The Cosy Christmas Chocolate Shop: The perfect, feel good romantic comedy to curl up with this Christmas!

Copyright

HarperImpulse an imprint of

HarperColl‌insPublishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2017

Copyright © Caroline Roberts 2017

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017

Cover illustrations © Shutterstock.com | Cover design by Ellie Game

Caroline Roberts asserts the moral right

to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is

available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International

and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

By payment of the required fees, you have been granted

the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access

and read the text of this e-book on screen.

No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,

downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or

stored in or introduced into any information storage and

retrieval system, in any form or by any means,

whether electronic or mechanical, now known or

hereinafter invented, without the express

written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008236281

Ebook Edition © November 2017 ISBN: 9780008236298

Version 2017-10-13

Dedication

For Richard

‘All you need is love.

But a little chocolate now and then doesn’t hurt.’

Charles M. Schulz

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Part One

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Part Two

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Caroline Roberts

About the Publisher

Part One

1

Silver baubles, dangly stars, fairy lights and chocolates, hundreds of chocolates, filled the shop.

‘Hi, how can I help?’

‘I’ve been put in charge of the sweets for the children’s Christmas stockings – any ideas?’ The thirty-something gentleman smiled hopefully.

‘Of course. We have reindeers, Santas, and angels in chocolate lollipops – great stocking fillers. There are figures of Father Christmas, too. Also, we have snowy stars in a pretty bag – little girls love those, I can vouch for my nieces – and packs of chocolate-dipped fudge.’

‘Well, there’s three kids to cater for, two boys and a girl, so can I have a selection? Oh, and I’d better get a nice box of chocolates for the wife.’

Emma pointed to the three sizes of gold boxes, positioned on the top of the truffle and ganache refrigerated display. ‘Large, medium or small?’

With a queue listening in behind him, and thoughts of fulfilling Christmas wishes on his mind, he went for the large.

‘Any particular favourites for your wife?’

‘Umm, she likes champagne truffles and caramels, I think, but a variety would be good.’

‘Great, I’ll pop a couple of champagne truffles in, and some caramels, with a lovely selection alongside that. Just give me a few moments and I’ll get them all ready for you.’ Emma set to work with boxes, bows and silver and gold ribbon, turning the gifts into works of art.

‘Wow, that all looks great. Thank you. So, how much do I owe you?’

Emma tallied it up on the till. ‘A total of fifteen pounds thirty, please.’ She popped one of her Chocolate Shop by the Sea business cards into the package.

‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome, and have a really lovely Christmas,’ Emma smiled.

Four o’clock, Christmas Eve afternoon, the till was pinging, the shop door chiming, and still the queue of last-minute shoppers continued to grow. Emma, proud owner of this gorgeous little chocolate shop in the harbour village of Warkton-by-the-Sea, Northumberland, and her assistant, Holly, were buzzing about like Christmas elves. In fact, they looked very like elves, dressed as they were in their festive jumpers, Holly with a Christmas pudding across her chest and Emma a red-nosed reindeer. Emma was also sporting dangly red-bauble earrings. She wished she had put some lighter clothing on now, though, something like a T-shirt: it was bloody warm dashing around, the two of them cramped in the serving space behind the counter, dressed in winter woollens.

Holly was serving an elderly chap from the village.

‘Hello, Stan. How’s Hilda?’ Emma asked him.

‘Not too bad thanks, Emma. Getting over the cough she had last week. But I thought it best she stayed home today. I’ve just been getting a few last-minute groceries in – we were low on milk and teabags – and then I thought it might be nice to cheer her up with some of those lovely coffee creams you do.’

‘Sounds a good idea. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.’

Holly passed him over a prettily tied cellophane bag with his chocolates in. ‘There you go, Stan. I popped an extra one in for luck.’

Emma gave her assistant a mock-shocked look, and then smiled.

‘Well, take care then, lassies, have a good Christmas.’

‘You too, Stan – and give my best wishes to Hilda. Happy Christmas!’

