Christmas at the Second Chance Chocolate Shop

‘I’m staying with you.’

‘No, you’re not. I won’t have you underfoot while I finish getting this place ready for its grand opening.’ She scooped up her keys and marched towards the back door where she’d parked the pick-up truck her father, against her mother’s wishes, had insisted she use when she left home. ‘Go get into your car. I’ll meet you out front. Follow me. Stay close or you could take a wrong turn and get lost. And be sure to close the latch on the front door when you leave – I don’t need the local kids waltzing in and helping themselves.’

Ritchie’s brows drew together in confusion. ‘Where are you taking me, Serena?’

Serena allowed a small smile to flirt about her lips. ‘You’ll see.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘Mum? Dad? You home?’ Serena pushed open the front door, festively decorated with a faux pine wreath, complete with red ribbons and golden bells, and barrelled in, not waiting for an answer.

Ritchie hung about the doorstep. A rare and disconcerting mix of shyness, uncertainty, and a good dollop of distress, sending little swirls of bile spinning about his stomach. Unlike most sons-in-law he’d spent little time with his wife’s parents. Little time? More like no time at all. Serena had pushed for them to meet at the beginning. She had tried to tell him the longer it took for them to meet after they’d eloped, the harder it would be for them all to get along. But he’d pushed back. He’d used his burgeoning career as not only an excuse not to visit, but also to not have them visit. To not have them remind him of all he’d missed out on. Or worse. All he had experienced.

‘What are you waiting for, Ritchie? An invitation?’ Serena turned to face him, her top knot bouncing as she shook her head. ‘You’re family, remember? That’s what you said back at the shop. So I’m bringing you home to meet them. Finally. So, come on.’ She jerked her head towards a door at the end of the hall, then strode towards it.

‘Serena?’ Her mother’s voice stopped him in his tracks. He swallowed hard, pushed away the fear that unfurled whenever he was faced with parental authority, and lengthened his strides to catch up with Serena.

‘Mum. Look who turned up at on my doorstep just now? Figured it was time you met him.’ Serena’s hand clasped his forearm. One sharp tug and he stumbled forwards into a room. The kitchen, large, with low ceilings, emitted a cosy feel. A solid looking wooden dining table took pride of place in the centre. On one side of it was the kitchen bench, stove, sink, and cupboards painted in a warm cream colour with olive trim. Opposite, a fire roared in the hearth. Burning wood glowed orange as sparks wafted up the chimney.

‘I take it this is your Ritchie?’

Ritchie tore his gaze away from the fire to the man standing at the back door, his feet encased in wellington boots. Dark green overalls sat over a navy blue woollen top. He was tall and impressive, broad-shouldered and broad-chested, and even had Serena’s chin, complete with its small cleft front and centre. Her father.

‘It’s nice to meet you, son.’ He toed off the wellingtons, grunting with the effort, then extended his hand.

Ritchie stared at it. The hands were strong to look at, with long fingers, and skin that looked like it had seen hard work. Much like the hands that had belonged to the man he’d called father.

But that’s where the similarities ended. This man had an open smile, a twinkle in his eye and exuded a warmth that came from somewhere down deep.

Good to the core.

‘Shake the man’s hand already.’ Serena nudged him with her elbow.

Ritchie did as he was told, and allowed that strong hand to clasp his. To give it a shake. Firm. Brief. Welcoming.

‘Good to meet you. Call me Roger.’ The man clapped his other hand over Ritchie’s. Embracing him in the handshake, then broke his hold.

Ritchie turned to Serena’s mother who was hunkered down in front of the oven door, staring at something cooking in it, filling the air with a savoury scent that had his mouth watering. His stomach grumbled and he remembered he hadn’t had a bite to eat in hours.

He’d been too busy pushing forward with his mission. To find his wife and win her back. And failure was not an option because without her he had no inspiration. Which meant no songs. No albums. No adoring fans. Nothing to keep his mind occupied. Nothing to shield himself against the pain of his past. No one to keep his heart warm at night.

‘Mum? Are you going to say hello? Ritchie’s come all the way from Malibu to visit us. The least you could do is acknowledge his presence.’

There was a lilting tone to Serena’s words. A jauntiness. Why? Because after all these years he was having to do the one thing he’d refused to do time and time again?

Although that didn’t explain the stiffness of Serena’s mother’s back. The grim thin line of lips, void of a smile. The absolute opposite of Serena’s father.

