She’d been up late last night, making up one hundred mini boxes of truffles for the Seaview Hotel and a selection of milk, dark and white gourmet chocolate bars to restock her lovely new client, Lynda, at the Bamburgh deli. It being Saturday, Holly was in the shop today, so was able to cover for her. Em started loading up her car, ready to make her delivery to Bamburgh, a twenty-minute drive away.

‘Right, Holly, I’m just away up to Bamburgh. You okay, here?’

‘Of course. No worries. I’m in control.’

‘Thanks, Hols. I won’t be too long.’

‘It’s fine. I don’t think I’m going to be rushed off my feet, somehow.’

‘No, maybe not.’ They had only seen a handful of people in the last hour; some had drifted past the window looking at the display, but hardly anyone was coming in.

For Holly and Adam, the young man from the hotel, romance was blooming. He still called in for his weekly chocolates for his gran, but also added a box of whatever Holly was fancying that day, which was very sweet. They had been on several dates over the summer and they also liked to borrow Alfie for walks on the beach, which her spaniel was very happy to accommodate. Adam seemed to be a real nice lad, and Emma was so pleased for Holly. It was lovely to see their young relationship developing.

Soon she was out on the open road, driving along country lanes that wound their way along the coastal route, a glimpse of sea here and there, roadside cottages and farms, hedgerows, fields with cattle and sheep grazing. She loved this county of Northumberland; it felt so much like home.

Holly went out the back to get some more packaging supplies and was coming through from the kitchen area, armed with colourful reels of ribbons and cellophane bags, when the shop door clanged, and a rather good-looking, if slightly on-the-old-side-for-her, man came in (not that she was looking, anyhow, she was so happy with Adam, but you couldn’t help but notice some things). He reminded her of Gerard Butler in the film P.S. I Love You – tall, well-built in that muscle-toned kind of way. He had cropped brown hair and a short, stubbly beard.

‘Hi.’ She smiled.

‘Hey.’

‘Can I help?’

‘Ah, are you the owner of the shop?’ She half expected him to have an Irish accent, but no. Just English, with a hint of the local Geordie in fact.

‘No, that’s Emma. She’s not in just now.’

‘Oh …’ He seemed a little taken aback.

‘Can I take a message for her, or anything?’

‘Ah, no, that’s fine. I was only bobbing in on the off-chance. It’s okay. Thanks, anyway.’

He didn’t seem interested in looking at the chocolate for sale; perhaps he was with Health and Safety or an Environment Agency or something, Holly mused.