Emma had a chance for a breather for a few seconds as Holly began to serve the last customer waiting. Her feet were throbbing, despite being in her comfiest trainers, and her fingers were aching from all the delicate tying of ribbons and making up of boxes and gift bags – as well as having been up from 6.00 a.m. making more batches of truffles and chocolate lollipops to see them through. She gazed past the window display of baubles and dangling snowflakes that reflected the twinkle of the fairy lights in the shop, and out to the street. It was dark already out there, these short December days, but from the glow of the street lights she could tell it was still dry and a touch of frost was glinting on the pavements. She might get a chance to take Alfie, her springer spaniel and best friend, out for a quick walk down to the harbour once they’d closed. He’d been cooped up upstairs all afternoon with them being so busy.

A figure dashed past the window and came in, clanging the door. It was Danny who worked as the bar supervisor in The Fisherman's Arms, the pub down the road.

‘Afternoon, ladies. I need a box of chocolates for my girlfriend. Something fancy-looking.’

‘Hi, Danny,’ Emma greeted him.

‘Which one’s this, then?’ Holly chipped in cheekily. To be fair, he’d had about six different girlfriends in the past six months.

‘The lovely Helen – and less of your cheek, young lady,’ he quipped back.

‘Large box then, Danny? I’ll giftwrap it for you, shall I?’ Em didn’t bother asking which flavours she liked as he probably didn’t know her that well yet.

‘Perfect. How’s tricks, Holly?’

‘Been busy, hasn’t it, Em? Just a little lull for now.’ With that, a family came in, seemingly a dad and his two kids, who started to browse the shelves. ‘Oh, and there we go again,’ Holly added.

‘Yeah, I think we’ll be having a busy night down at the Fisherman’s too. Christmas Eve usually gets cracking. You coming down, girls?’

‘No, quiet night in for me,’ said Emma. She couldn’t imagine being in a big noisy crowd, not tonight.

‘What about you, Hols?’

‘Nah, my mum and dad want me home tonight. Family day tomorrow and all that.’

‘Ah well, see you around then. Maybe over New Year.’ He paid, taking a box beautifully wrapped in star-patterned paper with a big pink ribbon around it from Holly.

‘Maybe.’ Em left her answer deliberately vague. ‘Cheers, Danny. Oh, and there’s a gift tag for you to fill in on that box,’ she added as he turned to leave.

‘I’ll try and remember,’ he grinned.

‘Merry Christmas!’ the girls chanted.

‘And to you too!’

Five o’clock, their usual closing time, came and passed. There were still customers milling about in the shop and Emma didn’t want to lose any business – she needed all the income she could get – so kept going. She offered Holly the chance to leave but her assistant said she’d stay and help until the last customer had gone, bless her. Holly was nearly seventeen, eager, bubbly, and friendly with the customers. Since she’d started a few weeks ago, on Saturdays and the odd day in the holidays as she was still in the Sixth Form at school, the young girl had proved to be a bit of a godsend. Emma had been managing on her own up until that point, trying to keep to a budget and do everything herself, but as her chocolates were becoming more popular, and the shop better known, it was hard to keep up with the chocolate-making as well as serving behind the counter. It was lovely to have some company in the shop too.

The Christmas Eve queue continued. It was always a bit crazy, this last-minute Christmas Eve rush, as though no one was going to be able to buy chocolates ever again, or that the Christmas break would last a month. But she’d be open again in a few days’ time! Oh well, she certainly wasn’t going to complain; though it was tiring working all hours, Emma enjoyed the buzz and the build-up to Christmas, loved crafting the chocolates and thinking of new festive flavours to mix up with the traditional favourites, and she needed every last penny. It had been a bit of a poor year, profit-wise, even with the shop getting busier, as costs seemed to be going up all the time, and January was a desperately slow month, so December’s takings were going to have to see her through until Valentine’s Day at least.

It was twenty to six when the last customer, a woman in her twenties who was on holiday with friends, picked up her bag of festive goodies, thanked Holly and Emma very much, and wished them goodnight and a Merry Christmas.

‘Have a great break and Merry Christmas!’ Holly sang.

Emma followed the lady to the exit, thanked her, then popped her head out to check there was no one else on their way. The street was clear, and the winter chill swept in. She shut the door, turning its little wooden sign to ‘Closed’. Phew – she rested her back against the door for a second.

‘Well done, Hols. That was one busy shift. Thank you. I’d never have managed without you.’

She took the young girl’s wages for the day out of the till and gave her an extra twenty-pound note.

‘Oh, thank you so much!’ Holly gave her boss a little hug.

