’Tis the season for second chances …

Serena Hunter loves her new life in the sleepy Devonshire countryside! It’s a world away from her crazy past as the wife of American bad boy rock star, Ritchie Dangerfield.

Now she spends her days making delicious chocolate using milk from the local dairy and she finally feels that everything is back on track. That is, until her handsome ex-husband arrives in the village to win her back …

Away from the limelight, Serena gets to know Ritchie all over again and wonders if maybe a second chance at love is the Christmas miracle she’d been dreaming of all along?

A fabulously festive read to curl up with this Christmas. Perfect for fans of Caroline Roberts, Cathy Bramley and Heidi Swain.

Also by Kellie Hailes

The Cosy Coffee Shop of Promises

The Big Little Festival

Christmas at the Second Chance Chocolate Shop

Kellie Hailes

ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Book List

Title Page

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Endpages

Copyright

To you. Yes, you. You reading this. Thank you. So much. It’s a constant source of surprise and joy to think that someone I have never met would take the time to read something I wrote. Thank you for taking a chance on the residents of Rabbits Leap.

Laura Hancox – I’m so glad my cousin brought you to stay with us. You’re an absolute gem, and I thank you for taking the time to set me straight on milking practices and to all my farming questions. Your animals are lucky to have you, as am I.

Writing can be a lonely experience, which makes me incredibly grateful for my team of cheerleaders who urge me to keep going, and to never stop. Merilyn, not only are you the best boss EVER, you’re a dear friend who gives the best advice. Susie Frame - you give the best pep talks, and are one of the most generous and kind souls I’ve ever met. Natalie Gillespie – can you imagine how Kiwi my books would sound if it weren’t for you? Aaron aka The Husband – your faith in me amazes me. Thank you.

Lastly, but never least - because a good editor is to be treasured, and I’ve been lucky to work with great ones – I can’t thank Rayha Rose and Charlotte Mursell enough. At times this felt like the never-ending book, but your kindness, support and wisdom got me there in the end.

For Serena. Once known as Petunia.

You stormed into my head six years ago demanding I write about Rabbits Leap.

I’m glad to set your story free, but I’m sad to see you go.

CHAPTER ONE

One more day. One more sleep. Her dream was so close she could almost taste it. She could certainly smell it…

Calm swept over Serena as she worked the solid nibs into the melted chocolate. The two meeting, melting, blending together. The decadent aroma – rich, sweet, with a hint of bitterness – steadying her mind. Centring her. Reminding her of all she’d achieved, all she still planned to achieve.

Increasing the pace of her stirring, Serena scanned the ingredients before her. Dried cherries. Miniature white marshmallows. Pistachio nuts. All soon to be married with the dark chocolate, cooled down, and turned into Christmas rocky road, then bagged and sold tomorrow when she opened the doors of her very own chocolate shop.

Finally. She allowed herself a small smile. Her whole life she’d been trying to find out who she was, what drove her, how she fit into the world. She’d left Rabbits Leap as a teenager to seek adventure, excitement – a life opposite to in the one she led at home. And the life she had sought out, she’d experienced in spades. Yet here she was, back home, in the village she’d been so desperate to leave, happier than ever.

At least that’s what she repeated to herself every moment the gloom set in, threatening to derail her plans. Threatening to send her running back to the person who she’d devoted herself to for so many years, probably only to realise the devotion was one-sided.

Happier than ever.

An automated alert – high-pitched and cheerful – rang through the air, punctuating her point.

Another online order. Another customer wanting to indulge in the artisan range of chocolates she’d spent hours dreaming up, concocting, then perfecting. Proof she’d made the right decision to leave Ritchie, to return to Rabbits Leap, to start afresh.

Now she just had to prove that to those who doubted her. Those? More like ‘she’. Her mother had barely spoken to her since she’d announced she’d leased the old milkshake shop and the rooms above, and was leaving 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 be officially, as soon as she got around to it, ex-husband.

‘Perhaps it was. But it’s not now. My life with you is done. It isn’t what I want any more. Being a rock star’s wife wasn’t making me happy. I’m sorry, Ritchie, and please believe me when I say that. But we aren’t going to work. We haven’t worked for a long time.’

‘Nope. Sorry. Can’t.’ Ritchie skirted the kitchen island until he was standing opposite her. ‘We made promises, Serena. Vows. Remember those? To stand strong together. To bend with the winds but never to snap. To roll with the tides but never let them drown us. To never let the hottest sun sear our love. To never allow the frost to freeze each other out. But you did exactly that, Serena. You froze me out, big time.’

‘Really, Ritchie? Is that how things played out for you? Is that how you see it?’ She dragged her eyes away from the rocky road and met Ritchie’s gaze. Her chest constricted even further as she saw hurt dulling his eyes. The confident sparkle doused. ‘You froze me out years ago. Not the other way around. We were only happy at the beginning because we were riding the fame rollercoaster together. It was the adrenaline that kept us rolling, not anything deep, anything meaningful.’

Ritchie’s hands clasped the edge of the counter. A vein throbbed at his temple. ‘Well, I’m so sorry our relationship was so shallow for you. But I didn’t see you complaining about the private jets, the endless five-star hotels, the gourmet food and drink, the people willing to bend over backwards to make us happy.’

Serena swiped the back of her hand over her brow, refusing to let him get a rise out of her. She wasn’t going to be the crazy harridan, the emotional one, the fire to his ice. ‘And I didn’t. But it wasn’t enough to keep me with you.’

‘Well what would have been enough?’ The words sounded reasonable, but she could see that Ritchie was teetering on the knife-edge between appearing calm and shutting down altogether. Time away from her hadn’t changed him, but then Serena suspected nothing and no one could.

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. This was a different version of the same conversation they’d been having for years. Her trying to show Ritchie she needed him to be more than a rock star. To be more than a man who craved adoration the way she craved independence.

How ironic was it that she’d managed to flee one smothering all-encompassing relationship only to fly into another?

She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. ‘What would have been enough was you doing the one thing you refused to do, no matter how many times I asked. I just wanted you to stop keeping me at an arm’s length, Ritchie. To stop treating me like a favoured groupie. Because that’s how it felt. I was your wife, we were supposed to be a team, but you never really let me in. You glossed over things with me the way you would in interviews. We were together for ten years and I never felt I knew the real you.’

