Page 53 of The Cosy Christmas Chocolate Shop

‘Don’t you ever get tempted to dive in and eat them all?’

‘Sometimes,’ she laughed. ‘But most of the time, just one or two is enough. Probably as well, or I’d be the size of a house. It’s nice testing out the new flavours, mind.’

‘So, you don’t ever get sick of chocolate?’

‘No, not yet. And the job’s not just the making of it. I love the creative side, designing the displays, making up all the bags and tags, deciding which colour ribbons and bows to use. It can be quite therapeutic.’

‘Hmm, each to their own.’

‘So, how do you find your job? What’s it really like in the building trade?’

‘Well, I enjoy it. It’s very physical, often quite hard manual work. I still like to keep my hand in, practically, with the tradesmen. And I’m always trying to keep the team motivated, getting in the right building supplies, coordinating contractors – it can be a bit of a juggling act at times, though.’

‘Yeah, that’s very different from my role.’

‘But I do get a real sense of satisfaction when a job’s done well and the clients are happy. Seeing my customers’ faces when their house or extension is finished is great.’

How would she feel seeing The Chocolate Shop Café all finished, with its window seats made and colourful cushions in place? The new coffee machine on – well, that might take some time, with finances the way they were, but still. Just imagining that, she knew she had to go ahead and make her coffee shop happen soon, and she’d need to act quickly to take advantage of the pre-Christmas run-up.

‘Max, I’ve had an idea for the chocolate shop. Can I run it by you? Get your professional opinion?’

‘Of course.’

So, as they passed the harbour and reached the dunes on their way to the beach, they chatted about Emma’s plans for The Cosy Chocolate Shop Café.

‘Well,’ Max responded, ‘the only real building-type issue would be creating the window seats, by the sounds of it, and that’s more of a joiner’s job, so it should be fairly easy to get done. Then, I suppose you’d want to give the shop a repaint and freshen it all up.’

‘Yes, a nice fresh shade on the walls to mark the changes. I’m not averse to a spot of decorating. I did my lounge and bathroom myself last year.’

‘You’re going to be busy, mind, if you’re planning to take that on yourself, especially if you’re already up at seven every day making the chocolates.’

‘I will, won’t I? But funds are a bit tight at the moment. Had a pretty challenging rent hike this year,’ she admitted, ‘so the more I can do myself the better.’ That thought was rather scary. She’d be hectic enough as it was with the Christmas run-up; she’d have to get the alterations done as soon as possible, before it got even busier, and she couldn’t afford to close the shop for long – a day or two at the most, to get the major work done. But to have a café … it would be such a lovely, cosy space for people to come to. And hopefully (after the initial, carefully budgeted expenditure) bring in some much-needed extra income to keep her and The Chocolate Shop afloat.

‘I do have a joiner that does some work for me,’ Max stated, ‘but he’s pretty much flat out at the moment. And someone more local to Warkton might be better, save on additional transport costs, as you will have to consider their labour charges and materials. It shouldn’t be a particularly long job, though, making the window seats – a day or so, I’d say. I could measure it up for you when we get back if you’d like, just to get an idea of the job.’

‘Great, thank you. That will give me a starting point and then I can get a couple of quotes.’

She wasn’t quite sure where the money might come from for this, but hopefully it would soon be recouped as extra revenue thereafter. She could possibly ask her mum and dad for a small loan to cover the initial costs, but she’d hate to let them down if it didn’t work out. She’d do some more research and then go and visit them to mention her plans. It’d be lovely to catch up with them soon, anyhow.

Max and Emma wound their way down to the sands, the beach opening out before them, metallic-grey and white waves frothing to the shore. Seaweed, shells, and the odd piece of driftwood were strewn in a staggered line, marking the high tide. She let Alfie off the lead and he bounded away joyously as they walked down to the flat, smooth sands nearer the sea.

They reached the shallow stream that made its way down the beach and out to the sea. Emma looked down, realising that, in her rush to get ready, she had left on her deck shoes. She usually put wellies on for her sandy dog walks, damn. The stream was an inch or two deep, and would certainly trash her footwear, as well as leaving her with soggy socks and cold, wet feet.

Max spotted her looking down at her footwear. He had heavy leather work-style boots on that would be fairly waterproof. ‘I’ll give you a piggy back. Come on.’ And with that, he started to crouch down, for her to clamber on his back.

‘You sure?’ At five foot nine she was fairly tall and wasn’t exactly the lightest of women. She’d probably break his back.

‘Of course. Hitch a ride.’

She started laughing. She hadn’t had a piggy back since mucking about with her brother years ago as a kid. ‘O-kay, here goes.’ She clambered on, expecting to hear a groan as he realised her weight, but he seemed fine. His back felt very firm and muscular as she clung on. Max reached his arms back around behind him to support her thighs.

‘And they’re off!’ he shouted, as he started hopping across the stream, half-leaping at times to balance a foot on the shallower parts.

Emma couldn’t stop giggling, having to grasp even tighter on the mini leaps.

Max gathered momentum as they reached the other side of the stream and kept going in a clumsy jog, veering towards the dunes.

‘I’m fine now – put me down! Aagh, we’re going to crash,’ she shouted.