Page 104 of The Cosy Christmas Chocolate Shop

‘Bye.’ Emma clicked off the call.

‘Oh, sorry.’ She realised the chap was still standing there, with a bar of chocolate orange and another of mint crisp, ready to pay.

‘No worries.’ He was smiling.

‘He’s going to be all right,’ she couldn’t help but blurt out, still tearful. She didn’t even know this guy, but he was bound to have heard most of the call.

‘Well, that’s good news.’ He was still holding the chocolate bars.

‘Oh, that’s four pounds ninety-eight, please.’ And she popped them into a bag.

He passed over a five-pound note. ‘Thanks, and you have a happy Christmas.’

‘You too. Merry Christmas.’

Just the customer saying that made her feel all emotional. She needed to go get a tissue or she’d be blubbing all over the chocolates at this rate.

Emma found the address Christine had given her in a tree-lined avenue in Morpeth. It was a large red-brick townhouse. She pulled up outside and found herself feeling a little nervous. As well as seeing Max all bashed up, she’d be meeting his parents for the first time too.

She rang the doorbell and stood waiting anxiously, desperate to just run in and find Max and gently give him the hugest of hugs.

A tall, elegant-looking lady came to the door. She was very slim, with coiffed short grey hair, wearing smart navy trousers, a white blouse and a blue-patterned scarf at her neck. Her eyes were a kind blue-grey but they looked tired.

‘Hello, you must be Emma. Lovely to meet you.’ She extended a hand in greeting. ‘Come on in.’

It all seemed quite formal.

‘I’m sure you’d like to see Max. I’ll show you through … we’ve set him a bed up in the dining room. Saves the stairs,’ she explained. ‘He seems quite sore with his ribs.’

‘Hey.’ Max tried to prop himself up on the pillows, with a grimace. They had set out a sofa-bed for him to rest in. Emma noticed the large green-black bruise he had on one cheek.

‘Hi there. What have you been getting up to?’

‘Doing acrobatics off the scaffolding. Forgot the safety net.’ He tried to smile.

‘I’ll go make some tea,’ said Christine, politely leaving them on their own.

Ah, dammit, the tears were starting again.

‘Hey, come here. I’m okay, Em.’

Max knew exactly why this was so hard for her. He reached out his good arm and she found shelter in his clumsy half-hug. He winced again.

‘Sorry.’ She moved back a little, afraid of hurting him.

‘It’s all right, don’t you go anywhere. Just here is fine.’ And he motioned for her to snuggle up on the good side of his battered chest.

It felt so good, to feel him right there beneath her head, feel the warmth of his skin through his T-shirt, hear his heart beating loudly in his chest.

‘Max . . ’ She didn’t raise her head, just spoke the words loud and clear. ‘In answer to your chocolate message: I love you too.’

A while later, Christine brought in tea and biscuits on a tray and asked Emma about her chocolate shop and the village. Emma shifted from the bed, feeling a little awkward being that close to him with his mum right there – not that Christine batted an eyelid when she came back in. Emma pulled up a dining chair next to the bed. Max’s dad, Trevor, also popped his head in the room at that point to say a friendly hello. He had no doubt been warned to give them a bit of space. He seemed a nice man, a thinner version of Max without the stubbly beard.

Emma stayed for over two hours in the end, sharing a tender kiss with Max as she said goodbye, and promising she’d call back again tomorrow after work, even though it was a forty-minute drive after a long working day. But it would be harder not to see him. It was difficult enough leaving him there as it was, now they had found each other again. As she walked out of the room she was already missing that contact, that closeness, but she knew he’d be well looked after by his family.

48

‘Emma, you’ve got to help me. They are scheming to take me to Uncle George’s for Christmas Day,’ Max was whispering down the phone line. It was four days later. ‘It was already arranged before the accident. A family Christmas Day and they hadn’t told me. Honestly, he’s batty as a hoot, his wife can hardly cook, and they have three cats who hate me. The claws will be out. Can you come and rescue me?’