Ritchie held his hands out to Serena, palms open, fingers splayed. ‘But you did, sweet thing. I gave more to you than anyone else.’

Serena didn’t doubt the sincerity of his words. She knew he’d shown hints of vulnerability with her, that he’d never dared to show anyone else. Moments of uncertainty, covered up with a joke. Seconds of sadness, pushed aside when she’d asked what made his lips turn towards the floor. Hell, his being here, even with all the bravado and confidence, was proof of that.

‘I know you did, Ritchie, but it wasn’t enough. There was always an invisible wall that I couldn’t knock down, couldn’t bust through. And I got tired of trying.’

‘So you ran away.’ Ritchie dropped his hands to his side. The fleeting desolation in his eyes had been replaced by his customary ice-cold hardness.

‘I left. It’s not the same as running away. There was a note.’ Serena grabbed the pan, walked it over to the kitchen sink, and placed it in the warm, soapy water. Picking up a scrubbing brush, she began to clean off the chocolate hardening on its surface, glad to have a reason to turn away from Ritchie. If he saw a hint of the guilt she carried for leaving the way she did he’d take it to mean she wish she’d stayed.

‘A note that said bugger all. “I’m sorry. Don’t follow me” isn’t a note, it’s an insult to all that we shared.’

‘And you coming here when I asked you not to is what?’ The nylon bristles of the brush flattened as she took her frustration out on the stainless steel.

‘I was hoping it would show you I’m serious about our marriage. About us. Even if you aren’t.’

Serena dropped the brush with a splash and spun round to face Ritchie, her attempt at calmness evaporating. ‘I was! I took care of us for years. I took care of you. Who stopped you from sliding into a drug and alcohol haze? Your career was about to be over. You were showing up late to concerts, doing a half-arsed job. You were late with your next album. Had it not been for me you’d have been done. A has-been. At least I had the courtesy to leave you while you were on top. When you wouldn’t need me.’ She braced herself against the bench, gripped the edge, refusing to break eye contact. She would not be railroaded into doing anything she didn’t want to do. She’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

Ritchie ran his hand through his wavy deep-brown hair, and his chest heaved up and down in frustration. ‘So you don’t think I… what? Talked enough with you? Didn’t let you have your say? You think I’m not the kind of man who could let you have control? Take the lead? And because of that you don’t want to be part of my life anymore. Fine.’

Serena blinked, hard and fast. Was she hearing things? Was Ritchie giving up? ‘Good. We’re on the same page. Finally.’

Ritchie nodded. ‘We are. I now know what I have to do. I have to prove to you that I can change. That I can be different. I have to show you I can be the man you need me to be. So I’m going to stay and prove you wrong. My duffel bag’s in the rental. I’ll go grab it. I’m guessing your bedroom is upstairs?’ He jerked his head towards the door that led to the living quarters above the shop.

‘What?’ Serena spluttered. ‘What are you on about? You can’t stay here. I’ve told you to go. This is Rabbits Leap, Ritchie. It’s not the kind of place a rock star wants to stay in. There’s nothing here to amuse you. There are no strip clubs. There are no gambling dens. No women sitting poolside in tiny string bikinis…’ Serena knew she was failing as Ritchie’s lips grinned wider with each of her excuses.

‘You know I don’t care for strip clubs, or gambling, and the only woman I like to see in a string bikini is you. So really, at this point in time, I think Rabbits Leap would suit me quite well.’

‘But aren’t you meant to be working on your album? You can’t very well do it here.’ Just leave, Ritchie, Serena prayed. It had been easy enough to deal with leaving him when he was thousands of miles away, but to have him in her space? Breathing the same air? Sucking the oxygen from the room, leaving her light-headed and dizzy? She knew she might just succumb to his will.

She realised he’d paused. His skin had taken on an uneasy pallor. What had she just said? The album. Was something up with the album? ‘Is everything alright with …’ she stopped herself. No. He wasn’t her problem now. It wasn’t her job to save him. If something was wrong he would have to figure it out himself. Preferably from their home. No. His home. In LA

‘Everything is fine with the album.’ Ritchie’s gaze shifted to his feet. ‘Dandy in fact. But I think a change of environment will be good for me. All this brisk wintry air will do me well. Get the creative juices flowing good and proper. Now if you don’t mind, I’ll get my bag and head up to bed. All this travelling has left me buggered.’ He strode towards the door, paused, and looked over his shoulder. ‘One thing, Serena. I remember you talking about that cone of silence thingy that you lot have going on here for that rugby player… what’s his name… Harper? To make sure he can holiday without being hassled? I’d like that to be extended to me. I mean we’re still married, which means I’m kind of local.’

‘You’ve not once stepped foot in Rabbits Leap, Ritchie. You’re hardly one of us.’ Serena folded her arms and shot him her most scornful look.

‘Well I have now. And I am still family. Come on, sweet thing… it’s the least you can do for me after you just upped and left like you did. Please?’ Ritchie wheedled, turning on his megawatt smile that charmed hundreds of thousands all over the world.

Serena huffed. What harm would it do? He wouldn’t be sticking around for long. Rabbits Leap wasn’t Ritchie’s speed. He’d be bored in no time and out of her hair. ‘Fine. I’ll put the word round that your presence in the village is to be kept quiet.’

‘Great. I appreciate it.’ He tipped an imaginary cap, then headed out to the main road.

To get his bag, Serena realised. So he could sleep in her bed with her.

Oh. Hell. No.

She fished her mobile out of her bottle green apron pocket and punched in the digits for The Bullion. ‘Answer, answer, answer,’ she chanted as it rang through.

‘You’ve reached The Bullion. How can I help?’ Tony the publican’s cheery voice boomed down the line.

‘Tony, thank God. I’m so glad you answered. It’s Serena. Do you have any rooms available? Any at all. Big. Small. I don’t care. I just need a bed.’

‘But you already have a bed? Don’t tell me you’ve family coming for Christmas too? Seems everyone’s family’s returning to the Leap this year.’

‘Yeah, well, it’s something like that. So, do you?’ Serena’s foot tapped impatiently.

