Chapter 3
THREE
CASSIDY
“It’s showtime,” Cassidy told herself while instinctively reaching for her grand-maman’s gold locket around her neck. “Wish you could see this,” she added before adjusting her braids and taking a calming breath.
It was Monday morning, and she was ready.
In the last few weeks she’d posted about the grand opening on the Maple Falls community board, pinned a flyer outside the hardware store, and run a promotion on the shop’s brand-new social media page, offering a free hot spiced cocoa to the first ten customers.
She’d even practiced saying, “Welcome to the Cocoa Corner,” in the mirror.
Before her nerves could get the best of her, she marched to the front door and flipped the sign to “Open.” She refused to acknowledge her trembling hands.
Snowflakes sparkled like glitter in the sunlight outside the shop’s giant floor-to-ceiling window. Outside, the early December morning was dusted in frost, and just across the street, she could see Liam’s farm shop with its wood crates stacked neatly out front.
Within minutes, customers began to trickle in, eager to see what she had done to Rita’s store.
“Well, this is just the coziest place I’ve ever seen. Don’t you agree, Mrs. C.?” Mrs. Bishop asked as she walked in and did a full three-sixty turn.
“Is that hot cocoa I smell?” Mrs. C. asked, stepping closer to examine the bubbling cauldron of spiced cocoa.
“It is! It’s my grand-maman’s recipe,” Cassidy explained. “Spiced and dark, but I also have a lighter white chocolate option if you prefer.” The white chocolate one was her own creation, inspired by her love of the delicate petit fours she’d crafted in Paris.
“I’ll take whatever one is your favorite,” Mrs. C. said.
“Make that two cups,” Mrs. Bishop called, already drifting toward the front display case.
The long glass case was filled with handcrafted truffles, creamy pralines, caramel cashew clusters, peppermint bark, and chocolate-dipped pretzels.
“Oh, I see you have pralines. Those look just like Rita’s, and hers were heavenly. ”
“I hope they live up to the memory.”
“I’m sure they will, dear, and I’ll happily take the risk.”
Cassidy laughed, going over to the pop-up café bar. “I’ll give you the dark spiced cocoa. It’s wonderful. A recipe passed down through generations. Would you like them for here or to go?”
Mrs. C. glanced at Mrs. Bishop, eyes twinkling. Cassidy gestured to the row of mismatched vintage mugs hanging from hooks behind the counter.
“Don’t ask me. You know I can’t make up my mind,” Mrs. Bishop said honestly.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Mrs. C. said to her friend. “We do have a busy morning—lots of presents to buy—but those mugs are darling. Let’s sit for a minute,” she decided for them, motioning to the seating area off to the side.
Cassidy’s heart gave a little swell of pride. She’d created that space with care: a round café table with two chairs positioned just so, the winter morning light pouring in at the perfect angle.
Behind it, on the second side window of her shop, was a little reading nook with two overstuffed velvet armchairs in cranberry and a quilt stitched in holly reds and snowy whites draped over the side.
Between the chairs sat a low table stacked with some festive novels, a few classic romances, and a vase of greenery.
It was the warm and inviting space she had always dreamed of. And soon, she hoped, it would be filled with regulars who thought of the Cocoa Corner as their own cozy escape.
“Two mugs coming right up.” She ladled two cups of steaming spiced dark cocoa out of an oversized copper saucepan.
“Here, it’s even better with one of Emily’s croissants. She baked them fresh this morning.” She added the croissants to the saucers and brought them over.
On the outside, she looked normal, or at least she thought she did. Inside, she was screaming, Please let them like it! Please let them like it!
They were the first official customers to try her spiced cocoa. Madison had loved it, but would they?
She started rambling about the chocolates instead of studying the ladies’ first sips like she wanted to.
“The praline recipe was Rita’s, as are the turtles and the espresso truffles.
” She nodded toward the framed photo of Rita, which was displayed behind the register.
“I owe her everything for selling the shop to me.”
Mrs. C. took a sip of the cocoa, and her eyebrows shot up. “Now, isn’t this something? Who would’ve thought cocoa could taste so rich and flavorful?”
“We might have to stop here every day on our way to the bakery,” Mrs. Bishop added, dipping the corner of her croissant in the warm, velvety liquid.
“What is that? Ginger?” Mrs. C. asked, cocking her head.
She shook her head.
“Well, there’s definitely cinnamon in it.” Mrs. Bishop looked up for confirmation, but Cassidy’s lips were sealed.
