Ritchie stared at his notebook. The page stark white. Empty of his usual ideas for songs, lyrics, album themes or title ideas. The page was as desolate as his heart. He’d hoped seeing Serena would be enough to get his creative juices again, but it appeared he was juiced out. Being around Serena wasn’t enough, he had to get her back. But how did you get a woman who didn’t want to be got?
It was about as easy as writing a song that refused to be written.
‘Oh. You’re here.’
Ritchie glanced up to see Marjorie hovering at the kitchen door.
‘Sorry. Do you want me to go? I can go for a walk. Go to my room…’ Ritchie knew Marjorie wasn’t his biggest fan. Not that he blamed her. There was no reason why she should welcome with open arms the son-in-law who’d not once made the effort to meet her with. But he was here now, and if she was willing to let him stay, even under duress, then it was time to make the effort.
‘No. You’re fine there. I was just wondering where Serena had got to.’
Ritchie dropped his gaze to the table. ‘Dunno. I heard the truck take off earlier. I’m guessing she’s gone back to the shop.’
‘That bloomin’ chocolate shop.’ Marjorie strode to the dining table, pulled a chair out, made to sit down, then changed her mind, pushed it back and began to pace up and down. ‘I don’t know what’s got into that girl’s head. Since when has she cared about chocolate? Or owning a business? How does she even know how to run a business? It’s not like she’s been doing the farm accounts. Roger’s the one who deals with those. Was it you? Did you put the idea in her head? Did you fund it with all your money?’ She marched up to Ritchie and shoved an accusatory finger in his face. ‘Are you the reason she’s left home, again?’
‘Woah.’ Ritchie threw his hands up. ‘Don’t shoot. I haven’t got a thing to do with this. I didn’t even know she could make chocolate. And where she got the money from is beyond me. She hasn’t touched any of our joint bank accounts. Unless she…’ An image of Serena’s five-carat canary-yellow diamond engagement ring and matching yellow and white diamond encrusted wedding ring flashed through his mind. Had Serena been wearing them? Could she have hocked them to start her business? Surely not. Ritchie shut his notebook with a firm slap. He peered down to see if his heart had plummeted to the floor. No. The floor was clear. Of course it was – the pain crushing his chest was proof of that.
‘What? What’s wrong?’ Marjorie took a step back and folded her arms. ‘Have you figured something out? Tell me. I’m her mother. I need to know what’s going on with her. Something’s not been right since she got back, and she won’t talk to me about it. Changes the subject if I even touch on her being out of sorts…’ The hardness in her eyes softened into what looked like helplessness. ‘And I’ve been so worried.’
Ritchie understood the feeling well. Too well. It was time he took charge of the situation and sorted things out. ‘Where is she likely to be right now, Marjorie, back at the shop?’
Marjorie glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘It’s after five. Probably at the pub.’
‘Then that’s where I’m going.’ Ritchie stood and stalked to the door before turning around. ‘Where’s the pub again?’
‘I’ll show you – I’m coming too.’ There was a rattle of keys as Marjorie grabbed the set from the hook by the back door.
Ritchie nodded, his heart going out to the woman. Apparently he wasn’t the only person Serena was holding out on.
The Bullion’s oak door slammed behind Ritchie and Marjorie with a crash. People looked up from their conversations, their mouths dropping into wide ovals whey they saw who’d come to join them in their revelry.
Ritchie adopted an easy-going smile. One he hoped said, ‘it’s no big deal. Let’s not make a fuss. I’m just here with my mother-in-law for a quiet beer’. At the same time, he took a moment to enjoy their awe and bask in their admiration. All the while, he was glancing over the crowd, looking for Serena, hoping she too would see the effect he had on people. He wanted to remind her what she was missing out on.
He scanned the bar for a sight of her customary topknot above the heads of the rest of the punters, but no bouncing curls were to be found.
Apprehension stopped his swagger in its tracks. Her mother had thought Serena would be at the pub, but – what if she wasn’t here?
‘Oh, look, it’s Jack.’ Marjorie stepped around him, strode towards the bar and touched the elbow of a bloke sitting on one of the stools, a half-empty pint glass sitting in front of him.
‘Jack, have you seen Serena? I thought she’d be here, having her usual with you.’
Uneasiness settled in Ritchie’s stomach as he took in this Jack. Sandy blond hair that was short at the sides and backs, but with a little more length on top. His face was round, but chiselled. Broad shoulders gave way to a waist that didn’t look to have an ounce of beer-gut on it.