‘Sorry, Serena. All booked up.’

‘Shit.’

‘I’ll give you a beer next time you’re in to say sorry.’

‘Sweet of you, Tony, but no beers needed. I’ll figure something else out. Gotta go.’ Serena hung up and began to pace back and forth. Where could Ritchie stay that was far, far away from her? A place that would preferably hasten his desire to leave?

She stopped, a mix of guilt and delight tugging her heart in two opposing directions. Ritchie didn’t deserve what she was about to suggest, but he had left her no other option.

‘Brrrrr.’ The man himself shivered as he dropped his duffel on the floor in the front of her.

‘Pick that up.’ Serena ordered. ‘I’ve found a place for you to stay.’

‘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.’

Ritchie watched, amazed, as the first batch of cows filed into the parlour in an orderly manner, each stopping beside a set of cups.

‘Don’t just stand there, gawping. Pop the gate across so the girls can’t back out and then come down here into the pit, and I’ll show you what to do.’

Serena beckoned Ritchie down into an area set lower than where the cows were standing and passed him a pair of latex gloves, before twisting round to turn on an old stereo sitting atop a small table.

Ritchie cocked his head to the side as soaring string music filled the room with a familiar tune that sent an unwelcome shiver down his spine. ‘Christmas carols?’

Serena pulled a pair of gloves onto her hands. ‘Classical Christmas carols. The girls enjoy classical music. I guess Mum switched the CD I had in there for a more seasonally appropriate one.’ She brought the palms of her gloved hands together and rubbed them back and forth. ‘Right, first things first. Your first job is to grab a dry wipe, a fresh one for each cow, and clean their teats, starting at the head of the line.’

‘Um, what?’ Ritchie took a step back, his heart skipping a beat. ‘You want me to touch those? Nope. Not going to happen.’

Serena gave an exasperated huff. ‘Fine. Don’t. It’s no skin off my nose. But don’t expect a comfortable stay here. You told Mum you’d help, going back on that promise won’t end well.’

Damn it. Did she have to act so casual? Like she didn’t care one way or the other. Oh, that’s right. She didn’t. Ritchie stared at the teats dangling before him. He could do this. He had to. ‘Fine. I wipe the teats clean. Then what?’

‘Then you check to make sure they’re healthy. If the udder seems swollen, hot or tender, or if the cow has recently recovered from mastitis, then you forestrip and check the milk.’

‘Forestrip? You want me to get naked and check the milk?’ Ritchie’s stomach curdled in suspicion. Was Serena having him on?

‘Bloody hell, Ritchie. That’s gross. Unhygienic too. No, it means you milk the cow a little. This girl’s fine, but I’ll show you how just in case you need to do it.’ She took a teat between her hands and manipulated it so milk shot forth into the bowl she was holding underneath.

Acidic liquid burned its way up his gullet. What the hell was he doing here? Offering to do this? He didn’t know how to milk a cow. He wasn’t interested in touching teats.

‘Now you do it.’ Serena stepped aside. ‘It’s not hard. Just wrap your thumb and forefinger up round the base, then gently squeeze it, but don’t dick around, make it quick.’

‘You don’t expect me to do that.’ Ritchie eyed the bowl Serena was holding out to him. ‘I mean, isn’t it a bit… intrusive.’

Serena paused and closed her eyes with a small shake of her head. ‘This isn’t going to work. You don’t want to do it. And even if you did, Mum can’t leave you up here alone. If there is something wrong with one of the girls you’re not going to know. What the hell was she thinking taking you up on your offer?’

‘Probably hoping it’ll send me home. Get me out of her hair. Out of your lives for good.’ Ritchie eyed the teats. ‘Shows she doesn’t know how determined I am. Move over, I’m going to have a go.’

Serena stepped to the side with a flourish of hand. ‘She’s all yours. Just remember, grip and squeeze. Gentle and quick. That’s the key to it.’

Ritchie took a deep breath, closed his hand around the teat and did as he was told, jumping as the cow bellowed.

‘She senses your nervousness. Pretend she’s your guitar. Pretend you’re an expert. Pretend…’

‘Yeah, yeah, I get it. Fake it ‘til I make it.’ Taking a big, calming breath in, he gripped and squeezed. And just like that a squirt streamed into the cup, and another, and another. Ritchie laughed. ‘It’s working! I’m a natural! That’ll show your mother.’

‘She’ll be furious.’ Serena grinned as she indicated for him to stop. ‘More so when I tell her she’ll have to supervise you to ensure the herd’s health is up to scratch. I won’t have time. Hell, I don’t have time. I shouldn’t even be here.’

‘Maybe that’s part of why she so readily agreed to let me help out.’ Ritchie mused. ‘Maybe she thought you’d feel obliged to help me out, make sure things didn’t go wrong. Maybe she hoped it would make you see sense. See that this is the place you’re meant to be. If that makes sense.’

Serena acted as if he hadn’t spoken as she unhooked the cups set next to the cow. ‘Now after you’ve wiped and checked the cow over, you attach the cluster.’ She demonstrated how then nodded at the line. ‘You do it for the rest of the girls.’

Ritchie took a fresh dry wipe from the dispenser, moved to the next cow, cleaned off the teats, then attached the cups. ‘Was our life together really that bad, Serena? Did you really hate it that much?’

Serena forced herself to meet Ritchie’s eyes. It would be so easy to lie, to say yes, it really was that bad. And while she didn’t want Ritchie here, she also didn’t want to hurt him further. ‘No. Not at all. So much of what we shared was great. Amazing, actually. How many girls from a small village in the middle of nowhere get to lounge about in five-star hotels, walk down red carpets wearing dresses that haven’t even hit the stores, travel the world, visit places they’ve only ever read about…’

‘Remember that time we holidayed in Bora Bora?’ Ritchie’s eyes twinkled as he prepared another cow for milking. ‘Days spent bathing on the deck of our overwater bungalow. Nights spent making love…’

Serena knew what was coming next. The funniest, craziest and possibly most embarrassing moment of her life. One they’d laughed about for years after, usually while snuggled up on the outdoor loveseat at their Malibu home, the waves beyond crashing onto the golden sand.