‘I’m keeping an eye on the bacon, Serena.’

‘Well you’ll have to introduce yourself eventually, because Ritchie’s going to be staying with you while he’s here.’

‘What?’ Serena’s mother’s head snapped round. A deep line marring the space between her eyebrows. ‘Who is staying where?’

Ritchie took an unsteady step backwards, his gut aching as if he’d been sucker punched. ‘Serena, you said you’d found a place for me to stay. You never said anything about it being with your parents. And your mum doesn’t look like she wants me here. So, let’s go back to the original plan. I’m staying with you.’

Serena rounded on him, her eyebrows raised high and triumph shining in her luminous brown eyes. ‘Ritchie, I think you’ll find that was your plan. Not mine.’

‘Can’t he stay at the pub?’ Serena’s mother stood up, apparently no longer caring about the bacon.

‘Oh, you’re finally standing like a woman who was brought up with good manners. Great.’ Serena smiled. ‘Mum, meet Ritchie. Ritchie, meet my mum, Marjorie.’

Marjorie crossed her arms across her chest. A barrier to stop any advances. No kiss on the cheek. No shake of the hand. Not a problem. He wasn’t interested in playing happy families.

‘As for the pub…’ Serena casually opened the fridge door and scanned the contents. ‘He can’t. I called Tony and he’s all booked up, and he can’t stay with me. I’m too busy with the shop to cater for his wants and needs. Also, we’re broken up. It would be unseemly.’

Boom. Another punch to the gut.

‘So you’ve brought him to us?’ Marjorie’s grip tightened around herself. ‘We don’t have time to entertain. Your father and I are busy on the farm, doing what used to be your share of the work. And I’m in the thick of organising the Rabbits Leap Farmer of the Year Awards.’

Serena didn’t even bother to hide her eye roll as she shut the fridge door, an apple in hand. ‘You? Busy with all the awards stuff?’ She snorted. ‘That’s not what I heard. Jody says Christian’s got it well in hand. Organizing catering, sorting out the judges, ensuring all the award entries are correct…’

‘Yes, well…’ Marjorie waved away the accusation. ‘Someone still has to oversee the event. It’s not like he’s done this particular kind before. Despite the success of the Big Little Festival I can’t entrust him completely with the awards. He’s already tried to get us regional coverage. He doesn’t yet understand that the last thing this town needs on Christmas Eve is to be overrun by media. And quite frankly, that also means we don’t need the likes of him here.’ She jerked her head in Ritchie’s direction. ‘Christmas in Rabbits Leap is a time of community, of everyone’s nearest and dearest coming together. Laughter, love, celebration. And a good dose of frivolity. It’s not a time for us to court the attention of outsiders. Which is why that man can’t be here.’

Ritchie bristled. ‘That man’? Really? He wasn’t just ‘that man’ – he was Ritchie Dangerfield. The world’s biggest rock star. Women worshipped him. Men admired him. He was respected by the industry.

His carefully constructed bravado threatened to fold in on itself as he noted the disdainful shrivel of Marjorie’s nose.

Damn it. He wasn’t a confused little boy. Not anymore. And there was no way he would allow the woman before him to treat him like he was nothing and no one. That time was long gone. And he’d sworn no one was dragging him down to that level ever again.

He pulled out the golden-stained oak chair, straddled it and sat down on its padded forest-green leather seat. He folded his arms loosely over the top rung and lazily tipped his head to the side. ‘Sorry, Marjorie, I’m not going anywhere. Not until Serena agrees to come back with me.’

‘Oh, really?’ Marjorie’s hands flew to her hips. Her eyes narrowed at the exact time her daughter’s did.

Ritchie’s lips twitched, threatened to smirk. He pursed them, kept them still. If he was to stay with this woman he didn’t want to further antagonise her. But he wasn’t going to have her thinking she could treat him like dirt either.

‘You think Serena’s going back to LA, with you?’ Marjorie’s laugh boomed through the kitchen, bouncing off the walls. ‘Well good luck with that, because it’s never going to happen. Serena’s made it clear she wants to stay in Rabbits Leap, even if she doesn’t want to stay here on the farm, with us.’

Ritchie caught a hint of sadness in her last words. It appeared abandonment was becoming Serena’s specialty.

‘Geez, Mum, you really need to get over my moving out. It’s been a month. Besides, you and Dad must be enjoying the freedom to be able to roam around naked, chase each other round the kitchen table, get all frisky.’ Serena waggled her brows up and down, a grin sending her cheekbones sky high.