Serena had been having drinks with this movie-star handsome guy?
‘Hi, I’m Ritchie.’ He thrust his hand out. ‘I take it you’re Jack? Nice to meet you. How do you know Serena?’ Ritchie sat down on the stool next to Jack and indicated to the barman he would have whatever Jack was having.
‘Jack and Serena go way back.’ Marjorie settled onto the spare stool.
‘Is Roger here, Marjorie?’ Jack craned his neck, giving Ritchie the opportunity to get a better look at him. Solid, straight nose. Eyes that were emerald green. Easily as good looking as he was, but in a clean-cut style as opposed to his edgy rock way.
‘No.’ Marjorie nodded at the barman as he offered to pour her a glass of red. ‘He’s prepping the sheds. It took its time getting here but winter’s finally on the way. They’re saying there’ll be snow for Christmas, but I doubt it. Only snows this early once a century. If that.’
Jack nodded. ‘Yeah, don’t see it snowing. But the weather’s been a bit off. Driest autumn I can remember in quite some time. Still, I’m not taking any chances. We’ll be housing our stock tomorrow.’
‘We?’ Ritchie leaned in. ‘Do you and your wife have a farm as well?’
Jack’s eyes flicked over to Ritchie. ‘No. I’m not exactly lucky in love. I manage the day-to-day running of Jody McArthur’s farm.’
‘Oh. I see. Serena’s friend. She’s mentioned her a few times.’ Ritchie nodded his thanks to the barman as he set his beer down in front of him. ‘Never wanted to own your own farm, then?’
Jack shrugged. ‘Can’t say I’ve ever had the money to buy one. That’s okay. I’m happy where I am.’
‘Nicest bloke you’ll ever meet is our Jack.’ Marjorie smiled fondly. ‘Was a time we’d hoped he’d be joining us on our farm.’
‘Did Jody nab you before Marjorie had a chance?’ Ritchie politely enquired, although he had a feeling he knew exactly what Marjorie was meaning.
Jack’s cheeks pinked up. He ducked his head and took a long slurp of his beer.
‘Oh, I see.’ Ritchie nodded amiably, despite his stomach knotting up. Jack wasn’t just a family friend, he was the guy Serena’s family had hoped she’d settle down with.
‘So, no Serena then?’ Marjorie mused. ‘Where else would she be?’
‘To be honest she’s not been around much this past month. Been busy in her shop, getting it ready.’
Marjorie’s head jerked back, a frown replacing the smile on her face. ‘Really? That’s not the Serena I know. When she was on the farm she was down here as soon as milking had finished for the day.’
‘Well I guess she’s moved on with that part of her life.’ Jack took another sip of beer.
Was Ritchie imagining it, or was there a secondary message in Jack’s words? Had Serena moved on from the farm, and from him? With Jack?
Irritation mixed with frustration pulsed hot in his veins, spreading through him, filling him.
No. Stop. You don’t do anger. You’re not like him. Breathe.
But he couldn’t. The idea of Serena being with another man. With this man. It was too much. Too hard. He had to get out of the pub before he became the one person he never wanted to be.
‘Look, I’ve got to go.’ Ritchie slid off the stool and backed away from the situation before he did anything rash. ‘I’ll find my own way home, Marjorie.’
Spinning on his heel he marched towards the front door, shoved it open and stumbled into the street. He leant against the building, closed his eyes and breathed out. Long. Deep. But that wasn’t calming enough.
If Serena had moved on completely then being here was a waste of time. He’d just have to find another way to be inspired. Find another way to be happy.
He opened his eyes, blinked once and then blinked again.
What the hell was he seeing? And how had he not noticed it before?
Ritchie stepped into the street and did a slow three-sixty turn.
The street was illuminated in a golden glow, as hundreds of thousands of fairy lights dripped off eaves, twinkling their way merrily down the main street. Elaborate wreaths hung off shop doors. Circles of ivy interspersed with holly, silver-sprayed pinecones mixed with spruce, branches of fir through which red, gold and green baubles were artfully placed. Shop windows were lit from within, each decorated with …
He moved to the closest shop, the stationers, where little wooden soldiers marched along the window, heading towards a miniature Christmas tree, under which little painted presents in an array of festive colours were placed. He shuffled over to the next window, the butcher’s. A wooden toy train, its carriages filled with tiny boxes wrapped in paper and ribbon, took pride of place.