‘I can see by those rosy cheeks of yours, Serena, that you haven’t forgotten. You dared me to go skinny dipping in the ocean, so we did.’

Serena met Ritchie’s gaze. Held it. She could go down memory lane one last time if it meant proving her point. ‘And then you challenged me to a swimming race. First to stop would have to give the other a full body massage each night for the rest of the holiday’

‘And we swam and swam to what felt like the end of the horizon, then realised we were too tired to swim back.’ Ritchie inched closer to her. ‘Thank God that fishing charter passed by, or we would have been fish food.’

Serena forced herself to turn away, to not engage. To keep the moment light, to stop it turning intimate. ‘Which I still think would have been preferable to being hauled out of the water naked as the day I was born in front of a boat load of tourists.’

‘We gave them the ultimate holiday story. A goggle at our goodies felt like a fair trade for them saving our lives.’ Ritchie turned back towards the cows and began cleaning and cupping the last in line for milking.

‘It was a good time, Ritchie. There’s no denying that.’ And it had been good. One of many amazing moments they’d shared. But moments didn’t change a person’s personality.

‘It was a great time. But a decade of great times wasn’t enough to keep us together…’

‘That’s because my leaving had nothing to do with the lack of good times.’ Serena gritted her teeth. It was time to be as straight up as she could. Her decision to leave Ritchie had been of the snap variety, but the events that had led her there had been a long time coming. ‘My leaving had to do with me finding my way, finding myself. When we first met I was a girl looking for adventure, excitement, passion. All the things I believed I’d never find in Rabbits Leap. Despite Mum’s belief that I was born to be a farmer I knew that wasn’t the case. I like cows, but I’m not passionate about them. Anyway, I’d promised my parents I’d return home after my education was over, but in my heart I knew I couldn’t. Not if I wanted to be happy. Yet with every passing month at university I could see that fate closing in around me.’

Ritchie’s head jerked back. ‘Are you saying you used me to ensure you didn’t have to return home? Is that all our relationship was to you? A way out?’ His face stilled. Became devoid of emotion. As it always did when they were on rocky ground.

‘I know you’re only saying that because you’re hurt.’ Serena kept her calm. There was no point aggravating the situation further. She walked back to the front of the line, Ritchie in her wake. ‘Once the milk flow has stopped the cluster will automatically drop off. Then you’ll need to dip each of the teats with this.’ She held up a tube filled with liquid and demonstrated dipping. ‘It helps keep bacteria at bay.’ She stepped back and motioned to Ritchie to go through the rest of the herd, copying what she’d done, after the udders had emptied. ‘Our relationship was never a way out, Ritchie. I thought it was a way forward. I thought we were building this incredible life together, but I don’t know, over time it felt that all we were building was a wall that separated us.

Ritchie’s jaw tightened. His chest stilled. Did he know what she was talking about? Had he felt the wall too? That excitement she’d mistaken for emotional connection had devolved over time. Morphed into her being at Ritchie’s beck and call, doing as he wanted, when he wanted. And when she brought up anything she thought would be good for them – or her – seeing family, the possibility of children, her not touring… he’d shut down. Turned off. And away. Each episode lasting longer than before. The silence stretching from hours into days.

And she was the one who broke first. Always. Melting the ice by ordering in his favourite foods. Inviting his band mates over for a party. Buying lingerie with the aim of certain seduction. Always hoping the latest icy episode would be the last. That he’d chill out. Open up. Until one day, one phone call, their last, had made her realise how futile it was to expect someone to change when they didn’t want to. That the only person who could create change was herself. And so she had.

‘What I don’t get, Serena…’ The words rasped from his lips. Low. Controlled. Tight. ‘What I don’t understand… is how you could have loved me only months ago and now all you want to do is push me away? You talk about a wall, but from my perspective you’re the one building it. Hell, you won’t even let me stay under the same roof as you. You’ve got me staying at your parents and you know how I feel about family.’

‘No, that’s the thing. I don’t.’ Serena ignored the thump of her heart against her ribcage, didn’t allow her pitch to heighten, her frustration to show. She wasn’t that person anymore. The one to break. The one to get upset in the face of rigid composure. ‘I know you don’t do families. You said yours don’t get on. But you won’t say why. I don’t know how I managed to spend a decade with you and yet in so many ways you’re still a stranger.’ Serena took a step back, her hands curled into fists, nails piercing flesh, keeping her in control. ‘Anyway, what kind of reception were you hoping for, Ritchie? I asked to be left alone and you came for me. I don’t want to work on the farm but because you’re here, inserting your will, I’ve lost a good chunk of time showing you the ropes, hours that would be better spent putting the finishing touches on my shop. And what really gets me, irritates me, is that even when I don’t want my whole life to revolve around you, you make it so it does.’ Serena dropped her gaze to the ground. ‘God, and you have no idea how much it hurts to have you here.’ The words she’d meant to stay on the inside came out a whisper.

She tried to sidestep around Ritchie, but he moved with her, blocking her.

‘You’re the one who’s hurt? Really?’ His voice was eerily calm, almost peaceful. At odds with the emotions radiating from him. Hurt. Anger. Sadness. ‘One minute you think you’re happy, content. Hell, you’d go so far as to say your life is perfect. Everything you could have hoped for and more. The next, poof, your world is in turmoil. Your nights are spent alone, awake, tossing and turning and wishing the person you love most was there to draw towards you, to become one with you. Then your days… Your days are hollow, so you try to fill them with anything you think might bring you a measure of the happiness that the person who’s left brought you, but you can’t. Because without that person you lose your will to be anything, anyone.’ He paused. His brow furrowed, his gaze penetrating, as if he was willing her to see his side of things.

Serena exhaled. What a mess. ‘Well then, I guess you do have an inkling of what it was like to be me.’

The impatient bellow of a milk-full cow broke through the nerve-crackling tension.

‘Look, Ritchie, let’s just finish milking the girls and, I don’t know… you can stay. You can go. It’s up to you. It’s your life. The only thing I know is that it’s time I lived mine.’ Serena strode to the end of the parlour, opened the gate so the cows could leave, and pretended to check them over one more time, keeping her face out of view, not wanting Ritchie to see the solitary tear that trickled down her cheek.