‘Don’t be trying to make light of this Serena. We thought you’d come home for good. Come to farm for good, like we Hunter women have always done. And you were so good on the farm. Thanks to you we’ve gone free-range. You set us up with that dairy co-op who’ll pay us more for our milk. And if all goes well, soon enough we’ll be able to swap to a robotic system for milking.’

‘I do like that idea.’ Roger nodded. ‘It’ll free up time. Hopefully enough that I will be able to chase your mother naked around this here dining table.’

‘Oh, don’t be crass, Roger.’ Marjorie’s cheeks pinked up as she shot him a look of irritation, the smallest of smiles appearing on her lips.

‘Yeah, Dad. It’s okay if I say it, but not you.’ Serena mock shuddered.

Ritchie couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His Serena had been a proper farmer these past months? ‘Since when do you know anything about farming?’

‘I grew up on this here dairy farm, remember?’ Serena sank into the chair opposite his and rubbed the apple clean on her neon pink jumper. ‘Also, I may have left the farm but I wasn’t completely disinterested. I’d read things about farming while you were sleeping off the night before. That’s how I figured out playing the herd old school concert music would improve production.’

‘And it made old Daisy a touch happier.’ Marjorie cut in. ‘Although not as happy as you made her, Serena. She’s reverted to glaring at me mutinously again. I think she blames me for your leaving.’

Ritchie straightened up out of his casual slouch as a spark of an idea hit. Serena wanted him to be different. She was also more annoyed than she’d let on that he’d not made an effort to meet her family. Well, he was here. There was nowhere else to stay. Roger appeared to be a good man, although Ritchie more than anyone knew looks could be deceiving. And Marjorie he was sure he could win over, given time. He was hurting. She was hurting. They at least had that foundation to build some sort of relationship on. And if he had her parents onside, perhaps together they could make Serena see sense.

She wanted a different man? She was going to get one.

‘How about I help out with the farm while I’m here? It’s the least I can do if I’m to stay here, to earn my keep. I mean, I could give you money for bills and food too.’

Marjorie flapped her hands. ‘There’s no way we’d take your money. What kind of people do you think we are?’

‘So, is that a yes, Mum?’ Serena bit into her apple. The size of the fruit not quite concealing the triumphant grin that was growing bigger by the second.

‘No. I didn’t say yes. But—’

‘But we can’t have him homeless either.’ Roger went to stand by his wife. His large hand clasping her shoulder. Not in a way that said he controlled the house. That his word was final and there would be ramifications if anyone challenged him. No, that hand was one of reassurance. He was telling his wife it would be okay. To let things unfold. ‘Serena’s right, she has to focus on her shop. And we’re going to have to house the herd soon. The weather’s about to pack in – they’re saying we could well have snow this Christmas. I think Ritchie could be of help.’

Ritchie nodded his thanks. ‘I appreciate that, Roger. I promise I’ll do everything you ask, when you ask. I won’t be a problem.’

Serena set the apple on the table, suspicion narrowing her eyes. ‘I still don’t know how you’re making this happen, Ritchie. I know you’re meant to be working on your album. And he who must be obeyed, Barry, isn’t one to let you off your leash quite that easily.’

The uncomfortable squirming returned to Ritchie’s stomach. His manager, Barry, didn’t know where he was. No one did. It was the reason he’d asked for the cone of silence. If Barry found out there were no songs, that there was no album, he’d have him locked in a studio until Ritchie squeezed out something recordable. Barry didn’t understand that without Serena beside him, he was muse-less, and music-less. Coming here on the quiet had been his only option.

‘What can I say? Barry saw I was heartbroken so he gave me some time off.’ The lie came easily. It had to. If Serena knew Barry wasn’t in on it she’d call him, give away Ritchie’s location, and next thing you know he’d be on the first first-class flight back home. Sans Serena.

Ritchie grabbed his phone, tapped and swiped, then held it up for Serena to see. ‘Look. My calendar is clear. I’m not taking anything else on until you agree to be mine again.’

Serena slumped back into the chair and buried her face in her hands. ‘You’re serious about this, aren’t you? You’re not going to let it go?’

‘Nope. That’s the good thing about being an arrogant, rich, rock star – I don’t stop until I get what I want. Or who I want.’ Ritchie flashed a wink at Serena.