Ritchie scanned the rest of the stores. Sure enough, each and every one of them had embraced Christmas in a massive way.
He waited for the soul-shaking shudder to roll through him, as it usually did when faced with festivity. Yet it didn’t. Instead a tinge of amusement had replaced the dark fury that had curled mere minutes ago in his gut.
What the hell was going on here? Going on with him? Christmas repulsed him, yet here he was not completely sickened. And he’d caught himself singing along to the carols in the parlour. The first time he’d done so since he was seventeen. And why was Serena’s the only shop to be bare of decorations? She’d never seemed the type to be massive on Christmas but surely she’d think it would be important to follow on with village traditions?
A light shining from the direction of her kitchen told him she was in. He stalked over and, not bothering to knock, he opened the door. ‘Serena? You in?’
A soft sigh, tinged with exasperation, greeted him. ‘Yeah, I’m in. Come on through. Though I’m sure you’d do it even if I didn’t extend the invitation.’
Ritchie grinned. They may have been apart, but she still knew him so well.
He strolled to the kitchen, stepped inside and leaned back against the wall, tucking his hands in his pockets to keep them warm. ‘So, what’s up with the light show out there? It’s like someone ate too much sherry-laced trifle and vomited up Christmas.’
Serena lifted a nonchalant shoulder, then dropped it. Her gaze remaining on the laptop she had opened on the bench. Rabbits Leap likes Christmas.’
‘Likes? This isn’t like. This is full-on obsession. I’ve never seen a glowing star on a pub door before.’
‘That’s the previous pub owner’s doing. He was notoriously Grinch-like, and only submitted to that one piece of Christmas because he liked to think the star was the guiding light to the only place worth going to in town. It was nice to know the grumpy old fart had a hint of humour about something. His son, Tony, decided to keep up the tradition after his father passed away.’
‘God, no wonder you wanted to leave this.’ Ritchie shook his head slowly, half-horrified, half-amazed. ‘No wonder you never came back for Christmas. It’s just so over the top. God, I bet people sing carols and have big long never-ending family meals together, with, I don’t know… turkey. And bread sauce. And Christmas pudding.’ He stuck his finger down his throat and mock-gagged.
Serena looked up from the screen, her face passive. ‘The only reason I never made a big deal about Christmas, Ritchie, is because you made a big deal about how much you hated it. And the only reason I never returned home at Christmas is because you always ensured that time of year was so jam-packed with social engagements that I apparently had to be there for, that I didn’t feel I could leave.’
‘But your shop… it’s not decorated.’ Ritchie pulled his hand out of his pocket and ran it through his hair. A feeling he wasn’t used to took shape low in his stomach. Bulky, uncomfortable, stony… guilt.
‘Not yet. That’s on the list for tonight. The shop opens tomorrow. I need it to be picture perfect. And don’t worry, Ritchie, despite your refusal to take part in Christmas I didn’t deprive myself completely. I would buy myself a present and open it on Christmas morning. Usually while you were sleeping off a hangover.’
Serena had wanted to celebrate Christmas? She’d bought herself gifts to make up for his lack of interest? Had he really been that oblivious?
The guilt crept up to his heart. He tried to push it away, but it refused to budge. There was only one thing for it. He couldn’t fix the past, but he could do his best to make things up to her. ‘What else needs to be done before the grand opening? Is there anything I can help with?’
Serena went to shake her head and tell Ritchie no. Stopped herself. She wanted to do this all herself, but, dammit, she was running out of time. She’d built up a bank of chocolates, but more needed to be made as online orders were running hot after the social media ad she’d placed had started doing its thing. She still needed to make the place look Christmassy and somehow on top of everything she needed to get an hour or two of sleep so the dark circles under her eyes didn’t scare off customers.
But letting Ritchie help? Really? Was that the best idea?
‘Come on, Serena. I’m not entirely useless. I could even… I don’t know… sing carols as we work. Wouldn’t that be jolly?’ Ritchie took a step towards her, his hands stretched out, palms up. ‘These hands are just as capable of doing menial labour as they are strumming a guitar.’
His blue eyes begged her not to reject him. And how could she? She’d never been able to. So much so that to free herself from him she’d had leave when he wasn’t there.