CHAPTER THREE

Ritchie stared at his notebook. The page stark white. Empty of his usual ideas for songs, lyrics, album themes or title ideas. The page was as desolate as his heart. He’d hoped seeing Serena would be enough to get his creative juices again, but it appeared he was juiced out. Being around Serena wasn’t enough, he had to get her back. But how did you get a woman who didn’t want to be got?

It was about as easy as writing a song that refused to be written.

‘Oh. You’re here.’

Ritchie glanced up to see Marjorie hovering at the kitchen door.

‘Sorry. Do you want me to go? I can go for a walk. Go to my room…’ Ritchie knew Marjorie wasn’t his biggest fan. Not that he blamed her. There was no reason why she should welcome with open arms the son-in-law who’d not once made the effort to meet her with. But he was here now, and if she was willing to let him stay, even under duress, then it was time to make the effort.

‘No. You’re fine there. I was just wondering where Serena had got to.’

Ritchie dropped his gaze to the table. ‘Dunno. I heard the truck take off earlier. I’m guessing she’s gone back to the shop.’

‘That bloomin’ chocolate shop.’ Marjorie strode to the dining table, pulled a chair out, made to sit down, then changed her mind, pushed it back and began to pace up and down. ‘I don’t know what’s got into that girl’s head. Since when has she cared about chocolate? Or owning a business? How does she even know how to run a business? It’s not like she’s been doing the farm accounts. Roger’s the one who deals with those. Was it you? Did you put the idea in her head? Did you fund it with all your money?’ She marched up to Ritchie and shoved an accusatory finger in his face. ‘Are you the reason she’s left home, again?’

‘Woah.’ Ritchie threw his hands up. ‘Don’t shoot. I haven’t got a thing to do with this. I didn’t even know she could make chocolate. And where she got the money from is beyond me. She hasn’t touched any of our joint bank accounts. Unless she…’ An image of Serena’s five-carat canary-yellow diamond engagement ring and matching yellow and white diamond encrusted wedding ring flashed through his mind. Had Serena been wearing them? Could she have hocked them to start her business? Surely not. Ritchie shut his notebook with a firm slap. He peered down to see if his heart had plummeted to the floor. No. The floor was clear. Of course it was – the pain crushing his chest was proof of that.

‘What? What’s wrong?’ Marjorie took a step back and folded her arms. ‘Have you figured something out? Tell me. I’m her mother. I need to know what’s going on with her. Something’s not been right since she got back, and she won’t talk to me about it. Changes the subject if I even touch on her being out of sorts…’ The hardness in her eyes softened into what looked like helplessness. ‘And I’ve been so worried.’

Ritchie understood the feeling well. Too well. It was time he took charge of the situation and sorted things out. ‘Where is she likely to be right now, Marjorie, back at the shop?’

Marjorie glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘It’s after five. Probably at the pub.’

‘Then that’s where I’m going.’ Ritchie stood and stalked to the door before turning around. ‘Where’s the pub again?’

‘I’ll show you – I’m coming too.’ There was a rattle of keys as Marjorie grabbed the set from the hook by the back door.

Ritchie nodded, his heart going out to the woman. Apparently he wasn’t the only person Serena was holding out on.

The Bullion’s oak door slammed behind Ritchie and Marjorie with a crash. People looked up from their conversations, their mouths dropping into wide ovals whey they saw who’d come to join them in their revelry.

Ritchie adopted an easy-going smile. One he hoped said, ‘it’s no big deal. Let’s not make a fuss. I’m just here with my mother-in-law for a quiet beer’. At the same time, he took a moment to enjoy their awe and bask in their admiration. All the while, he was glancing over the crowd, looking for Serena, hoping she too would see the effect he had on people. He wanted to remind her what she was missing out on.

He scanned the bar for a sight of her customary topknot above the heads of the rest of the punters, but no bouncing curls were to be found.

Apprehension stopped his swagger in its tracks. Her mother had thought Serena would be at the pub, but – what if she wasn’t here?

‘Oh, look, it’s Jack.’ Marjorie stepped around him, strode towards the bar and touched the elbow of a bloke sitting on one of the stools, a half-empty pint glass sitting in front of him.

‘Jack, have you seen Serena? I thought she’d be here, having her usual with you.’

Uneasiness settled in Ritchie’s stomach as he took in this Jack. Sandy blond hair that was short at the sides and backs, but with a little more length on top. His face was round, but chiselled. Broad shoulders gave way to a waist that didn’t look to have an ounce of beer-gut on it.

Serena had been having drinks with this movie-star handsome guy?

‘Hi, I’m Ritchie.’ He thrust his hand out. ‘I take it you’re Jack? Nice to meet you. How do you know Serena?’ Ritchie sat down on the stool next to Jack and indicated to the barman he would have whatever Jack was having.

‘Jack and Serena go way back.’ Marjorie settled onto the spare stool.

‘Is Roger here, Marjorie?’ Jack craned his neck, giving Ritchie the opportunity to get a better look at him. Solid, straight nose. Eyes that were emerald green. Easily as good looking as he was, but in a clean-cut style as opposed to his edgy rock way.

‘No.’ Marjorie nodded at the barman as he offered to pour her a glass of red. ‘He’s prepping the sheds. It took its time getting here but winter’s finally on the way. They’re saying there’ll be snow for Christmas, but I doubt it. Only snows this early once a century. If that.’

Jack nodded. ‘Yeah, don’t see it snowing. But the weather’s been a bit off. Driest autumn I can remember in quite some time. Still, I’m not taking any chances. We’ll be housing our stock tomorrow.’

‘We?’ Ritchie leaned in. ‘Do you and your wife have a farm as well?’

Jack’s eyes flicked over to Ritchie. ‘No. I’m not exactly lucky in love. I manage the day-to-day running of Jody McArthur’s farm.’

‘Oh. I see. Serena’s friend. She’s mentioned her a few times.’ Ritchie nodded his thanks to the barman as he set his beer down in front of him. ‘Never wanted to own your own farm, then?’

Jack shrugged. ‘Can’t say I’ve ever had the money to buy one. That’s okay. I’m happy where I am.’

