The day flew and it was soon past five o’clock. She locked the shop’s front door, flipped her pretty chalk-painted sign over to closed, and made her way to the kitchen for a quick cup of tea, bite of toast, and then another hour or two of chocolate crafting. It was time to start planning for Christmas, what to make and when, although much of it was instinctive now, with six years under her belt.

This evening she was going to craft some old favourites, the best sellers. Her customers loved the salted caramels, mint-choc discs, whisky, rum and brandy truffles, brazil nuts covered in milk chocolate (Mrs Clark), and her Northumbrian fudge, both the plain and her special recipe made with Alnwick Rum and raisins. She’d concentrate on the fudge, a few chocolate bars and the mints tonight, and then have a truffle-making session tomorrow.

Her tempering machine was already on the go, keeping the chocolate at just the right temperature and consistency – her best investment yet. She had started making everything by hand, initially, tempering the chocolate in a bowl, which was fine and very craftsmanlike, but it gave you a bloody sore arm and wrist! And, with Emma being the sole chocolatier, when the shop grew busier and she needed plentiful regular supplies, it was just not practical. She still did some tempering by hand at her busiest times, and when the mood took her, but her trusty machine was her best friend in the kitchen.

She had just started pouring dark chocolate with mint sugar crystals into the moulds when her phone started buzzing in her pocket. Agh, no. She didn’t want to spoil the mix, as it would start solidifying in the bowl, so kept going until the tray was full. By which time, of course, the ringing had ceased. She fumbled quickly in her pocket for her mobile. Missed call – Max! Agh, bloody typical – but yes, her heart gave a little flip, he’d called.

Okay, calm down, Em. Put the bowl to soak in the sink, wash your hands, and then call him back, whilst he’s still hopefully available.

Deep breath … call back … go. Ringing tone …

‘Hi. Is that Emma?’

‘Yeah … hi.’

‘Thanks for calling back.’

His voice had a lovely melted chocolate tone over the phone, with his soft North East accent.

Emma found herself smiling. ‘Yes, I’m sorry I missed it. I was right in the middle of chocolate making. Filling the moulds. Crucial point.’

‘No worries. So, are you okay?’ He sounded slightly nervous.

‘Yes …’ She found herself at a loss for words, and her heart seemed to be beating double time. She needed to buck up.

‘I enjoyed Sunday evening,’ he added.

‘Me too, thank you,’ she forced out.

‘Can we do it again sometime?’