‘Fine. I’ll get you to bag up some of the hand-dipped macadamia nuts. Ten to a bag. Tie it with a piece of red ribbon. Then set it on that silver tray over there. Nicely.’
Ritchie nodded, a wide smile appearing on his sharp-edged and dangerously handsome face.
Don’t think of him as handsome, Serena, she cautioned herself. Thinking of him as anything other than a man she used to know could lead to a crumbling in the wall she’d built to resist his advances. Even now as he took a step towards her, as that familiar swoon clutched her stomach, she could feel chips falling away.
She took a step backwards, then another; the Ritchie Effect weakening with every extra inch separating them. ‘I’ll go upstairs and grab the decorations. You get bagging. The macadamias are in the pantry in a container marked “macadamias”. Bags and ribbons are under the counter.’ She turned on her heel and rushed up the stairs, her heart beating an unsteady rhythm as she stepped into the lounge. She hefted up the box of decorations she’d ordered online then, giving into the frenzy of thoughts whipping about her mind, sank onto the couch.
Serena rested her head on the cardboard lid. It was too hard having Ritchie here. She’d hoped sending him to her parents to stay would see him scuttling out of town, but he’d stayed. More than stayed. He’d milked the cows without complaint. Hell, by the end of the milking he’d had them eating out of the palm of his hand. His pitch-perfect voice humming along with the music as he’d checked them over had seen them positively glowing. Not to mention, Daisy had nuzzled him. Twice.
And here he was, offering to help her. To do whatever she said. Not demanding, not inserting his will, but just being there. This was so unlike Ritchie. Did he really think changing who he was in order to make her happy would work?
Changing just to make another person happy wasn’t possible. No one knew that better than Serena.
She’d tried to be the perfect farmer’s daughter, set to follow in her parents’ footsteps, and failed. She’d tried to be a rock star’s wife – with the outfits, the parties, the pandering – and failed. She’d returned home to give farming another try in the hopes of making her family happy. And failed. Again.
Each time, as always, the hollowness had taken hold. But this time she’d realised that trying to satisfy those she loved meant she wasn’t being true to herself.
She pushed herself up off the couch, hugged the box to her chest, and made her way downstairs. She stopped at the door separating the kitchen from the shop and watched as Ritchie bagged the nuts. His lips moving silently as he counted each one into the bag. He looked so earnest and endearing – entrancing even.
All the more reason he had to get going. Soon.
She moved to the front window, crouched onto her knees, opened the box and began to take out the tissue-wrapped decorations, unwrapping each one carefully, and tenderly setting them on the floor. Gingerbread men. Candy canes. Stars and snowflakes covered in silver glitter. There wasn’t a lot of room to work with on the windowsill, but enough that the food-related decorations could be propped up, and the others could be hung on invisible twine and dangled from the window, creating a snowy scene of festive delights.
‘I never knew you were a big fan of Christmas.’ Ritchie broke the silence. ‘I’m sorry. I would have absolutely bought you all the presents in the world if I’d known you cared so much.’
‘Well I didn’t see any point in making a big deal about wanting to experience it.’ Serena ran her thumb over a glass star. Wondered if it were as delicate as her heart. If it could crack as easily if mishandled.
‘That would be because I didn’t give you a chance.’ Footsteps echoed about the timber-panelled walls. Ritchie sank down beside her and picked up a snowflake. ‘I shouldn’t have forced my dislike of that particular holiday on all those around me.’
She took the decoration away from Ritchie, their fingertips brushing, sending sparks shooting through her hand, up her arm. She let out an involuntary gasp and pulled away, but not before seeing a jubilant grin appear on Ritchie’s face. Damn it.
‘You okay, sweet thing?’ Ritchie picked up a gingerbread man, placed it on the sill, took another and positioned it next to the first one, so their gingerbread hands were touching. ‘Did I give you an electric shock?’ There was mischief in his knowing tone.
Serena shook her head as his familiar scent, all musk and leather mixed together, impinged on her senses. On her common sense. That was the last thing she needed.
‘No. Not at all. I just realised there was yet another thing that I don’t know about you, despite all our years together, and it surprised me.’
‘And just what would that be?’ The humour in Ritchie’s eyes disappeared, replaced with shadows that told her to back away. To not ask questions.
Serena threaded twine through a snowflake and stood to pin it to the top of the window frame. ‘Ritchie, I know you don’t like Christmas. But what I don’t know is why you don’t like it.’