“Cardamom?” Mrs. C. asked after taking a second sip.
“Sorry, secret family recipe. Even my brother doesn’t know it,” she confessed. “It’s been passed down by the women in my family,” she explained.
“If I had a recipe this good, I’d probably keep it a secret, too,” Mrs. C. declared, lifting the mug and inhaling deeply.
“Is there anything else I can get you two?” Cassidy asked, wanting to leave the ladies to enjoy their cocoa in private.
“Well, a praline and a turtle, of course. Have to see if they’re as good as Rita’s,” Mrs. C. said, not caring if it offended her.
Cassidy forced her smile not to slip. She knew everyone would be coming in to compare her chocolates to Rita’s.
It came with the territory. Theoretically, she knew she could make chocolate with the best of them.
But the locals in Maple Falls might have a very specific idea of what fine chocolate should taste like.
“Do you like candied pecans?” Mrs. Bishop asked, pulling her from her thoughts.
“Hm?”
“Candied pecans, dear. Do you like them?” Mrs. Bishop repeated impatiently.
“I’ve never made them, but I enjoy eating them,” she replied.
“Perfect. I’m making some for the holidays. I’ll drop off a jar.”
Cassidy started to protest. “Oh, you don’t have to do that…”
“Nonsense. You’re one of us now. Consider it your official welcome to Maple Falls,” Mrs. Bishop insisted.
Cassidy beamed—she was off to a great start.
She thought she might have a minute to plan out her Christmas window display after the ladies left, but customers kept on pouring in.
Within minutes, she had a line almost out the door of folks who wanted to sample her hot cocoa.
Some came for the freebie but didn’t mind when they’d missed the boat.
They swooned over their cups and by the time the first batch of cocoa ran dry and the last croissant disappeared from the case, she was exhausted but buzzing.
Now, the shop had finally gone quiet. She took a breath and moved to the window display, restocking the rows of glossy truffles and peppermint bark, considering how to make the front look even more festive. Maybe garlands of cinnamon sticks and dried orange slices?
She glanced out the frosty front window—and froze.
Across the street, Liam stood just outside his farm shop, sleeves rolled up, unloading crates of honey from his truck like they weighed nothing at all.
His shirt clung to his shoulders, and his breath misted in the cold air as he adjusted the crates.
Cassidy tried—really tried—not to think about all the fun she could have with Liam and a jar of his famous hot honey, but her imagination wasn’t cooperating.
The front door jingled, snapping her out of her thoughts as Mr. Alders walked in.
She recognized him instantly. She’d seen the older man a few times at the hardware store when she was picking up bits for the café over the last few weeks, and had first assumed he worked there.
He was always hovering near the front counter like he owned the place.
But it turned out he was recently retired from the store and had nothing else to do.
“Good morning, Mr. Alders,” she called, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Would you like some hot spiced cocoa? Freshly made with my secret family recipe.”
“Hot cocoa?” he grumbled. “Rita never sold that.”
Her smile wavered for half a second before she pasted it back on.
Mr. Alders wandered further into the shop, eyes narrowed. He wasn’t admiring the displays so much as scrutinizing them—the shelves she’d added, all the glass jars, the shaped marshmallows, the splashes of color. The deeper he walked in, the deeper his scowl grew.
“Looking for a gift?” she asked brightly. “Something sweet for the season?”
“Got any maple fudge?” he asked. “Rita used to make the best maple fudge.”
“I’m afraid not. I have pralines made with Rita’s recipe, though. Would you like one of those?”
Before he could answer, Mr. Alders stumbled slightly, catching his foot on the box she had just brought down. It was overflowing with decorations—tinsel, twinkle lights, and the foam head of a half-assembled snowman peeking out the top.
He stared down at it like it had personally offended him.
“Don’t tell me you’re going all out with Christmas too.”
She laughed softly. “Guilty as charged. I’m decorating for the Christmas Light-Up Display Competition. Will you be coming to see the displays?”
“Not unless I’m dragged,” he muttered. “This whole town’s lost its mind. Christmas on every corner. All a man wants is a piece of fudge and a little peace and quiet.” He stood there, staring at her. Whatever he saw, he didn’t like.
His glare only made her smile brighter, her chin lifting a fraction higher. Not today, Mr. Alders. Not on my first day.
She had to look like a complete and total fool to him, hands on her hips, Christmas sweater lights flashing. But she was absolutely determined not to care. If the man didn’t like Christmas, he was in the wrong spot, talking to the wrong woman.