The Oddest Little Chocolate Shop in London by Beth Good

‘Are you … erm … a working girl?’
       'A
working girl?' she repeated blankly.
       His
eyes widened and he backed away. 'Sorry, my mistake.'
       A working girl. The euphemism suddenly
hit her. Belatedly she realised this skimpy polka dot dress must make her look
a little bit … available.
       Crossly,
she glared at the man and he muttered another apology, then hurried past with
his head down.
       Carrying
on along the street, she wondered what on earth she was going to do now. Her
uncle had agreed to continue paying her weekly until the end of that month, which
was more than generous under the circumstances, but after that she would have
to find money for food and rent, plus her other bills.
       It
was cold out of the sunlight. She drew her pashmina close against the wind, suddenly
feeling rather like a Victorian waif on her way to the workhouse. She had a
whole depressing scenario worked out where she would collapse in the snow and
die of exposure, clutching some pathetic love token – an empty box of
Monsieur Ravel’s chocolates, perhaps – to her chest.
       Then
she remembered her sister and felt sick for real.
       Florrie was going to be furious.
       Her
footsteps slowed, and she lowered her head, tears pricking at her eyes. This
was all her fault. What an idiot she had been.
       Still,
Clementine thought, trying to brighten up, at least she could offer to help out
in the chocolate shop now. Just for a few days or a week, until he was back on
his feet or she found another job. A job which did not involve any machines she
could break, like photocopiers or hoovers. Always assuming Dominic would want
her working in his shop, she reminded herself before her euphoria could take
off.
       After
that morning's fiasco with the coffee, she was not so sure.
        Clementine sighed, stuck on a
narrow part of the pavement behind a lumbering woman with shopping bags and two
small children who kept shrieking and dragging on her arms. No wonder the poor
woman was stooped. It was a miracle her arms were not stretched out of shape
too.
       She
did not know how she felt about Dominic Ravel. On the one hand he was
incredibly attractive. But on the other hand, he struck her as a difficult man
to know. And he had shown little interest in her romantically, apart from that
one accidental kiss after dinner.
       Face
it, Clem, she told herself angrily. He asked you round to his place because he
needed free advice on his accounts, that was all. Not because he’s in the
market for a girlfriend.
       And
yet, she could not stop thinking about Dominic Ravel. Replaying everything he
had said to her, and how she had replied. Allowing herself to get interested in
him.
       There
was a depth and a vulnerability about Dominic that she knew she ought to shy
away from, especially after what had happened with Simon. Not all men were
honest about themselves, after all. In fact, some men were very good at playing
the 'poor-me' card in order to get attention, she reminded herself sternly. To
get sex too, sometimes. She had been fooled before by a man, and horribly used,
and did not think she would cope well if Dominic turned out to be a liar too.
       The
problem was, she was not as good a judge of character as she had once believed.
She liked Dominic and instinctively trusted him. But what if his cute hesitancy
and frustrated manner over his business worries were being put on in order to
lure her into a dangerous and short-lived relationship?
       Simon
had seemed plausible too when she first met him: a man with a dark past, a pitiful
history of abuse which had left him depressed and suicidal. Or so he had told
her. And maybe all that had been true, whatever Florrie believed. But it had
not stopped Simon using his suicidal and depressive tendencies against her
whenever they argued or she disagreed with him.
       At
first it had been serious stuff that had kicked off one of his terrible rants,
like whether or not she