‘Nicest bloke you’ll ever meet is our Jack.’ Marjorie smiled fondly. ‘Was a time we’d hoped he’d be joining us on our farm.’

‘Did Jody nab you before Marjorie had a chance?’ Ritchie politely enquired, although he had a feeling he knew exactly what Marjorie was meaning.

Jack’s cheeks pinked up. He ducked his head and took a long slurp of his beer.

‘Oh, I see.’ Ritchie nodded amiably, despite his stomach knotting up. Jack wasn’t just a family friend, he was the guy Serena’s family had hoped she’d settle down with.

‘So, no Serena then?’ Marjorie mused. ‘Where else would she be?’

‘To be honest she’s not been around much this past month. Been busy in her shop, getting it ready.’

Marjorie’s head jerked back, a frown replacing the smile on her face. ‘Really? That’s not the Serena I know. When she was on the farm she was down here as soon as milking had finished for the day.’

‘Well I guess she’s moved on with that part of her life.’ Jack took another sip of beer.

Was Ritchie imagining it, or was there a secondary message in Jack’s words? Had Serena moved on from the farm, and from him? With Jack?

Irritation mixed with frustration pulsed hot in his veins, spreading through him, filling him.

No. Stop. You don’t do anger. You’re not like him. Breathe.

But he couldn’t. The idea of Serena being with another man. With this man. It was too much. Too hard. He had to get out of the pub before he became the one person he never wanted to be.

‘Look, I’ve got to go.’ Ritchie slid off the stool and backed away from the situation before he did anything rash. ‘I’ll find my own way home, Marjorie.’

Spinning on his heel he marched towards the front door, shoved it open and stumbled into the street. He leant against the building, closed his eyes and breathed out. Long. Deep. But that wasn’t calming enough.

If Serena had moved on completely then being here was a waste of time. He’d just have to find another way to be inspired. Find another way to be happy.

He opened his eyes, blinked once and then blinked 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 to satisfy those she loved meant she wasn’t being true to herself.

She pushed herself up off the couch, hugged the box to her chest, and made her way downstairs. She stopped at the door separating the kitchen from the shop and watched as Ritchie bagged the nuts. His lips moving silently as he counted each one into the bag. He looked so earnest and endearing – entrancing even.

All the more reason he had to get going. Soon.

She moved to the front window, crouched onto her knees, opened the box and began to take out the tissue-wrapped decorations, unwrapping each one carefully, and tenderly setting them on the floor. Gingerbread men. Candy canes. Stars and snowflakes covered in silver glitter. There wasn’t a lot of room to work with on the windowsill, but enough that the food-related decorations could be propped up, and the others could be hung on invisible twine and dangled from the window, creating a snowy scene of festive delights.

‘I never knew you were a big fan of Christmas.’ Ritchie broke the silence. ‘I’m sorry. I would have absolutely bought you all the presents in the world if I’d known you cared so much.’

‘Well I didn’t see any point in making a big deal about wanting to experience it.’ Serena ran her thumb over a glass star. Wondered if it were as delicate as her heart. If it could crack as easily if mishandled.

‘That would be because I didn’t give you a chance.’ Footsteps echoed about the timber-panelled walls. Ritchie sank down beside her and picked up a snowflake. ‘I shouldn’t have forced my dislike of that particular holiday on all those around me.’

She took the decoration away from Ritchie, their fingertips brushing, sending sparks shooting through her hand, up her arm. She let out an involuntary gasp and pulled away, but not before seeing a jubilant grin appear on Ritchie’s face. Damn it.

‘You okay, sweet thing?’ Ritchie picked up a gingerbread man, placed it on the sill, took another and positioned it next to the first one, so their gingerbread hands were touching. ‘Did I give you an electric shock?’ There was mischief in his knowing tone.

Serena shook her head as his familiar scent, all musk and leather mixed together, impinged on her senses. On her common sense. That was the last thing she needed.

‘No. Not at all. I just realised there was yet another thing that I don’t know about you, despite all our years together, and it surprised me.’

‘And just what would that be?’ The humour in Ritchie’s eyes disappeared, replaced with shadows that told her to back away. To not ask questions.

Serena threaded twine through a snowflake and stood to pin it to the top of the window frame. ‘Ritchie, I know you don’t like Christmas. But what I don’t know is why you don’t like it.’

‘What do you mean?’ Ritchie’s eyebrows drew downwards, inwards, then knitted together. His chest heaved up. Paused. Deflated.

‘What happened in your life to make you hate Christmas?’ The words came out slow and kind… like she was talking to a young child.

‘I just do. It’s commercial. And over the top.’ Ritchie’s head angled away, a shadow covering his features. He could hide his feelings, but the twitch in the vein at his temple was giving him away.

‘You’re a rock star, Ritchie. You are commercial. You are over the top. What is it really about Christmas that’s meant you’ve never once celebrated it since I’ve known you?’

Muscles tensed in his neck as his shoulders hitched up.

‘People don’t just hate Christmas for no good reason, Ritchie.’ Serena reached out and laid a tentative hand on his shoulder.

He shrugged her hand off. ‘Yeah, well. It’s personal. And we’re not together, so I don’t owe you an explanation about why I don’t do Christmas.’

‘Fair enough.’ Serena picked up another snowflake, pushed against its pointy edge with her thumb, and allowed the pain to wash away the disappointment. Of course, Ritchie wasn’t going to talk to her about Christmas or his feelings. That was pure Ritchie. He may be able to help on the farm, to help her out, but he couldn’t be the one thing she needed. Although maybe Rabbits Leap might change your mind about the season. It only gets more full-on.’

‘Really?’ Ritchie turned towards her, his shoulders more relaxed now that touchy subjects had been pushed aside. ‘What else happens?’

‘It only gets better, or worse. Depending on your perspective.’ Serena rolled her eyes. ‘Any day now the villagers will spray fake snow around all the windows in the anticipation of real snow. And then they’ll set the nativity scene up outside the church. Then of course there’s the Rabbits Leap Farmer of the Year Awards that Mum was talking about. It’s basically the town’s Christmas party. A quiet affair. Locals only. Rustic as anything, but I’ve been told it’s a lot of fun. And it all ends the next day, on Christmas day, with a parade.’

