Page 102 of The Cosy Christmas Chocolate Shop

‘Yeah, I understand. But anything you can do to help will be appreciated.’

‘Do you have enough for this weekend’s turndowns?’

‘Doubt it. We really can’t use any of them. There are droppings everywhere, even if they don’t appear to have been eaten.’

‘Ah, okay. Well, I have some chocolates in the shop that I can box up for you. Will a dozen or so boxes do for now?’

‘Yeah, that’d be brilliant. Don’t want to disappoint the guests. They love your chocolates – it’s become part of the stay, now.’

‘I’ll get those organised right away. If you can pop down to the shop in say, fifteen minutes, I’ll have them made up and ready. Then I’ll have to start making all the others.’

‘Emma, you’re a star. Thank you so much.’

So much for a quiet night in.

Ten o’clock, and she and Max had a little production line going. Truffle centres ready to dip in the melted chocolate was the next stage and Max had even learnt how to make the little alcohol-infused balls evenly sized, by rolling them in the palms of his hands. It was delicate work for big builder’s hands, and it made Emma smile watching him. One day, there he was sawing wood and making window seats, the next truffles; where would it end? Hopefully in bed, she mused, though that seemed a distant prospect at this point. She stifled a yawn.

The dark chocolate was tempered now; time to dip the whisky infused truffles carefully in with metal tongs. They had to work quickly, whilst it was at the right temperature, yet still ensure all sides of the truffle were evenly coated, so it was quite an art and the truffles might not have been quite as neat as usual, but the fifty they made looked pretty good. Emma left them to cool on the metal board on the side and cleared the other equipment to the dishwasher.

Earlier on they’d had a snatched supper of cold chicken and salad. She’d cooked the chicken, but hadn’t had time to do the full roast dinner she’d intended.

‘Sorry, Max, this wasn’t the kind of evening I meant for you to have. I think we’ve done enough for now. Thanks so much for your help. Let’s call it a day.’

‘I didn’t know making chocolate was so physically demanding.’

‘Hey, tell me about it. I could do with a hot bath.’

‘Me too.’ He had that cheeky look on his face again.

Well, that idea was almost better than going to bed. She filled the tub, pouring in some scented bubbles. It wasn’t the biggest of bath tubs, but she managed to sit between Max’s sturdy legs and squashed herself in. The water slopped out over the side a little, the bubbles popping and crushing around them. This was rather lovely. She lay back resting her head on his chest, and Max began to smooth the soapy bubbles over her breasts, washing her very sensuously, until a sigh escaped her lips. His hand then slid down temptingly between her thighs and she could feel him ready behind her; if she just shifted a little here … and there – oh yes! And she was gliding down on to him, the water warm around them. It was difficult to move much at all, but she could rock just enough. She felt his hands tighten round her waist, gripping as he could hold back no more, beautiful, hard thrusts within her. And then, a little later, she turned to face forward to kiss him, resting her forehead against his, and closed her eyes, to just hold the moment.

Max had another early start, told Em not to get up, to catch up on her sleep. He said he’d come back again on Sunday evening and see her around six. She vaguely remembered him kissing her forehead, then a short while later heard the noise of his jeep engine start and move away. She rolled back under the duvet for another hour.

When she got into the kitchen to check on last night’s truffles an hour or so later, they seemed to have been moved. Strange. She put the kitchen light on; they appeared to form letters, words in fact. Was she still in bed dreaming? She squinted. No, they’d definitely been rearranged. She focussed her sleepy eyes, read ‘I Love You’ made from whisky truffles. There was a handwritten note beside them saying ‘Don’t worry, I used the hygiene gloves!’ Max obviously not wanting to ruin all their hard work last night.

How sweet was that? Aw. She was left with a soppy grin on her face and took a photo on her iPhone to keep, as she’d soon have to box them for the hotel. Oh Max. Thank heavens she hadn’t let him slip through her fingers. He was sexy, and he was kind and loving too. She couldn’t wait to see him again on Sunday. But until then there was more work to do. Adam’s hotel order was yet to be completed.

Saturday afternoon and Max had usually called her by now, or at least texted, especially when they’d just spent a night together. It was like they couldn’t stop thinking about each other. She wanted to thank him for the chocolate ‘I Love You’ message, so tried his mobile a couple of times. It seemed like it was dead, the battery down or something. Oh well, he must just be busy at work. She’d speak to him soon. Her happy loved-up bubble couldn’t be burst that easily.

47

‘Hello, is that Emma? Max says you are a friend.’

It was late on the same Saturday afternoon.

The voice was of a middle-aged, well-spoken woman. It sounded far too formal, and for some reason the hairs on the back of Emma’s neck rose and she felt a cold prickle run through her.

‘Yes, this is Emma speaking. Is everything all right?’ She noticed her hands had started to tremble holding the mobile phone.

‘Well, he’s had a bit of an accident at the building site.’ The woman paused, seemingly gathering herself. ‘He’s serious but stable in hospital in Newcastle. They have to do some CT scans before we know more. He asked me to call you, to let you know.’

Oh dear God, no. ‘What’s happened?’

‘He fell off the scaffolding early this morning; one of his colleagues found him in a bit of mess, maybe an hour or so later. We’re not quite sure. The doctors say he’s broken his collarbone and cracked some ribs, but they need to check his brain …’ The phone line went quiet for a few seconds, then Emma thought she heard a stifled sob, followed by a slow breath. ‘They think he hit his head, though thank the lord he did have his hard hat on.’

Thank heavens for the yellow helmets.

‘Oh …’ Em’s throat was starting to thicken with the knot of threatening tears. Dread filled her soul. Please, dear God, not again. ‘Can I see him?’