ‘I finished the decorations. Even strung up the fairy lights.’

Serena craned her neck to check out his work, then gave a nod of approval.

‘I did good?’ Ritchie drummed his fingers on the bench top, impatient for praise. For acknowledgment that he might be worth keeping round. ‘Good enough to earn a chocolate?’

A huff of impatience came from Serena’s bent head. ‘Fine. But you’ll have to sort yourself out. I’m busy. If I stop now I could bugger the tempering of the chocolate. See the pantry next to the fridge? Go have a look in there. See if something takes your fancy.’

‘What if I see something that takes my fancy out here? Can I have that instead?’ He stifled a smirk as Serena shot a warning frown across the kitchen island.

Ritchie stepped into the pantry and eyed the shelves. ‘So, have you seen anything that’s taken your fancy since you’ve been back?’ He kept his tone casual. Wondering if she would bring up that guy at the pub, Jack. Hoping even more that she wouldn’t.

‘Not really.’ Her tone was non-committal. Not answering the question one way or the other.

Irritation flared in his gut as he pulled open a container and eyed its contents. He wasn’t used to feeling out of kilter with Serena. They’d always had the same goals. The same likes and dislikes. They laughed at each other’s jokes, finished each other’s sentences. At times he’d half-wondered if she could read his mind, she knew him so well. But the woman in that kitchen? She was a stranger to him.

His appetite ruined, he set the container of chocolates back on the shelf, returned to the kitchen and settled into one of the high-backed kitchen stools that were lined up along one side of the island.

‘Not hungry?’ she enquired, seeing his empty hands.

‘I think the smell is enough.’ Ritchie kept his tone amiable. ‘Now tell me, Serena, when did you decide that chocolate was your jam?’ He crossed one booted ankle over the other and leaned back in the chair, interlacing his fingers and using them to support his head. Maybe if he got to know her again, properly this time, instead of letting the heady rush of lust and love propel them along, maybe then they could reignite the spark that time had doused.

Serena picked up a mould, indented with oval shapes, and spooned the melted chocolate into it. ‘It was that first week you were on tour without me. I was out one day, wandering aimlessly, if I’m honest, and I caught this aroma in the air… and, it’s hard to explain, but it drew me in.’ A small, almost secretive, smile played about her lips.

The irritation that had begun to abate erupted in a flare of jealousy. Why didn’t he make her smile like that? How could she love making chocolate more than him? When had it all gone so wrong?

‘I found myself in front of a chocolate shop.’ Serena deftly scraped the extra chocolate off the top and sides of the mould. ‘There was a sign on the window advertising classes, so I went in and signed up on a whim. I mean, I had nothing better to do, so I thought “why not?”’

‘Nothing better to—’

Serena rattled the mould on the bench, the hard whacks echoing through the kitchen and cutting off his outrage. He reminded himself that getting angry wasn’t going to fix things.

Peering down at the chocolate, Serena nodded with satisfaction, then tipped the mould upside down over the warmer, tapped out the excess chocolate, scraped the mould again and set it down on its side. ‘There. Perfect. Once it’s cooled it’ll be ready for its filling.’ A smile lit up her face.

‘What I don’t get is how you managed to do a course in chocolate making without it being a big deal?’ Ritchie rubbed the days old stubble on his chin. ‘Weren’t you mobbed by the other people doing the course? The wife of a famous rock star in their midst? Surely it would have been impossible for you to do something so… normal?’

‘I didn’t wear makeup. I wore a baggy pair of jeans and a plain t-shirt. Oh, and fake glasses. Also, I booked in as Serena Hunter.’

‘But that’s your name.’ Ritchie traced the pattern of the marble bench top, careful to keep things looking casual. ‘You never took mine when we got married. Family rule and all that.’

‘I know. But I was always referred to as Serena Dangerfield, so I knew my real name wouldn’t raise any red flags. Besides, people never cared about me, Ritchie. They cared about you. I was just arm candy.’

‘So you swapped arm candy for actual candy?’ Ritchie observed.

‘Yeah well, arm candy was fun for the first few years.’ The corners of Serena’s lips lifted a tad as she picked up the spoon and began to stir the chocolate in a slow figure-of-eight motion. ‘I’ll never forget that time when you began to make serious money and you decided we needed to celebrate in style, so you hired a chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce for the day. Do you remember, we hit Rodeo, did a Pretty Woman and bought as much clothing as we could stuff into the boot, then after we were all shopped out we had poor… what was the chauffeur’s name again?’