‘A Christmas parade on Christmas day?’ Ritchie’s blue eyes widened.

‘The whole town gets involved. The local band, the Revolting Rabbits, march down the street tunelessly playing Christmas carols. The nativity scene comes to life and follows behind the band. Sweets are thrown out for the kids. Santa is usually still drunk from the night before and falls asleep on his sleigh. And it’s all just horrible really.’

‘Horrible?’ Ritchie peered at Serena. ‘Hold on. You like Christmas. Why are you calling the parade horrible? That’s what I’m meant to say. I’m the Noel naysayer, not you.’

Serena shuddered as she recalled her part in the parade for so many years. ‘There’s a donkey in the live nativity scene. It takes two people to make the costume work. From the time I was tall enough to fill the costume, which was at about seven years old, until the time I left Rabbits Leap, I was one half of the donkey.’

‘So?’ Ritchie pushed a lock of hair away from his face. ‘You played a donkey, big deal.’

‘It bloody well was a big deal.’ Serena stood and hung up another snowflake. ‘I wasn’t just the donkey. I was the arse end of the donkey. And I spent every Christmas being farted on for the full twenty minutes of the procession.’

She waited for Ritchie to sympathise. To rage against the injustice of being farted on in a donkey costume for years on end. Nothing came. She glanced down.

He was crumpled over at the waist, his forehead flat on the floor, his shoulders shuddering with soundless laughter.

‘Don’t you laugh at me, Ritchie Dangerfield. It’s not funny. I was always teamed up with Ridge bloody Harper and I’m sure he used to eat pickled onions by the jarful the night before just so he could fart his worst.’

‘That’s bloody hilarious.’ Ritchie panted as a fresh wave of laughter sent his shoulders shaking some more. ‘Serena, you were the arse end of an ass. And considering your recent treatment of me I feel it’s a prophesy of some sort. Played an ass. Became an ass!’ A fresh batch of laughter shook Ritchie’s shoulders.

‘I don’t need to be putting up with this. I’ve work to do.’ Serena gingerly stepped over Ritchie’s prostrate body. ‘Laugh at my Christmas tale of woe? Well you can finish doing the decorations.’

She took in his convulsing form. Her lips twitched, threatened to rise. As usual, Ritchie’s emotions were catching. But that didn’t mean she had to like it, and it didn’t mean she was warming to him again. Or that some part of her was still under his spell.

All it meant was that if he had been the arse end of a donkey she’d have found it funny too.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘What is that heavenly smell?’ Ritchie collapsed into a chair in the kitchen and breathed in, allowing the rich and exotic scent to infuse his mouth and trickle down his throat.

‘You’re in a chocolate shop, Ritchie. What do you think it is?’ Serena replied, with a shake of her head and a roll of her eyes.

‘Chocolate. Obviously. Dumb question.’ Ritchie shook his head. It wasn’t like him to be so bird-brained. But then it wasn’t like him to take part in the Christmasification of a shop. Perhaps the intoxicating aromas, the cheeriness of the town, the happiness of being in Serena’s presence again were getting to him. ‘I finished the decorations. Even strung up the fairy lights.’

Serena craned her neck to check out his work, then gave a nod of approval.

‘I did good?’ Ritchie drummed his fingers on the bench top, impatient for praise. For acknowledgment that he might be worth keeping round. ‘Good enough to earn a chocolate?’

A huff of impatience came from Serena’s bent head. ‘Fine. But you’ll have to sort yourself out. I’m busy. If I stop now I could bugger the tempering of the chocolate. See the pantry next to the fridge? Go have a look in there. See if something takes your fancy.’

‘What if I see something that takes my fancy out here? Can I have that instead?’ He stifled a smirk as Serena shot a warning frown across the kitchen island.

Ritchie stepped into the pantry and eyed the shelves. ‘So, have you seen anything that’s taken your fancy since you’ve been back?’ He kept his tone casual. Wondering if she would bring up that guy at the pub, Jack. Hoping even more that she wouldn’t.

‘Not really.’ Her tone was non-committal. Not answering the question one way or the other.

Irritation flared in his gut as he pulled open a container and eyed its contents. He wasn’t used to feeling out of kilter with Serena. They’d always had the same goals. The same likes and dislikes. They laughed at each other’s jokes, finished each other’s sentences. At times he’d half-wondered if she could read his mind, she knew him so well. But the woman in that kitchen? She was a stranger to him.

His appetite ruined, he set the container of chocolates back on the shelf, returned to the kitchen and settled into one of the high-backed kitchen stools that were lined up along one side of the island.

‘Not hungry?’ she enquired, seeing his empty hands.

‘I think the smell is enough.’ Ritchie kept his tone amiable. ‘Now tell me, Serena, when did you decide that chocolate was your jam?’ He crossed one booted ankle over the other and leaned back in the chair, interlacing his fingers and using them to support his head. Maybe if he got to know her again, properly this time, instead of letting the heady rush of lust and love propel them along, maybe then they could reignite the spark that time had doused.

Serena picked up a mould, indented with oval shapes, and spooned the melted chocolate into it. ‘It was that first week you were on tour without me. I was out one day, wandering aimlessly, if I’m honest, and I caught this aroma in the air… and, it’s hard to explain, but it drew me in.’ A small, almost secretive, smile played about her lips.

The irritation that had begun to abate erupted in a flare of jealousy. Why didn’t he make her smile like that? How could she love making chocolate more than him? When had it all gone so wrong?

‘I found myself in front of a chocolate shop.’ Serena deftly scraped the extra chocolate off the top and sides of the mould. ‘There was a sign on the window advertising classes, so I went in and signed up on a whim. I mean, I had nothing better to do, so I thought “why not?”’

‘Nothing better to—’

Serena rattled the mould on the bench, the hard whacks echoing through the kitchen and cutting off his outrage. He reminded himself that getting angry wasn’t going to fix things.

Peering down at the chocolate, Serena nodded with satisfaction, then tipped the mould upside down over the warmer, tapped out the excess chocolate, scraped the mould again and set it down on its side. ‘There. Perfect. Once it’s cooled it’ll be ready for its filling.’ A smile lit up her face.

