A Gingerbread Café Christmas. Rebecca Raisin
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my family, but I make my own way.” He crosses his arms and puffs out his chest like a prize cock. His jaw juts out, making me think there’s more to the story than he’s letting on.
“You the rotten apple?” CeeCee asks, tilting her head. I hope to God he is, then my shop might just have a chance.
“I don’t like handouts, that’s all.”
CeeCee makes a show of clearing her throat. “Good to hear. Now we got cakes to make, but I guess you know all about that.”
He ducks his head. “Well, all right. I was just coming to invite you over to my cooking class tonight. Free of charge.”
My fighting spirit returns, and I paste on a smile. “Thanks all the same, but we’ve got so many orders to assemble. Yesterday was one of our busiest days ever, you see.”
“I see. Not much money in half-price poultry, is there?”
“Well, you know how it is,” I say. “We’re full of Christmas cheer this time of year.” CeeCee rings the bell maniacally. I nod to her, grinning. “And we like to look after folk around here.”
“I’ll say.” He uncrosses his arms and leans over to me and whispers, “Bet my cheesecake is better than yours.”
I reel, as if poked. “We’ll see about that.”
He walks away, cool as a cucumber, and tips a finger to his head as though he’s wearing a hat. We watch him cross the street; he jogs, and jumps when he reaches the pavement. I can honestly say I’ve never seen a man’s butt look so good in jeans before. They’re so tight, every muscle is evident as his body pushes against the faded denim. It’s like watching magic happen. I take a deep appreciative breath in.
“He sure ain’t ugly, is he?” CeeCee says wistfully.
“No, ma’am.”
He turns abruptly and catches us staring, jaws agape. I promptly close my mouth and busy myself at the counter.
“Well, I’ll be,” CeeCee says, shaking herself back to the present. “How did we not know he’s a Guthrie?”
“I don’t know. What do you think? That they’ll bail him out as long as it takes to close us down?”
CeeCee drags her gaze from the window. “Sugar plum, I don’t rightly know. He doesn’t seem like that, though. He seems sweet as cherry pie.”
“Here we go. You’re getting all misty-eyed.”
CeeCee glances at me, and I can tell she’s debating whether to say what’s on her mind.
“Just say it, Cee. What are you cooking in that mind of yours?”
“Hmm. I just got a feeling.”
I groan. CeeCee thinks she’s got second sight, sometimes. Second sight, only when it comes to me and whichever man she’s trying to set me up with.
She shakes her head, and says, “I know, I know, but this time it’s different. There’s somethin’ special about him. I saw the way he looked at you. Like electricity or somethin’. I could see sparks flying between you. It was like lightning. Like—”
“Like a thunderstorm,” I interrupt. “Like a great big brooding cloud of despair. That’s what you saw.”
“Mark my words. He’s different. He gonna pull you outta this funk.”
Ignoring CeeCee, I walk to the bench. The pears have infused with the ginger. I toy with the ingredients for the cheesecake, fidgety all of a sudden.
“You think so too?” she asks hopefully.
“I think you’re crazy, Cee. And Joel, what about Joel?” I’m hoping if I say it like a prayer, he’ll come back. Joel would see straight through Damon’s ploys. Yeah, so Damon may be flirting with me, but that’s so I loosen up and let him ruin my business. Joel would know what to do about this situation. My heart lurches at the thought of spending Christmas Day alone. No Joel to open presents with. No Joel full stop. In fact, no family here at all this year.
My folks discovered cruising when they retired and are sailing around New Zealand, of all places. Damned if I know where they heard about it. My siblings got out of our small town as quick as they could after school was done. My brother lives in New York City, and leads some glamorous life, full of socialites, and parties. He’s so far gone in that world, he doesn’t make time for family any more. My parents pretend that they’re happy for him, but it breaks my heart their own son doesn’t visit. And my sister, Betty, has gone on to Michigan with her husband and had about a hundred babies.
“You thinking of Joel, again?” CeeCee demands. “Girl, when you gonna stop mooning over him? He just don’t deserve that kinda attention. He up and divorced you, Lil…” Her voice softens. “I think it’s time you realized that’s about as finished as a marriage gets.”
I didn’t even see it coming. Thought it was a phase — maybe some married men get itchy feet. As devastating as it was, I’d give him another chance, once he knew the grass wasn’t greener elsewhere. But instead, he served me divorce papers. Something I never wanted to see. My heart broke into about a million pieces that day.
I think back to our marriage, and the promises we made. When he stared into my eyes, and recited wedding vows, I believed him. When I said, ‘Till death do us part’ I truly meant it. How can one person have that kind of hold of your heart, and not feel the same any more? Marriage should be for ever — at least, that’s what I was raised to believe. When you stumble, you work through it, together. But Joel, he’s not on the same page as me, not yet.
CeeCee breaks my train of thought. “You OK, Lil? You look like you seen a ghost.”
Pensive, I try and shake the memories away. “You’re right, Cee. No time for mooning over what I can’t change.” I force a bright look on my face, and remember the challenge at hand. “So, you still going to be Mrs Claus, or what?”
CeeCee picks up a basket and stuffs it full of candy canes. “Surely am. Gimme those coupons, and let me go drum up some sales.”
That afternoon we’re rushed off our feet. The folk in town are vying to pay it forward to the church so the reverend will look kindly upon them. They’ve got good hearts, and I hope, what with all the discounts, I’m still making some money. Everyone who comes in appreciates the gospel Christmas music. CeeCee hams it up in her soprano voice, and pitches and warbles to the customers, who join merrily in.
We sell our last Lane cake; the white iced fruit cakes are a Christmas tradition in Alabama, where CeeCee is from. She’s got most of the town folk hooked on her southern food. Most of our gingersnap-pear cheesecakes are snapped up too. Dusting my hands on my apron as the final customer carries his box of goods out, I raise my eyebrows at CeeCee. She’s gulping down iced-tea as if she’s been stuck in the desert.
“I sure didn’t expect such a flurry all at once.”
She puts her empty glass down, and says, “I don’t think I ever been that parched. Glory be, that was busier than I ever seen it before.”
Glancing over the street, I see Damon. He’s on his haunches scrawling something on his chalkboard. Guilt gnaws at me, as I see his shop is empty, and has been each time I had a minute to look his way. He’s spent the morning sitting on a stool by the window reading the paper, or talking on his cell.
“What’s he doin’?” CeeCee wonders.
“Probably advertising his cooking classes. They just aren’t going to work. Folk ‘round here can cook, anyway.”
CeeCee grunts. “Yeah, but that’s what folks said about you opening a shop