The Cosy Christmas Chocolate Shop Read online

  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.

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Are you local?’ She hadn’t seen him about before. She’d have remembered him for sure. Those big hazel-green eyes, fixed on her right now, wouldn’t easily be forgotten. He had cropped dark-brown hair and a stubbly beard that kind of suited him. Nice, even, white teeth when he spoke. ‘No, just staying for a few days in a holiday cottage along the road there.’ Nice eyes.

  ‘Ah, okay.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Local?’

  ‘Oh yeah, I live in the village. Been here about six years now.’

  ‘You’re lucky. It’s a really scenic place. Bit wild here today, mind, but I kind of like that.’

  She was trying to place his accent. A hint of the local North Eastern Geordie, but well spoken.

  ‘Yeah, Winter’s launched itself with a vengeance,’ she replied. ‘But I like that too, when the sea’s all wild, and the clouds are inky-grey and stormy.’

  Alfie went off to investigate some clumps of seaweed on the tideline. They were nearly back at the dunes below the village that she usually walked back through. ‘I’m heading this way.’

  ‘Me too – I’ve got the car parked there,’ he clarified.

  They smiled politely at each other, his smile reaching his intense dark eyes. If she wasn’t mistaken there was a slight frisson between them. But she wasn’t quite sure. She hadn’t actually fancied anyone since Luke. Was that what this was? Did she fancy him? Oh, wow.

  ‘Clearing your head this morning?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah, you could say that.’ He looked thoughtful, as if there was more to it than he wanted to divulge.

  The spikey marram grass of the dunes began and Emma started to climb the sandy track. She was aware that he was close behind, coming to a level with her as the path widened when they approached the beach car park. She sneaked a sideways look. He was, in fact, rather gorgeous with a tall, athletic frame, as much as she could tell under his Barbour-style jacket and jeans. All too soon they were at the car park in the dunes and he was saying that it had been nice meeting her and that he had to go.

  Weirdly, she realised that she didn’t want that, as if there was already some connection between them. He stood and just looked at her for a few significant seconds and she guessed he might be feeling the same way too.

  Then he stepped towards her, took her hand in his. His grasp was warm, smooth, gentle.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I think you’ve helped me make my decision.’

  And then he moved closer again, looked right at her with those deep, dark green eyes, and leant in to kiss her delicately on the mouth. He smelt gorgeous, all cool-citrus aftershave, his body next to hers, warm and strong and real. She hadn’t been this near to a man in a long, long while. It was a surprise, yet it felt so very natural. The kiss became passionate, his arms around her now. One of her hands reaching up to his neck, stroking his hairline, as she pressed her lips firmly against his, finding his open mouth, his tongue. Oh boy.

  Then he stopped, stepped back, with a surprised smile, ‘I’m sorry, I hope …’

  ‘It’s fine. It was nice.’ She suddenly felt shy.

  ‘Look, sorry, but I really do have to go. ’ He started to move towards his vehicle, a jeep type, pausing as he got there. ‘How can I find you?’

  ‘The chocolate shop
in the village. You’ll find me there.’

  ‘Okay. Right.’ He processed the information, smiled at her, then ducked into the driver’s seat.

  ‘Your name … I don’t even know your name,’ Emma called. But the words were lost on the wind as he closed the vehicle’s door.

  She watched, stunned, as he waved from behind the windscreen, and then drove off.

  3

  So, what do you do after a rather handsome man has kissed you quite out-of-the-blue in a car park in the dunes? Well, you walk back, in a bit of a daze admittedly, wondering a) if that really did just happen and b) is he a nutter, possibly high on drugs, or a bit of a madman with an axe in his car boot? And then you head back home and go and make some chocolate bars.

  Well, that’s what you do if you run a chocolate shop. Emma wandered back along The Wynding, a narrow lane that led from the beach, past the small harbour, where the coble fishing boats were moored, along to the stone cottages of the main street and The Chocolate Shop by the Sea.

  She passed the first window which had the Christmas display she had so carefully set out several weeks before. There was a small, real pine Christmas tree with red and gold baubles and matching coloured tinsel, with little sparkly white lights. A wicker basket of her best chocolate gifts took pride of place, filled with chocolate snowmen and Santas, all handcrafted, alcohol-infused truffles, candied orange slices dipped in dark chocolate, and more. She’d soon have to empty it and come up with a fresh idea for January, she realised. Why did that make her feel rather glum?