‘What I don’t get is how you managed to do a course in chocolate making without it being a big deal?’ Ritchie rubbed the days old stubble on his chin. ‘Weren’t you mobbed by the other people doing the course? The wife of a famous rock star in their midst? Surely it would have been impossible for you to do something so… normal?’

‘I didn’t wear makeup. I wore a baggy pair of jeans and a plain t-shirt. Oh, and fake glasses. Also, I booked in as Serena Hunter.’

‘But that’s your name.’ Ritchie traced the pattern of the marble bench top, careful to keep things looking casual. ‘You never took mine when we got married. Family rule and all that.’

‘I know. But I was always referred to as Serena Dangerfield, so I knew my real name wouldn’t raise any red flags. Besides, people never cared about me, Ritchie. They cared about you. I was just arm candy.’

‘So you swapped arm candy for actual candy?’ Ritchie observed.

‘Yeah well, arm candy was fun for the first few years.’ The corners of Serena’s lips lifted a tad as she picked up the spoon and began to stir the chocolate in a slow figure-of-eight motion. ‘I’ll never forget that time when you began to make serious money and you decided we needed to celebrate in style, so you hired a chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce for the day. Do you remember, we hit Rodeo, did a Pretty Woman and bought as much clothing as we could stuff into the boot, then after we were all shopped out we had poor… what was the chauffeur’s name again?’

‘Alfred. He was a good guy. I think he fancied me.’

‘You think everyone fancies you.’ Serena shook her head, an amused sigh escaping her lips.

‘That’s because I’m handsome. And charming.’ Ritchie winked.

‘And oh, so humble.’ Serena stuck her tongue out, then laughed. ‘Poor old Alfred, he looked shocked when we asked him to take us to a burger drive-thru joint.’

Ritchie nodded. ‘Probably used to his clients heading out to poncy restaurants. But he liked it when we bought him a burger too.’

‘Indeed, and he was kind enough to give us privacy once we parked up on Mulholland so we could take in the Hollywood sign.’

‘I recall we spent more time taking in each other than we did the sign.’ A twitch from below told him it wasn’t just his memory that remembered how they’d kissed in the back of the Rolls. Long and slow. Then hot, wet, hard and fast. Their surroundings disappearing as they threw caution to the wind and made love, sealing their day of indulgence in an unforgettable way. ‘I felt like the king of the world. And I had my queen beside me.’

‘And I enjoyed the role, Ritchie, being on your arm, being part of your whirlwind life. But in time it got old. Whereas this?’ Serena set the spoon down and swept her arms out. ‘This I could do forever. All the flavours. The creativity. The science. I mean if I don’t stir that chocolate fast enough I end up with dull chocolate. Or chocolate that won’t set. If I let a flavour steep too long in cream it can go from wow to foul in two hot seconds. But when I get it right… it’s… I can’t explain it.’

‘Orgasmic? Like standing in front of a crowd of thousands upon thousands all chanting your name. Screaming hysterically when you come on stage. Cheering until they’re hoarse when you sing their favourite songs.’

Serena dropped her arms to her arms to her side and laughed out loud. ‘I was looking for “satisfying”. But yeah, orgasmic pretty much fits the bill. Especially when I bite into one of my creations and it’s more than I’d hoped for.’ She raised one finger. ‘Hold on a second.’

She disappeared into the pantry, leaving Ritchie to bask in the glow of that laugh of hers. Open, loud and infectious, it was a laugh capable of making a whole room full of people stop and stare at the tall, wild-haired, gorgeous woman it came from. And just now, that laugh had been for him, because of him. God, he’d missed it.

‘Here.’ Serena half-skipped out of the pantry, and held a chocolate out for him. ‘I know you said you weren’t hungry, but try it. Please.’

Ritchie plucked the chocolate from between Serena’s fingers and inspected it. Glossy, deep in colour with what looked to be a sprinkle of sea salt on top. ‘Chocolate and salt?’

‘Just eat it,’ she urged, giving him an impatient nod.

He put the chocolate between his lips and bit into it, enjoying the crack of the chocolate that gave way to a soft, creamy centre. ‘Oh my God, it’s delicious. What’s in this? Lime?’

Serena held up one finger.

‘Chocolate, obviously.’

Two fingers.

‘Salt. Also obviously.’

Three fingers.

‘And something else… it reminds me of…’ His mind touched on it, but surely not? It couldn’t be.

‘Steaming hot days, balmy nights… tonnes of tostadas, gob-loads of guacamole.’ Serena’s grin broadened, her chest puffed out with pride.

‘Tequila. That’s the last ingredient.’ Ritchie confirmed. ‘It’s like our honeymoon in a chocolate.’

‘I know, right?’ Serena scooted a chair over and sat in front of him. ‘That was such a good time. If it were possible to drink a country dry of tequila I think we very well nearly did it.’

‘And you made this?’ Ritchie popped the remaining part of the chocolate into his mouth and finished it off.

‘Of course. It’s part of a range I’m creating. Inspired by…’ She paused, her face flushing, the redness racing down her neck towards her chest.

‘Inspired by what, Serena?’ Warmth flooded Ritchie’s stomach. He had a feeling he knew what she was about to say, but he wanted to hear it from her.

She hesitated and her eyes softened. ‘Inspired by my life with you.’ She shook her head ever so slightly. Her eyes brightened once more as she sprung up and bounced towards the fridge. ‘I’ve also got plans to utilise what goodness we create here in Rabbits Leap to further showcase the town. I’m currently working on chocolates infused with the butcher’s homemade cheese. And of course, there’s the milk from our farm. Remember that gourmet chocolate milk we tucked into while you were touring in New Zealand? Best hangover cure ever. So I thought, why couldn’t I do that?’ She pulled a bottle of milk from the fridge, grabbed two glasses, placed them in front of Ritchie and emptied the milk into them. ‘I made my own version of chocolate syrup, combined it with milk from our farm, and it’s pretty good. Well, I think it is.’ She skipped back to the fridge, pulled out a squeeze bottle, bounded back and began to pour a vanilla pod-coloured liquid into the milk, which she mixed in with a spoon.

‘How did you come up with all of this? All these ideas?’ Ritchie leaned forward and watched as the creamy milk swirled through the syrup, transforming into the colour of raw umber.

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