Christmas at the Second Chance Chocolate Shop. Kellie Hailes

again.

      What the hell was he seeing? And how had he not noticed it before?

      Ritchie stepped into the street and did a slow three-sixty turn.

      The street was illuminated in a golden glow, as hundreds of thousands of fairy lights dripped off eaves, twinkling their way merrily down the main street. Elaborate wreaths hung off shop doors. Circles of ivy interspersed with holly, silver-sprayed pinecones mixed with spruce, branches of fir through which red, gold and green baubles were artfully placed. Shop windows were lit from within, each decorated with …

      He moved to the closest shop, the stationers, where little wooden soldiers marched along the window, heading towards a miniature Christmas tree, under which little painted presents in an array of festive colours were placed. He shuffled over to the next window, the butcher’s. A wooden toy train, its carriages filled with tiny boxes wrapped in paper and ribbon, took pride of place.

      Ritchie scanned the rest of the stores. Sure enough, each and every one of them had embraced Christmas in a massive way.

      He waited for the soul-shaking shudder to roll through him, as it usually did when faced with festivity. Yet it didn’t. Instead a tinge of amusement had replaced the dark fury that had curled mere minutes ago in his gut.

      What the hell was going on here? Going on with him? Christmas repulsed him, yet here he was not completely sickened. And he’d caught himself singing along to the carols in the parlour. The first time he’d done so since he was seventeen. And why was Serena’s the only shop to be bare of decorations? She’d never seemed the type to be massive on Christmas but surely she’d think it would be important to follow on with village traditions?

      A light shining from the direction of her kitchen told him she was in. He stalked over and, not bothering to knock, he opened the door. ‘Serena? You in?’

      A soft sigh, tinged with exasperation, greeted him. ‘Yeah, I’m in. Come on through. Though I’m sure you’d do it even if I didn’t extend the invitation.’

      Ritchie grinned. They may have been apart, but she still knew him so well.

      He strolled to the kitchen, stepped inside and leaned back against the wall, tucking his hands in his pockets to keep them warm. ‘So, what’s up with the light show out there? It’s like someone ate too much sherry-laced trifle and vomited up Christmas.’

      Serena lifted a nonchalant shoulder, then dropped it. Her gaze remaining on the laptop she had opened on the bench. Rabbits Leap likes Christmas.’

      ‘Likes? This isn’t like. This is full-on obsession. I’ve never seen a glowing star on a pub door before.’

      ‘That’s the previous pub owner’s doing. He was notoriously Grinch-like, and only submitted to that one piece of Christmas because he liked to think the star was the guiding light to the only place worth going to in town. It was nice to know the grumpy old fart had a hint of humour about something. His son, Tony, decided to keep up the tradition after his father passed away.’

      ‘God, no wonder you wanted to leave this.’ Ritchie shook his head slowly, half-horrified, half-amazed. ‘No wonder you never came back for Christmas. It’s just so over the top. God, I bet people sing carols and have big long never-ending family meals together, with, I don’t know… turkey. And bread sauce. And Christmas pudding.’ He stuck his finger down his throat and mock-gagged.

      Serena looked up from the screen, her face passive. ‘The only reason I never made a big deal about Christmas, Ritchie, is because you made a big deal about how much you hated it. And the only reason I never returned home at Christmas is because you always ensured that time of year was so jam-packed with social engagements that I apparently had to be there for, that I didn’t feel I could leave.’

      ‘But your shop… it’s not decorated.’ Ritchie pulled his hand out of his pocket and ran it through his hair. A feeling he wasn’t used to took shape low in his stomach. Bulky, uncomfortable, stony… guilt.

      ‘Not yet. That’s on the list for tonight. The shop opens tomorrow. I need it to be picture perfect. And don’t worry, Ritchie, despite your refusal to take part in Christmas I didn’t deprive myself completely. I would buy myself a present and open it on Christmas morning. Usually while you were sleeping off a hangover.’

      Serena had wanted to celebrate Christmas? She’d bought herself gifts to make up for his lack of interest? Had he really been that oblivious?

      The guilt crept up to his heart. He tried to push it away, but it refused to budge. There was only one thing for it. He couldn’t fix the past, but he could do his best to make things up to her. ‘What else needs to be done before the grand opening? Is there anything I can help with?’

      Serena went to shake her head and tell Ritchie no. Stopped herself. She wanted to do this all herself, but, dammit, she was running out of time. She’d built up a bank of chocolates, but more needed to be made as online orders were running hot after the social media ad she’d placed had started doing its thing. She still needed to make the place look Christmassy and somehow on top of everything she needed to get an hour or two of sleep so the dark circles under her eyes didn’t scare off customers.

      But letting Ritchie help? Really? Was that the best idea?

      ‘Come on, Serena. I’m not entirely useless. I could even… I don’t know… sing carols as we work. Wouldn’t that be jolly?’ Ritchie took a step towards her, his hands stretched out, palms up. ‘These hands are just as capable of doing menial labour as they are strumming a guitar.’

      His blue eyes begged her not to reject him. And how could she? She’d never been able to. So much so that to free herself from him she’d had leave when he wasn’t there.

      ‘Fine. I’ll get you to bag up some of the hand-dipped macadamia nuts. Ten to a bag. Tie it with a piece of red ribbon. Then set it on that silver tray over there. Nicely.’

      Ritchie nodded, a wide smile appearing on his sharp-edged and dangerously handsome face.

      Don’t think of him as handsome, Serena, she cautioned herself. Thinking of him as anything other than a man she used to know could lead to a crumbling in the wall she’d built to resist his advances. Even now as he took a step towards her, as that familiar swoon clutched her stomach, she could feel chips falling away.

      She took a step backwards, then another; the Ritchie Effect weakening with every extra inch separating them. ‘I’ll go upstairs and grab the decorations. You get bagging. The macadamias are in the pantry in a container marked “macadamias”. Bags and ribbons are under the counter.’ She turned on her heel and rushed up the stairs, her heart beating an unsteady rhythm as she stepped into the lounge. She hefted up the box of decorations she’d ordered online then, giving into the frenzy of thoughts whipping about her mind, sank onto the couch.

      Serena rested her head on the cardboard lid. It was too hard having Ritchie here. She’d hoped sending him to her parents to stay would see him scuttling out of town, but he’d stayed. More than stayed. He’d milked the cows without complaint. Hell, by the end of the milking he’d had them eating out of the palm of his hand. His pitch-perfect voice humming along with the music as he’d checked them over had seen them positively glowing. Not to mention, Daisy had nuzzled him. Twice.

      And here he was, offering to help her. To do whatever she said. Not demanding, not inserting his will, but just being there. This was so unlike Ritchie. Did he really think changing who he was in order to make her happy would work?

      Changing just to make another person happy wasn’t possible. No one knew that better than Serena.

      She’d tried to be the perfect farmer’s daughter, set to follow in her parents’ footsteps, and failed. She’d tried to be a rock star’s wife – with the outfits, the parties, the pandering – and failed. She’d returned home to give farming another try in the hopes of making her family happy. And failed. Again.

      Each time, as always, the hollowness had taken hold. But this time she’d realised that trying