The Oddest Little Chocolate Shop in London by Beth Good Page B

Rachel cannot come into work tomorrow, then I shall set everything
out on the shelves last thing tonight, and serve in the shop myself.’
       Pushing
through the bead curtain into the kitchen area, which already smelt of heavenly
freshly-made chocolate, Dominic glanced back at her.
       He
must have caught her unguarded expression of horror because he grinned. ‘It’s
no problem, Clementine. I know how to serve the customers. I am not just a
chocolatier. I have served in the shop many times.’
       ‘And
I bet the ladies love to see you behind the counter,’ she countered smartly,
then paused, suddenly unsure of herself. ‘Though if Rachel can’t come in to
work tomorrow, maybe you could ask me instead,’ she finished daringly.
       Dominic
turned, surprised, and stared at her. ‘You?’
       ‘Why
not?’
       ‘Do
you have any experience of serving in a shop?’
       ‘Not
… much.’ She smiled at him winningly. ‘But how hard can it be to sell a few
boxes of chocolates, right?’
       Now
it was his turn to look horrified. ‘Ma chère Clementine,’ he began, but she
interrupted him.
       ‘Only
kidding! I do know what I’m doing, honestly, and I’d love to help out if Rachel
can’t come into work. Or even if she can.’ She looked about at the kitchen,
strewn with chocolate-making implements and boxes of ingredients, some opened,
others still sealed. ‘I have a feeling you could do with an extra pair of hands
for the next week, at least.’
       He
could not deny it, nodding wryly. ‘It would be good to see you more often, I
have to admit. You have a certain ... je ne sais quoi. But what about your own
job? I would not want you to get the boot.’
       ‘The
sack,’ she corrected him crisply. ‘It sounds nicer. Anyway, you are far too
late. I already got it.’
       Dominic
stared at her. ‘Got what?’
       ‘The
boot. The shove. The sack.’ She sighed and perched herself on one of the high
kitchen stools, looking back at him with a candid smile. ‘So you see, I’m free
for the foreseeable future.
       ‘You
lost your job? I’m so sorry, Clementine.’
       She
waved her hand. ‘Oh, don’t be. I never enjoyed it anyway. But I do need to sort
out a job for myself. Something I can stick for longer than a few weeks.’
       ‘I
would love to have you here, but I can’t afford to pay you,’ he told her
bluntly.
       ‘Pay
me in chocolate, then. Or cover me in it,’ she said, then blushed fierily when
his eyebrows shot up. ‘Merde, that didn’t come out right.’
       He
laughed then, meeting her gaze. ‘No, but it was funny.’
       ‘Thank
you,’ she said drily.
       Deciding
to reopen the shop seemed to have galvanized him; she had never seen him
looking quite so energetic and positive. ‘You make me laugh, you’re very
amusante.’ His eyes locked with hers, suddenly intent. ‘Clementine. Such an
unusual name. If only I had met you before.’
       ‘Before
your business went down la toilette?’
       His
handsome Gallic smile turned lopsided. ‘Something like that, oui.’
       ‘C’est
la vie,’ she murmured.
       ‘C’est
la guerre.’
       ‘That
too.’ Then she jumped up, hands on hips. ‘Well, if this is a war, Dominic, what
are we doing sitting about on our bottoms?’
       His
gaze flashed instantly to her bottom, then back up to her face, but not before
she caught a flicker of interest in those dark eyes.
       Heat
flooded her cheeks and she stared back at him in mute embarrassment.
       Suddenly,
bottom was the only word in her head.
       ‘I
d … don’t know why I said that,’ she stammered.
       ‘Said
what?’
       ‘Bottom.’
       He
smiled. ‘You said it again.’
       ‘Merde.’
       ‘But
why should you not say it?’ His eyes watched her darkly. ‘It is not a rude
word. I am not offended.’
       ‘It
… It makes me feel silly.’
       ‘Silly,
non. Charmante, oui.’ He stood too and took her