  Emma headed past the shop front and in through the adjacent alleyway to the back of the row of cottages, to keep a very sandy, wet Alfie away from the main shop. She unlocked the door, went on in, and headed straight up the stairs, as the downstairs kitchen was for chocolatier use only, and was a pet-free zone for health and hygiene reasons. She gave Alfie a rub-down with his old towel once they reached the top landing and settled him in his dog basket in the tiny kitchen she had in her cottage flat. Then, she carefully washed her hands, popped her hair up in a ponytail, and headed down to the shop’s kitchen to set about making a batch of chilli and lime dark-chocolate bars. She also made a batch of the latest flavour she’d created just before Christmas, ginger and cinnamon; perfect for a cold winter’s day.

  Christmas was the busiest time of The Chocolate Shop’s year, and supplies were depleted. Naturally, the New Year period would be quieter. There would, of course, be that couple of weeks’ lull, where chocolate was the enemy and gym memberships were eagerly signed up to. She’d spot more people jogging on the beach for a while – and then they’d realise that what they really wanted to do on a cold, grey January day was to cosy up on the sofa, by the fire, with a chocolate treat and a good book.

  She had taken a few days off for Christmas and closed the shop, giving Holly the week off too. The young girl had been chatting about her plans to go socialising with her friends, no doubt sporting her new iPhone she sooo hoped her parents had got her for Christmas, and the new outfits and shoes her Saturday job money was going to buy – a trip with her girlfriends to the Metro Centre and the sales was lined up for today.

  The day passed quickly and quietly for Emma, working away, radio on, crafting her chocolates. Her mind drifted to the strange incident on the beach whilst she rolled a truffle centre between her palms. She wondered if that guy might appear at the shop … might he be staying locally? And what decision was it that she’d helped him to make? She kept an ear out for a knock on the door, but no, no sign of him. She decided to put it down to experience and get on with her working day, crafting truffles, boxing others up, making the displays look good, making a list of supplies to order. There was always something to keep her busy, to keep her mind focussed. Her little chocolate shop and Alfie were more than enough in her life.

  After all, that guy could be anyone. In fact, who on earth went and kissed a complete stranger in a car park?

  4

  New Year’s Eve loomed on the horizon – not Emma’s favourite night. She felt pressured to be out having a ‘great’ time, when all she really wanted to do was to stay at home, treat herself to a shot of Baileys in her hot chocolate, whilst watching a movie in her PJs and slippers, cuddled up with Alfie on the sofa. That way she could have an early night, so she didn’t have to see midnight in and didn’t have to think about facing another year alone.

  Instead, she’d had her arm twisted by Bev, her closest friend, and Joanne, both from the village, so here she was in The Fisherman's Arms, having beer slopped down her back, party poppers thrust into her hands and any minute some strange guy’s lips would be thrust on hers in an attempt at wishing her a Happy New Year! Her mind slipped to the man on the beach again – he kept popping up in her thoughts, uninvited. She wondered what he was doing for New Year? She’d rather it was The Kiss, as she’d named him to herself, lined up next to her; that might not be too bad at all, rather than the portly middle-aged fisherman, reeking of a mix of lager and stale kippers, who seemed to be purposely edging into her zone. She downed a big gulp of white wine as Big Ben started to chime on the TV screen they had blaring out, and managed a swift side-cheek manoeuvre as the fisherman moved in for the inevitable kiss.

  ‘Happy New Year, pet!’ he slurred.

  ‘Happy New Year,’ she replied with a pasted-on smile.

  Then Bev and her hubbie, Pete, found her, congratulating her with hugs and kisses.

  ‘Have a good one, Em.’ Bev hugged an arm around her.

  ‘Hope so. You too, my lovely friend.’

  Even though Bev was nearly ten years older than Emma, the age gap just didn’t seem apparent. They had first met a few weeks after Emma had come to Warkton at a summer fete down by the harbour. Bev had said hello, then introduced her to several new faces in the village. Later they had chatted away, Bev intrigued by the opening of a chocolate shop in their village. She always joked that it was the talk of chocolate, not Emma herself, that first captured her attention and sealed their friendship.

