Page 13 of The Christmas Cottage
She quickly tucked her phone back into her pocket, finding herself hoping that he wouldn’t text her again. She thought she’d gotten used to it, but she was starting to find that the interruptions were grating, now that she’d experienced what itwas like for things to be a bit more peaceful. She was so much more productive in the quiet, without the constant interruptions and noise. Not that she wasn’t always productive, but it felt more… effortless now.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door of Artisan Chocolates and walked inside—and that breath filled her lungs with a wave of sugar.
The inside of the shop was a Christmas dream. Outside, there had been a wreath on the door with small faux gingerbread men attached to it, and garlands draped in lights around the windows, a chalkboard sign outside was bordered with drawings of holly and berries and the day’s hot cocoa menu was written within it in pretty script.
Inside, it was a confection of Christmas and sugar all at once. A meticulously crafted gingerbread house the size of an actual dollhouse sat on a round white table draped with a red cloth, and garlands sprigged with faux sugared berries hung along the glass cabinets that were filled with gorgeous chocolates in carefully arranged displays. On one side was a small barista counter with a letterboard on the back wall, all in red and green and white for the holiday, with the day’s variety of hot chocolate drinks listed.
The shop wasfullof tourists. They were packed in the small, fragrant space, and Vanessa hung back, noticing a tray of samples set on another small white table next to the entrance. They were all carefully labeled: champagne chocolate, strawberry truffle, espresso salted caramel, maple pecan, cinnamon chocolate. Vanessa’s mouth watered as she read the labels, and she couldn’t decide which one to try. They all sounded incredible.
“Take one of each!” A child’s voice chirped right next to her elbow. “Mommy won’t mind.”
Vanessa jumped a little, turning to see a little girl who looked to be about six or seven standing there, wearing a ratherelaborate tiara on her head that looked homemade. It was bright silver and pearlescent, covered in sparkles and wrapped with tinsel, with a spiral horn poking up from the top.
“It’s always good to ask your mother’s permission though,” Vanessa said automatically, looking at the little girl. “What’s up with the headpiece?”
The little girl grinned. “I’m a Christmas unicorn!” she informed Vanessa gleefully. “I’m going to lead Santa’s sleigh.”
Vanessa laughed. “What happened to Rudolph?” she asked. “Did his nose finally go out?”
“No.” The little girl shook her head. “Unicorns are just much better. So they took over.”
“Makes sense.” Vanessa eyed the chocolates again.
“Katie.” A voice from behind the counter called out, in a playful, fond tone that was only a little chiding. “Leave the poor woman alone.”
Vanessa turned to see a pretty woman who looked to be about her age behind the counter, smiling warmly at the little girl. She was wearing a festive red sweater and jeans under an apron that had the store’s name on the top in curling red script, and her chestnut brown hair was pulled back into a high ponytail.
She came out from around the counter, gesturing to the table of samples. “The maple pecan is one of our most popular holiday flavors,” she said with a smile. “And the cocoa dusted peppermint truffles. Also, the holiday fudge!” The woman pointed to a line of small wedges of fudge in ruffled papers. “Maple, pecan bourbon, peppermint, and eggnog. They’ve been flying off the shelves.”
Vanessa picked up a sliver of maple fudge, and sighed as she tasted it. It was delicious, melt-in-her-mouth good, and so sugary that she couldn’t imagine eating more than a few bites.
“This is wonderful,” she said, eating the last of the small sample. “Do you happen to know what Mabel’s favorite chocolate is?”
It felt like an odd question, one she could never ask at a shop in San Francisco, but here it seemed logical that one shop owner would know another’s favorite. Jackson probably knew all the regulars’ breakfast orders. Whoever owned the bookstore probably knew their usual customers’ favorite genres. This seemed like the kind of place where that sort of thing happened.
It seemed oddly nice, despite how unfamiliar the idea of that was to her.
“She likes the marshmallow dark chocolates,” the woman said immediately. “I’m Imogen Sanders, by the way. Are the chocolates a thank-you gift? Mabel does such a lovely job with the shop every year.”
“Vanessa Stewart,” Vanessa said, quickly introducing herself. “I’m her granddaughter. But I’ve been away for a while, so I don’t remember a lot about what she likes and doesn’t like.”
“Oh? Where are you from?” Imogen asked, and she looked genuinely interested. Not like she was storing up information to gossip about later, but like she was actually curious about what Vanessa’s life was like back home.
It was something Vanessa wasn’t used to, but it was a nice feeling. It made her actually want to tell Imogen.
“I’m from San Francisco,” she said with a smile. “Well, actually, I’m from here. But my parents moved to California when I was a kid. And then I went to college in San Fran, and stayed there after.”
“That’s amazing!” Imogen’s eyes widened. “That sounds like such an adventure, living in a city like that. It must be very cool.”
“It can be,” Vanessa hedged, not wanting to admit how little she actually got out and explored the city she lived in, which was, in fact, very cool.
“Well, I’ll get a box of those marshmallow dark chocolates together for you,” Imogen said. “And tomorrow I’ll have white chocolate candy cane fudge. You should come by tomorrow and try it.”
“There’s such a variety.” Vanessa turned from side to side, taking in the shop. “I’ve never seen so much chocolate. And so many different kinds.”
Imogen laughed brightly. “Well, besides what you see here, I supply chocolate to some local shops. Anything chocolate the diner serves, desserts at the Tavern, anything sold at the bookshop—all that comes from me. I even supply some to my friend Lincoln, who owns the ice-skating rink. He has a hot-chocolate stand there.”
“That’s really impressive.” Vanessa looked around the shop again. “I just might stop by tomorrow and try that,” she added, taking the now-wrapped box of chocolates from Imogen’s hands. “Thanks for letting me know about it.”
