The Cosy Christmas Chocolate Shop: The perfect, feel good romantic comedy to curl up with this Christmas!. Caroline Roberts
then, she shook herself from her thoughts; she mustn’t dwell on that for there was one very eager spaniel upstairs no doubt desperate to get out.
Emma leaned on the stone harbour wall, watching the street lights catch on the water, the gentle waves lapping the sides of the boats that were moored up. It was a small harbour that had been used for centuries for fishing. There weren’t as many boats now, she’d been told, but some still went out daily, weather permitting, for their catch of herring to take to the smokehouse to turn them into kippers, a local speciality, or maybe some cod, or crabs. From July to September they’d be out checking the lobster pots which were now stacked on the shoreline next to an old coble-style boat, along with colourful buoys and thick rope and nets.
A small group of people walked past; Alfie perked up to greet them and Emma smiled. They were heading up the small rise, seemingly to the pub. Soon afterwards its heavy wooden door opened as they went in and she could hear its noisy chatter spill out along with the beat of music as the light spilled across the pavement. She could sense its vibrancy: the log fires would be lit, the Christmas decorations up, and several of the villagers as well as holidaymakers would be gathered noisily. She loved the community feel there, but it was not for her tonight.
‘Come on then, Alfie.’ They headed the opposite way, past a row of cottages, and then down to the beach. It was dark, but there was enough moonlight to make her way through the dunes, to stand and hear the hush of the sea as it lapped against the shore. She wasn’t afraid of the dark, she’d been there many an evening like this. She couldn’t stop the memories, but that was fine. In a way, that was what she was here for. It didn’t matter if she needed to cry, or write his name in the sand, or to scream at the seagulls that life was bloody unfair. Alfie just loved the freedom of the beach, where he could run his loopy circles and make leaps at seaweed sticks of kelp. But it was chilly; Emma could see her breath misting and she was glad of her thick woollen coat and her hat and gloves. She wouldn’t stay too long; it had been a hard day and she was ready for an easy supper, would find herself some Christmas film on the TV to settle in front of and then an early night – she’d just let Alfie have five more minutes.
They wandered back towards the harbour, passing a couple, arm in arm, who nodded a friendly hello at them. She climbed the small hill, reaching the front of The Chocolate Shop, which was an end-of-row, sand-coloured stone cottage, converted many years ago into a shop. There were two bay windows with a wooden door in the middle. Emma stood staring at her little shop for a few seconds. She had left the fairy lights on, and with all the festive decorations it looked rather enchanting at night. ‘’Twas the night before Christmas …’ Her mind wandered back to the magical stories and that bubbling feeling of excitement of the Christmas Eves of her childhood, which seemed so far away right now.
Tomorrow was Christmas Day and she was heading over to her brother James’s house to spend time with his family, as they’d kindly invited her for Christmas dinner. Of course it would be lovely to see her twin nieces opening their gifts, and enjoy the magic of the day with them. Chloe, her sister-in-law, was going to cook a traditional roast turkey meal with all the trimmings, and Emma’s parents were coming across too. It would be great to catch up with them all, especially after having been so busy in the shop of late.
But it was always another year where someone was missing.
Boxing Day
Emma pulled her coat tight around her and snuggled into her red tartan scarf.
Waves crashed to shore in a white froth, an overnight wind having whipped them up, and sea-salt spray hit her face every now and then. It was refreshing, enlivening. She hadn’t slept that well. She’d needed to get out, feel the wind in her hair, and the beach was calling her once again.
She was the only one on this whole stretch of the bay. Well, her and Alfie, who was pacing the sands beside her. Everyone else was probably still tucked up in bed, snoozing off their Christmas dinners and hangovers. Emma picked up a leathery strand of brown seaweed with a thick root that made a great stick, launching it into the air and away. Alfie leapt up animatedly and was off on the chase. It made her smile.
All the what-ifs, the might-have-beens and if-onlys were still there, always there, in her mind. But they didn’t change anything. A whole future wiped away. Their future. Seven years ago. And she missed him still, so very much …
Yes, she’d got on, made a life for herself. You didn’t get much choice. She’d moved here to Warkton-by-the-Sea six years ago, to a whole new venture with the chocolate shop, and a massive change from her role as a teacher specialising in food technology at a secondary school on the outskirts of Durham city. When the big stuff happens, it shifts your axis, makes you think about what you really want out of your life. She had gone back to visit one of her favourite holiday haunts, spotted the cute, slightly derelict-looking stone cottage on the little main street with its For Rent sign, and never looked back. And so The Chocolate Shop by the Sea was born.
It had once been a toy shop, apparently, but had been closed down for several years, and was in need of a little TLC. Inside, it was small but quaint and very cosy, the original front room being the shop area. Her dad, a keen DIYer and her brother, James, had helped her to do it up.
She had living quarters upstairs for her and Alfie, using the kitchen downstairs as her chocolate creating zone. Life had got better. Time had softened the blow, if not healed it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to heal, really; she certainly didn’t want to forget. Why would she ever want to forget someone so special? Anyhow, her new life was fine, and she had made some lovely friends in the area.
A movement up in the dunes caught her eye. Someone in a dark jacket, a man; he seemed to be alone. He was up early. So, it was just the two of them on the beach now. She felt a little irked that someone else had invaded her space. Okay, so there was about a mile of beach here, she admitted to herself, and it was a public space.
She strolled on, playing with Alfie and relaunching the seaweed stick. The dog looked up, alert, ears pricked, as he saw the man too. Emma took a brief glance along the beach. Damn, the guy was heading her way, walking behind her at a reasonable pace. Why couldn’t he have gone the other bloody way?
A sudden gust of wind blew up. As she bent low to pick up the stick for Alfie, it somehow peeled off her scarf, unravelling it and sending it twirling down the sands. She started to run after it, had nearly got to it, when another gust took it from her reach and away. The scarf then cartwheeled down the beach and she gave chase. She really liked that scarf; it was fine wool, cosy, she’d had it for years … Luke had given it to her on their first Christmas together. But as soon as she got anywhere near it, the damn wind whipped it up again and it would relaunch.
The man on the beach must have spotted her dilemma and started jogging towards the errant item. He diverted, made a quick dash, and soon had it trapped under his boot.
He grinned across at Emma as he picked it up, shaking it a little to loosen the sand from it. She waited as he caught up with her. He was tall, and broad-shouldered under his coat with a friendly face, dark hair, and a nice smile.
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. It’s a bit blustery, isn’t it?’
‘Just a bit.’ Her tone was ironic. ‘So, you’re out early too.’
‘Yes.’
‘We must be mad.’ It wasn’t yet 8.00 a.m. and had only just got light.
‘Probably.’ He smiled softly.
Or sad … or lonely, Emma mused.
They began to fall into pace beside each other.
Alfie then nudged in between then, wanting his share of the limelight.
‘And who’s this, then?’ The guy rubbed the spaniel’s head, making the dog’s tail wag even more.
‘Alfie.