Christmas at the Second Chance Chocolate Shop. Kellie Hailes

the family farm to pursue her dream as a chocolatier.

      Their relationship, rocky at best, was at an all-time low.

      ‘Hello? Anyone here?’

      The throaty tones she’d known so intimately for a decade filled the shop’s front room and drifted into the kitchen.

      Serena’s heart slammed against her ribcage, shattering her sense of calm. That couldn’t be the voice she thought it was. That voice was meant to be in a recording studio. On the other side of the world.

      ‘Hello?’ The dull thunk of heavy shoes on wood followed - motorcycle boots. Well-loved, lived-in, and the black leather dulled with age, but still sexy as all hell. The thunks grew louder as they crossed the shop floor and headed towards the kitchen.

      Towards her.

      Her heartrate ratcheted up, the beat spreading through her body like a circle of drums going off all at once.

      Gripping the table for support, Serena half-wondered if she had time to escape through the back door. Or perhaps hiding in the small walk-in pantry was an option.

      Too late. A shadow belonging to the rangy, muscular, rock star, who she’d given her all to for her whole adult life, travelled across the kitchen floor as he came to stand in the doorway. She flinched as the shadow, only inches away at its peak, almost touched her.

      She didn’t want to be touched by him. Hell, she didn’t want to even look at him. She’d said as much in the note she’d left on his bedside table while he was on tour. A coward’s way out, perhaps. But if she’d waited to tell him to his face, those brilliant sapphire-blue eyes of Ritchie’s would have pinned her in place. The gravelly tones, filled with promises of the kind of passion and desire she’d not believed could have existed, would have convinced her to stay. They would have reminded her of the nights spent dancing in bars after one of his concerts, the days frolicking in the Malibu surf, the hours upon hours of mind-blowingly amazing…

      No. She wasn’t going to even think about the good times. If she entertained her memories, she would never be able to yank herself away from him.

      ‘Sweet thing, I was told I’d find you here. It’s good to see you.’

      Serena glanced out the corner of her eye. His tone was as relaxed as his stance. Shoulder leaning against the doorjamb, one leg casually crossed over the other. Hands shoved deep in jean pockets. His sharp jaw relaxed, not a hint of tension. But, of course there wouldn’t be. Serena was in no doubt that in Ritchie’s mind he was here to collect her and return her to their Malibu seaside mansion.

      Serena refocussed on melting the chocolate, increasing the stirring to ensure the smoothest, glossiest chocolate possible. There was no way the return of her husband was going to ruin tomorrow’s grand opening… or this batch of chocolate. She’d spent too much time living for Ritchie. This time around she was all about herself.

      Serena Hunter had finally taken charge of her future.

      ‘Cat got your tongue, sweet thing?’ he teased. ‘Or maybe you want to apologise for breaking my heart, but don’t know how?’

      Serena squared her shoulders, her spine straightening. So that was it? He was going to guilt her into returning? Make it all about him and his feelings, just as he always had? Well good luck to him, because she wasn’t going anywhere.

      ‘My tongue is perfectly fine, Ritchie.’ The words came out smooth, sweet, but most importantly, strong. If he saw weakness he’d use it to manipulate the situation. ‘I just didn’t expect you here. And, to be honest, I’m busy and don’t have time to chat.’

      She flicked her gaze towards him for a split second. A wrinkle formed between his eyebrows.

      Good. He was uncertain. Off kilter. She had to keep him that way. And she had to get him the hell out of town. Because despite her best efforts she could feel that inner swirling sensation in her stomach, that left her off balance, dizzy with joy, delirious with love. The ‘swoon’, as she’d named it when she’d tried to dissect it after she’d had time and space away from Ritchie, that had kept her in his thrall since the moment they met.

      Three soft footfalls followed and the trusty motorcycle boots appeared only inches away from her own purple high-top sneakers. Her stomach clenched as it went into a dive.

       Calm the freaking farm, Serena. He’s just a man. He’s not been your husband for six months now. Well, technically, he still is, but that’s a detail to be sorted when you’ve time. Now he’s no one. Nothing. He doesn’t have to mean anything to you anymore.

      Except the skittering in her stomach told her otherwise.

      ‘So you got yourself a job, did you? Making chocolates? Cute.’ His forearms, covered in his usual plaid flannelette shirt, came into view as he leant across the marble surface of the kitchen island, his hands loosely clasped together.

      Irritation rippled through Serena. Cute? What she was doing wasn’t cute. It was hard work; she’d spent hours grafting, and had had countless sleepless nights as she considered new flavour combinations that would make her stand out from other chocolatiers. Sure, she owned the only chocolate shop in Rabbits Leap, but being online meant she was competing in a nationwide market. Being average wasn’t going to help her stand out.

      She tucked a curl that had come loose from her top knot behind her ear and pushed the irritation down. Better to keep her cool than show Ritchie his words had an effect on her. ‘Actually, Ritchie. I don’t work here. This is my shop. I own it.’

      Ritchie’s knuckles whitened as a sharp intake of breath met her ears. ‘Own it? This is yours.’

      She’d shaken him. Good.

      ‘Yes, it is.’

      ‘Well that’s going to make it a lot harder for you to come home. We’ll have to find someone to rent the premises. Or we could just pay the rent until the lease runs out. Abandon the place. Head home, buy champagne, sip it in the spa, celebrate your return…’

      Serena counted to three silently. This was so like Ritchie. Coming in. Taking over. Thinking his way was the only way. That she was going to fall into step. Which she had for too many years, so she really had only herself to blame in many ways. She’d trained Ritchie to expect nothing less.

      She was now going to have to teach him that her way was her highway. She was following her own path. And he’d have to go back to his, alone.

      She reached for a piece of parchment paper, dipped it into the melted chocolate, pulled it out and watched it harden. Perfect.

      ‘Are you listening to me, Serena? You don’t have to do whatever it is you’re doing. You can just pack up and leave.’

      ‘Actually, Ritchie…’ Serena switched off the electric melting pot, then picked up the chopping board and swept the pistachios, dried cherries and marshmallows into the chocolate and began to fold them together in a figure eight motion. ‘I’m enjoying what I’m doing. It’s what I want to do. So I won’t be packing up and leaving.’

      Ritchie reached out and touched her shoulder, gently, but she could feel the power in his long fingers, strong from hours of playing guitar. ‘I don’t understand, Serena. You can’t tell me you haven’t missed me? What we shared? What we share? It’s a once in a lifetime kind of love.’

      Serena shrugged him off, hating the way her chest tightened, her own body accusing her of being harsh. Mean. But she had to be. It was the only way to survive this encounter. Tell him no. Tell him they were over. Tell him to go. Then continue to move on. That was the plan. She had to stick with it.

      She picked up the heavy pan, and took a moment to relish how easy it was to lift – so unlike when she’d first started and lifting half the amount of melted chocolate had left her biceps quivering – then poured the contents into a lined tin she’d prepared earlier. Putting the empty pan to the side she pushed the mixture to the edges of the tin and returned her attention to her soon to