Within minutes, customers began to trickle in, eager to see what she had done to Rita’s store.
“Well, this is just the coziest place I’ve ever seen. Don’t you agree, Mrs. C.?” Mrs. Bishop asked as she walked in and did a full three-sixty turn.
“Is that hot cocoa I smell?” Mrs. C. asked, stepping closer to examine the bubbling cauldron of spiced cocoa.
“It is! It’s my grand-maman’s recipe,” Cassidy explained. “Spiced and dark, but I also have a lighter white chocolate option if you prefer.” The white chocolate one was her own creation, inspired by her love of the delicate petit fours she’d crafted in Paris.
“I’ll take whatever one is your favorite,” Mrs. C. said.
“Make that two cups,” Mrs. Bishop called, already drifting toward the front display case. The long glass case was filled with handcrafted truffles, creamy pralines, caramel cashew clusters, peppermint bark, and chocolate-dipped pretzels. “Oh, I see you have pralines. Those look just like Rita’s, and hers were heavenly.”
“I hope they live up to the memory.”
“I’m sure they will, dear, and I’ll happily take the risk.”
Cassidy laughed, going over to the pop-up café bar. “I’ll give you the dark spiced cocoa. It’s wonderful. A recipe passed down through generations. Would you like them for here or to go?”
Mrs. C. glanced at Mrs. Bishop, eyes twinkling. Cassidy gestured to the row of mismatched vintage mugs hanging from hooks behind the counter.
“Don’t ask me. You know I can’t make up my mind,” Mrs. Bishop said honestly.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Mrs. C. said to her friend. “We do have a busy morning—lots of presents to buy—but those mugs are darling. Let’s sit for a minute,” she decided for them, motioning to the seating area off to the side.
Cassidy’s heart gave a little swell of pride. She’d created that space with care: a round café table with two chairs positioned just so, the winter morning light pouring in at the perfect angle.
Behind it, on the second side window of her shop, was a little reading nook with two overstuffed velvet armchairs in cranberry and a quilt stitched in holly reds and snowy whites draped over the side. Between the chairs sat a low table stacked with some festive novels, a few classic romances, and a vase of greenery.
It was the warm and inviting space she had always dreamed of. And soon, she hoped, it would be filled with regulars who thought of the Cocoa Corner as their own cozy escape.
“Two mugs coming right up.” She ladled two cups of steaming spiced dark cocoa out of an oversized copper saucepan.
“Here, it’s even better with one of Emily’s croissants. She baked them fresh this morning.” She added the croissants to the saucers and brought them over.
On the outside, she looked normal, or at least she thought she did. Inside, she was screaming,Please let them like it! Please let them like it!
They were the first official customers to try her spiced cocoa. Madison had loved it, but would they?
She started rambling about the chocolates instead of studying the ladies’ first sips like she wanted to. “The praline recipe was Rita’s, as are the turtles and the espresso truffles.” She nodded toward the framed photo of Rita, which was displayed behind the register. “I owe her everything for selling the shop to me.”
Mrs. C. took a sip of the cocoa, and her eyebrows shot up. “Now, isn’t this something? Who would’ve thought cocoa could taste so rich and flavorful?”
“We might have to stop here every day on our way to the bakery,” Mrs. Bishop added, dipping the corner of her croissant in the warm, velvety liquid.
“What is that? Ginger?” Mrs. C. asked, cocking her head.
She shook her head.
“Well, there’s definitely cinnamon in it.” Mrs. Bishop looked up for confirmation, but Cassidy’s lips were sealed.
“Cardamom?” Mrs. C. asked after taking a second sip.
“Sorry, secret family recipe. Even my brother doesn’t know it,” she confessed. “It’s been passed down by the women in my family,” she explained.
“If I had a recipe this good, I’d probably keep it a secret, too,” Mrs. C. declared, lifting the mug and inhaling deeply.
“Is there anything else I can get you two?” Cassidy asked, wanting to leave the ladies to enjoy their cocoa in private.
“Well, a praline and a turtle, of course. Have to see if they’re as good as Rita’s,” Mrs. C. said, not caring if it offended her.