‘If you start stalking my daughter …’ Marjorie warned, shaking her forefinger in his direction. ‘I’ll leave you alone with Daisy. She’ll deal to you. Her farts are lethal. You wouldn’t stand a chance.’

Ritchie thrust his hands up, warding off the threats. ‘No. No stalking here. I won’t have to.’ He angled his head towards Serena. ‘The thing is, sweet thing, you may have given up on us. But I haven’t. Out of all the things I have going on in my life, you are the one thing I am certain about. I just need to remind you why. So I’ll start by being of help to those you love dearest. Show you I want to be properly part of your life.’ Ritchie sniffed the air. ‘Something’s burning.’ He looked up to see smoke snaking from the oven. ‘Marjorie, I think your bacon’s about to be charcoal.’

‘Giddy aunt.’ Marjorie snatched up a tea towel and fanned the smoke away while reaching over and twisting the grill’s knob off. ‘Just what I need.’ She glanced up at the kitchen clock. ‘And would you look at the time? All this talk’s got me behind. The girls need milking. Serena, you started this. You’re going to have to finish it. Which means you’ll have to show Ritchie the ropes up at the milking parlour. Go. Go.’ She flicked the tea towel in their direction. ‘Make yourselves useful.’

***

Ritchie and Serena walked side by side in silence up the well-worn dirt road towards the parlour. Serena’s eyes scanned the ground before them, not once flitting towards Ritchie. Irritation radiated from her, punctuated by sharp hisses of breath as she picked up the pace; no doubt she wanted to get there quickly so she could get away from him as soon as possible.

Ritchie used Serena’s distraction as a chance to check her out, to see if six months apart had changed her in some way.

He saw the same wild long curly black hair. The same petite nose, perfect for kissing. Rose red lips in that little bow shape that drove him crazy. And the same brown eyes, the colour of espresso with a dash of milk. The kind of eyes a man could drown in. There were a few tiny new lines around those enchanting eyes, but essentially she looked the same. On the outside at least. For Ritchie sensed something within her had changed. The fierce and free Serena had taken a back seat to one who was calmer and more relaxed. Something he’d never known her to be.

His spirited wife had been tamed… by a business of all things.

Ritchie sucked in the soft flesh of his cheek and bit down on it, as uncharacteristic worry invaded the confidence he’d spent years cultivating. Just how badly would this business of hers impact his plan to win her back? Because he needed her back. It wasn’t just that he needed his muse in order to write… he missed her, utterly, totally and absolutely.

Life without her was lonely.

His ego had kept him ensconced in their Malibu mansion, whispering in his ear that she’d be back. And he’d believed it, because how could she not? They had a love unlike any other. At least so he’d thought.

Days had turned to weeks. Weeks to months. And she’d not returned. It had taken every ounce of humility he had to ignore his ego, to book flights, to come for her. But would she return with him?

Doubt gnawed at his stomach. Why would a person who was happy go back to a life that had made them unhappy? And what the hell was so damn great about running a chocolate shop? And how did Serena even know how to do that?

Ritchie squared his shoulders. It was no good asking himself all these questions. He wasn’t the one with answers. ‘So, Serena, since when do you know anything about running a business?’

Ritchie could see Serena was trying to keep neutral, but he didn’t miss the flare of pride brightening her face.

‘Since I started taking online classes. It was how I filled my nights once I returned home.’

‘Classes? As in plural?’ He sidestepped a cowpat and had to jog to reach Serena as she powered up the hill.

‘It’s wonderful to see your grip on the English language is as good as ever. All those late nights, booze, and Lord knows whatever else was offered to you on the road since I left, haven’t fried your brains.’

Ritchie caught Serena’s hand in his, bringing her to a stop. ‘Not fair, Serena. You know I don’t go in for all the ‘whatever else’ being offered to me. Not for years anyway. I stopped as soon as you told me it was taking its toll on our relationship. Booze, yes. Late nights, yes. But I had to do something while I was out on the road, alone. Then at home, alone.’

‘Are you trying to tell me you haven’t let one of those fawning groupies comfort you since I’ve been gone?’ Serena shook her head, her curls flying as a ‘pfft’ of disbelief escaped her lips.

Hurt skittered through Ritchie’s stomach. Did she really think so little of him? ‘I can’t believe you’d even suggest I would. God, I’m known for my faithfulness. The boys don’t call me ‘whipped’ for nothing. It’s always been you, ever since our eyes met across the crowd at that gig. You were all I saw in that heaving mass of faces. All I wanted. Nothing has changed. It won’t ever change.’