  Joanne and a few more acquaintances from the village moved to be beside her, pushing through the throng of revellers that were crammed in like sardines, with shouts of ‘Yay! Happy New Year, darling!’ whilst topping up Emma’s glass with bubbly. Danny came out from behind the bar to make the most of kissing a whole bunch of ladies at once, giving Emma a warm, friendly peck on the cheek, then moving along the row. ‘Happy New Year, gorgeous ladies.’

  ‘Hey, Em, my fab-ul-ous boss. Happy New Year, hunnn!’

  There was Holly, in a bright red dress, brown wavy hair bouncing around her shoulders, with a slight slur to her voice, tottering beside her in high heels. ‘New shoes – aren’t they brilliant?’ She raised a leg, showing a bit too much thigh, which, judging by the grin on his face, Danny didn’t seem to mind, and indeed, her new black stiletto killer-heels.

  ‘Amazing – I don’t think I could even walk in them,’ Emma commented with a smile. ‘Happy New Year to you too, Hols.’

  ‘Have a good one, Em. Wonder what this year will bring? I’m looking for the man of my dreams … well, Tom will do.’ She laughed giddily, full of hope, and expectation, which was just how it should be at sixteen and three-quarters.

  ‘Well, I hope it’s a special year for you, Holly.’

  There were more hugs and introductions to Holly’s group of young, vibrant friends.

  New Year: a new chapter, a time for hopes and dreams, wishes and resolutions. Emma could only think about getting through tonight; tomorrow, a whole year, too much to take on. She still felt stuck. Yes, of course she’d find moments of happiness where she could; she had great friends, a wonderful family, and her very special chocolate shop, and for all of that she was thankful, but beneath it, her heart still felt sore.

  Smile, chat, mingle some more, another round of drinks, one more glass of bubbly, and at last, just after 1.00 a.m., the chance for Emma to get back to her little cottage and her bed.

  The next evening all was quiet in Emma’
s small living room. New Year’s Eve had been survived and another New Year’s Day was over – well, nearly. Phew, she’d made it through another festive season and she could chill out a bit now with a slower few weeks in the shop, but it never lasted. Who would want to live in a world without chocolate, for heaven’s sake?!

  Em snuggled up on the sofa, with Alfie content beside her.

  For a second her mind flashed to the man on the beach on Boxing Day. Might he come back yet? Come and find her there in her little chocolate shop? A week had now passed since they’d met, but it was all a bit too bizarre. And, how would she feel if he really did? Wouldn’t it seem a bit stalkerish? He might have that axe lurking in the back of his pick-up, or perhaps she’d just imagined he was handsome, and he’d walk in with a crooked nose, squinty eyes, and yellow-stained teeth. But the image she had fixed in her mind was far from that. Anyhow, strangers just didn’t kiss you in a car park like that. Certainly not like that! Oh yes, it was all coming back vividly now. Boy, talk about making your toes tingle.

  She smiled, remembering one of her Great-Aunt Emily’s phrases which she’d chided her with when she was a teenager: ‘Just because he makes your toes tingle, it doesn’t mean he’s right for you.’

  Luke had made her toes tingle, mind you. Many times.

  She sighed and stroked the soft fur of Alfie’s head. Though he’d been asleep, his tail responded instantly, thwacking down happily on to the sofa cushion.

  ‘We’re okay, aren’t we, Alfie?’

  It was meant to be a statement, but it came out sounding like a question.

  5

  Though the shop was closed for another day over the New Year break, Emma was in the kitchen early making up a batch of whisky truffles. She liked to keep herself busy, would spend the time off preparing for the next few weeks, and warming whisky truffles were always a good seller through the winter months.

  She melted the dark chocolate, then warmed the whisky just to the point where a little vapour was coming off it, next she’d whisk them together. The smell was rather delicious, even this early in the morning. She’d look forward to trying one with a cup of rich coffee later. The ganache mix she’d made had to refrigerate for at least four hours before it would be ready to roll into the circular centres, ready to dip in melted dark chocolate. Bliss.