‘And hang on.’ She dashed to the back kitchen to find her assistant’s Christmas gift, some special bubble bath and matching body lotion, with a hand-picked box of Holly’s favourite chocolates.

‘Aw, Emma, thanks. I didn’t expect anything as I’ve not been working here that long. I feel awful now as I haven’t bought anything for you.’

‘Hey, no worries. There’s no need. It’s a thank you for working so hard for me. You’ve settled in really well.’

‘Thanks, Em, and honestly I am soo happy to be here. It’s the best thing I ever did, leaving that horrible chip shop in Seahouses. I smelt of chip fat all day and my hair was always greasy. This is like working in heaven. Chocolate heaven. It’s like my all-time ideal job.’

All was quiet. Holly had gone and Emma cashed up and just stood for a few moments taking in her little shop in all its twinkly, cosy Christmas glory: the two bay windows that looked out over the quaint village street of stone cottages, the wooden shelving stacked so prettily, the reassuring hum of the refrigerated counter, the rows of chocolates she had worked so hard to create … And to think, seven years ago she wouldn’t have even known how to make a truffle or how to temper chocolate – hah, back then she’d have thought that meant getting mad with it, which in fact did happen very occasionally!

She loved her little chocolate shop, her business, her life here. It really had saved her, given her back a purpose in life, when things were at rock bottom.

Right, then, she shook herself from her thoughts; she mustn’t dwell on that for there was one very eager spaniel upstairs no doubt desperate to get out.

Emma leaned on the stone harbour wall, watching the street lights catch on the water, the gentle waves lapping the sides of the boats that were moored up. It was a small harbour that had been used for centuries for fishing. There weren’t as many boats now, she’d been told, but some still went out daily, weather permitting, for their catch of herring to take to the smokehouse to turn them into kippers, a local speciality, or maybe some cod, or crabs. From July to September they’d be out checking the lobster pots which were now stacked on the shoreline next to an old coble-style boat, along with colourful buoys and thick rope and nets.

A small group of people walked past; Alfie perked up to greet them and Emma smiled. They were heading up the small rise, seemingly to the pub. Soon afterwards its heavy wooden door opened as they went in and she could hear its noisy chatter spill out along with the beat of music as the light spilled across the pavement. She could sense its vibrancy: the log fires would be lit, the Christmas decorations up, and several of the villagers as well as holidaymakers would be gathered noisily. She loved the community feel there, but it was not for her tonight.

‘Come on then, Alfie.’ They headed the opposite way, past a row of cottages, and then down to the beach. It was dark, but there was enough moonlight to make her way through the dunes, to stand and hear the hush of the sea as it lapped against the shore. She wasn’t afraid of the dark, she’d been there many an evening like this. She couldn’t stop the memories, but that was fine. In a way, that was what she was here for. It didn’t matter if she needed to cry, or write his name in the sand, or to scream at the seagulls that life was bloody unfair. Alfie just loved the freedom of the beach, where he could run his loopy circles and make leaps at seaweed sticks of kelp. But it was chilly; Emma could see her breath misting and she was glad of her thick woollen coat and her hat and gloves. She wouldn’t stay too long; it had been a hard day and she was ready for an easy supper, would find herself some Christmas film on the TV to settle in front of and then an early night – she’d just let Alfie have five more minutes.

They wandered back towards the harbour, passing a couple, arm in arm, who nodded a friendly hello at them. She climbed the small hill, reaching the front of The Chocolate Shop, which was an end-of-row, sand-coloured stone cottage, converted many years ago into a shop. There were two bay windows with a wooden door in the middle. Emma stood staring at her little shop for a few seconds. She had left the fairy lights on, and with all the festive decorations it looked rather enchanting at night. ‘’Twas the night before Christmas …’ Her mind wandered back to the magical stories and that bubbling feeling of excitement of the Christmas Eves of her childhood, which seemed so far away right now.

Tomorrow was Christmas Day and she was heading over to her brother James’s house to spend time with his family, as they’d kindly invited her for Christmas dinner. Of course it would be lovely to see her twin nieces opening their gifts, and enjoy the magic of the day with them. Chloe, her sister-in-law, was going to cook a traditional roast turkey meal with all the trimmings, and Emma’s parents were coming across too. It would be great to catch up with them all, especially after having been so busy in the shop of late.