‘Well, maybe I have.’ Serena stopped outside the milking parlour. ‘Actually, no “maybe” about it. I’ve changed. I needed more than what was on offer back in LA.’

‘And that meant coming back to the place you were desperate to leave to see if it held something for you?’ Ritchie shook his head as he took in the sight before him… a herd of cows bellowed as they waited impatiently outside the grey breezeblock building with its matching grey corrugated iron roof. What the hell was he doing here?

‘We’re here.’ Serena stopped short of the entrance, her eyes focussed on the fields ahead, refusing to meet his.

Ritchie swallowed a sigh of irritation. Serena could ignore his questions and put up as many blockades as she wanted, but he wasn’t going to let it go that easily. At the very least he deserved a proper explanation. And if asking straight out wasn’t getting him the answers he needed then he’d turn on the flirtatious charm to get what he wanted.

‘So now that you have me here, Serena, what are you planning to do with me?’ Ritchie nudged his hip against hers and turned on his brightest ‘nothing you say or do is going to hurt me’ smile. One he’d had plenty of time to perfect when he was a young boy. When showing weakness meant a harsher punishment.

‘Don’t be cute with me, Ritchie. I’m going to show you how to milk the cows, like Mum ordered me to. Though Lord knows why you’d want to. Or why you offered. It’s not like you’ve ever shown an interest in the family farm… or in my family, come to that.’

Ritchie leaned in, his lips centimetres from Serena’s ear, always one of her ‘yes’ spots. ‘Maybe you don’t know as much about me as you think you do. Maybe I might be able to surprise you. If you’d give me a chance.’

‘I doubt that very much,’ sniffed Serena, her cheeks flaming from pink to crimson.

Ritchie gave her a smug smile, happy to see his words had their desired effect, despite the mock shiver of disgust he’d witnessed. ‘So, what do I need to do?’ He swung his arm over her shoulder companionably, refusing to let hurt engulf his heart when her body tensed at his touch and she ducked away from him.

Serena scanned the herd. ‘We’re going to have to get Daisy. She never comes when it’s time. She’s a difficult one.’

Ritchie bit back a retort. There was no point comparing Serena to a cow. That wasn’t going to get him anywhere except shunted out of town.

‘There she is.’ Serena pointed to a lone cow a good one hundred metres away from the parlour, its black and white head bent almost nonchalantly as it munched on grass. ‘She knows we’re here too. Look at those ears, alert as anything. Cheeky little bugger. Right, you go and fetch her.’

‘Me?’ Ritchie took a step back. ‘What do I know about getting cows?’

‘Didn’t you just say you could still surprise me?’ Serena raised an eyebrow. ‘So, go. Surprise me. I’ll meet you in the collecting yard.’

She turned on her heel and marched towards the parlour, leaving Ritchie to eyeball the errant cow. How did one get a cow to do something? Could he apply human logic? There was only one way to find out.

He jogged over to Daisy, who looked up, as if sensing him, and started to mosey further away. Not ideal.

‘Daisy.’ He said the word low and slow, sing-song style. ‘Daaaaaaissssyyyyy.’ He bent down and ripped a hunk of grass from the field.

The beast stopped moving away. Ritchie’s chest deflated in relief. Good, that was a start.

He patted his denim-clad legs. ‘Come here, girl. Come. Come.’

The cow didn’t budge. Okay, so it was his turn to give a little. He took cautious steps towards Daisy, not wanting to spook her.

Her luminous brown eyes appeared to look him up and down. Was it his imagination or did she just bat her eyelashes at him. Ritchie shook his head. Surely not? He must’ve been imagining it. The fresh air must be getting to him.

‘Good girl. Goooood girl.’ He reached the beast and held his hand out. Daisy nibbled at the grass. Ritchie dared to stroke her side and was rewarded with a low moo.

‘Gotta go and get milked, girl. Come with me okay?’ He patted her side, then took a few steps towards the parlour. His heart filling with pride as Daisy followed suit. And they said she could be difficult? They just didn’t know how to handle her.

‘Got her.’ Ritchie called out to Serena as he and Daisy strolled up to the rest of the waiting herd. ‘Wasn’t hard.’

‘Strumpet.’ Serena muttered, giving the cow a friendly pat. ‘A good looking man comes along and you’re putty in his hands.’ She turned from the cow, a good-natured grin on her face and walked up to the entrance. ‘Alright girls, you know the drill.’