‘What do you mean?’ Ritchie’s eyebrows drew downwards, inwards, then knitted together. His chest heaved up. Paused. Deflated.
‘What happened in your life to make you hate Christmas?’ The words came out slow and kind… like she was talking to a young child.
‘I just do. It’s commercial. And over the top.’ Ritchie’s head angled away, a shadow covering his features. He could hide his feelings, but the twitch in the vein at his temple was giving him away.
‘You’re a rock star, Ritchie. You are commercial. You are over the top. What is it really about Christmas that’s meant you’ve never once celebrated it since I’ve known you?’
Muscles tensed in his neck as his shoulders hitched up.
‘People don’t just hate Christmas for no good reason, Ritchie.’ Serena reached out and laid a tentative hand on his shoulder.
He shrugged her hand off. ‘Yeah, well. It’s personal. And we’re not together, so I don’t owe you an explanation about why I don’t do Christmas.’
‘Fair enough.’ Serena picked up another snowflake, pushed against its pointy edge with her thumb, and allowed the pain to wash away the disappointment. Of course, Ritchie wasn’t going to talk to her about Christmas or his feelings. That was pure Ritchie. He may be able to help on the farm, to help her out, but he couldn’t be the one thing she needed. Although maybe Rabbits Leap might change your mind about the season. It only gets more full-on.’
‘Really?’ Ritchie turned towards her, his shoulders more relaxed now that touchy subjects had been pushed aside. ‘What else happens?’
‘It only gets better, or worse. Depending on your perspective.’ Serena rolled her eyes. ‘Any day now the villagers will spray fake snow around all the windows in the anticipation of real snow. And then they’ll set the nativity scene up outside the church. Then of course there’s the Rabbits Leap Farmer of the Year Awards that Mum was talking about. It’s basically the town’s Christmas party. A quiet affair. Locals only. Rustic as anything, but I’ve been told it’s a lot of fun. And it all ends the next day, on Christmas day, with a parade.’
‘A Christmas parade on Christmas day?’ Ritchie’s blue eyes widened.
‘The whole town gets involved. The local band, the Revolting Rabbits, march down the street tunelessly playing Christmas carols. The nativity scene comes to life and follows behind the band. Sweets are thrown out for the kids. Santa is usually still drunk from the night before and falls asleep on his sleigh. And it’s all just horrible really.’
‘Horrible?’ Ritchie peered at Serena. ‘Hold on. You like Christmas. Why are you calling the parade horrible? That’s what I’m meant to say. I’m the Noel naysayer, not you.’
Serena shuddered as she recalled her part in the parade for so many years. ‘There’s a donkey in the live nativity scene. It takes two people to make the costume work. From the time I was tall enough to fill the costume, which was at about seven years old, until the time I left Rabbits Leap, I was one half of the donkey.’
‘So?’ Ritchie pushed a lock of hair away from his face. ‘You played a donkey, big deal.’
‘It bloody well was a big deal.’ Serena stood and hung up another snowflake. ‘I wasn’t just the donkey. I was the arse end of the donkey. And I spent every Christmas being farted on for the full twenty minutes of the procession.’
She waited for Ritchie to sympathise. To rage against the injustice of being farted on in a donkey costume for years on end. Nothing came. She glanced down.
He was crumpled over at the waist, his forehead flat on the floor, his shoulders shuddering with soundless laughter.
‘Don’t you laugh at me, Ritchie Dangerfield. It’s not funny. I was always teamed up with Ridge bloody Harper and I’m sure he used to eat pickled onions by the jarful the night before just so he could fart his worst.’
‘That’s bloody hilarious.’ Ritchie panted as a fresh wave of laughter sent his shoulders shaking some more. ‘Serena, you were the arse end of an ass. And considering your recent treatment of me I feel it’s a prophesy of some sort. Played an ass. Became an ass!’ A fresh batch of laughter shook Ritchie’s shoulders.
‘I don’t need to be putting up with this. I’ve work to do.’ Serena gingerly stepped over Ritchie’s prostrate body. ‘Laugh at my Christmas tale of woe? Well you can finish doing the decorations.’
She took in his convulsing form. Her lips twitched, threatened to rise. As usual, Ritchie’s emotions were catching. But that didn’t mean she had to like it, and it didn’t mean she was warming to him again. Or that some part of her was still under his spell.
All it meant was that if he had been the arse end of a donkey she’d have found it funny too.