But it was always another year where someone was missing.

2

Boxing Day

Emma pulled her coat tight around her and snuggled into her red tartan scarf.

Waves crashed to shore in a white froth, an overnight wind having whipped them up, and sea-salt spray hit her face every now and then. It was refreshing, enlivening. She hadn’t slept that well. She’d needed to get out, feel the wind in her hair, and the beach was calling her once again.

She was the only one on this whole stretch of the bay. Well, her and Alfie, who was pacing the sands beside her. Everyone else was probably still tucked up in bed, snoozing off their Christmas dinners and hangovers. Emma picked up a leathery strand of brown seaweed with a thick root that made a great stick, launching it into the air and away. Alfie leapt up animatedly and was off on the chase. It made her smile.

All the what-ifs, the might-have-beens and if-onlys were still there, always there, in her mind. But they didn’t change anything. A whole future wiped away. Their future. Seven years ago. And she missed him still, so very much …

Yes, she’d got on, made a life for herself. You didn’t get much choice. She’d moved here to Warkton-by-the-Sea six years ago, to a whole new venture with the chocolate shop, and a massive change from her role as a teacher specialising in food technology at a secondary school on the outskirts of Durham city. When the big stuff happens, it shifts your axis, makes you think about what you really want out of your life. She had gone back to visit one of her favourite holiday haunts, spotted the cute, slightly derelict-looking stone cottage on the little main street with its For Rent sign, and never looked back. And so The Chocolate Shop by the Sea was born.

It had once been a toy shop, apparently, but had been closed down for several years, and was in need of a little TLC. Inside, it was small but quaint and very cosy, the original front room being the shop area. Her dad, a keen DIYer and her brother, James, had helped her to do it up.

She had living quarters upstairs for her and Alfie, using the kitchen downstairs as her chocolate creating zone. Life had got better. Time had softened the blow, if not healed it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to heal, really; she certainly didn’t want to forget. Why would she ever want to forget someone so special? Anyhow, her new life was fine, and she had made some lovely friends in the area.

A movement up in the dunes caught her eye. Someone in a dark jacket, a man; he seemed to be alone. He was up early. So, it was just the two of them on the beach now. She felt a little irked that someone else had invaded her space. Okay, so there was about a mile of beach here, she admitted to herself, and it was a public space.

She strolled on, playing with Alfie and relaunching the seaweed stick. The dog looked up, alert, ears pricked, as he saw the man too. Emma took a brief glance along the beach. Damn, the guy was heading her way, walking behind her at a reasonable pace. Why couldn’t he have gone the other bloody way?

A sudden gust of wind blew up. As she bent low to pick up the stick for Alfie, it somehow peeled off her scarf, unravelling it and sending it twirling down the sands. She started to run after it, had nearly got to it, when another gust took it from her reach and away. The scarf then cartwheeled down the beach and she gave chase. She really liked that scarf; it was fine wool, cosy, she’d had it for years … Luke had given it to her on their first Christmas together. But as soon as she got anywhere near it, the damn wind whipped it up again and it would relaunch.

The man on the beach must have spotted her dilemma and started jogging towards the errant item. He diverted, made a quick dash, and soon had it trapped under his boot.

He grinned across at Emma as he picked it up, shaking it a little to loosen the sand from it. She waited as he caught up with her. He was tall, and broad-shouldered under his coat with a friendly face, dark hair, and a nice smile.

‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome. It’s a bit blustery, isn’t it?’

‘Just a bit.’ Her tone was ironic. ‘So, you’re out early too.’

‘Yes.’

‘We must be mad.’ It wasn’t yet 8.00 a.m. and had only just got light.

‘Probably.’ He smiled softly.

Or sad … or lonely, Emma mused.

They began to fall into pace beside each other.

Alfie then nudged in between then, wanting his share of the limelight.

‘And who’s this, then?’ The guy rubbed the spaniel’s head, making the dog’s tail wag even more.

‘Alfie. He’s good company. Gets me out and about.’ Oh great, she was sounding like she lived a hermetic, spinsterish existence with her dog. Actually, it wasn’t so far from the truth. Well, she’d nearly been married, would’ve been if fate hadn’t stuck its big bloody nose in.