Christmas At The Café. Rebecca Raisin
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CeeCee takes the empty shells, and gently drops them in the pot of scarlet water. She stirs softly so they dye evenly before taking them out to dry in an empty egg carton.
We work quietly, and my mind drifts back to Joel. He hasn’t been back to Ashford since we split; it seems odd he’d come back now. I wonder if he’s going to try and make trouble for me, but most of all I worry about what Damon will make of it. Joel can be pigheaded — if he sets his mind to something he usually figures a way to get it. I can’t help feeling anxious he’s back and clearly with some kind of agenda.
I curse under my breath as I break an egg. My jittery hands are no match for the delicate shell, and I end up holding a yolky mess.
“Don’t think that’s how you’re goin’ to get out of doing them, Lil,” CeeCee jokes.
“Got to admit it’s much faster,” I reply as I use paper towels to wipe away the goo. A breeze wafts in, making the pages of our magazines flutter on the tables. The glorious floral-scented spring air pulls people from their homes like magic after winter finally packed up and left for another year. It won’t be long before we’re inundated with customers who want to idle away the morning soaking up the soft sun from the comfort of an outside table. Earlier this morning CeeCee made a batch of buttermilk pies, which bake nice and slow in the oven. The occasional burst of vanilla essence floats outside, tempting people to stop in and ask how long they’ll be.
“Cherry blossom…” CeeCee’s voice is soft with concentration “…can you pass me the blue dye?”
“Sure, give me a sec.” I stand over the bin and shake the rest of the gooey egg off my hands. “Blue, and what comes next?”
“That little bottle of sunshine right there.” She points to the yellow dye, her face lit up.
I break another egg and this time my curse rings out.
“Glory be, sugar plum, you sure do got butterfingers today. You want me to have a go?”
“No. It’s OK, I’ll go slower.” Damn Joel. I’m worried. I don’t want him to cast a pall of ugliness over my new life. And what else can he be here for, except to make trouble?
“Mmm hmm,” she says distractedly as she spoons an egg out of the pot and rests it next to the others in the carton. She stares straight at me and says, “What’s botherin’ you? You suddenly got the clumsies. It ain’t like you to make mistakes no matter how finicky the job is.”
Moving to the sink to wash my hands, I laugh her off. “It’s nothing, Cee.”
CeeCee doesn’t pry into it again and I’m grateful my back is turned so she doesn’t try to stare me down. I confess all when she does that and she knows it. We don’t usually keep secrets from each other. But for now, it’s better if she doesn’t know Joel’s back. She’d probably drive out to Old Lou’s and holler at him something fierce. There’s no love lost between those two. CeeCee is protective of me, like a mother hen, and for that reason, I won’t tell her about Joel just yet.
I head outside to update the chalk board and to clear the tables of empty coffee cups.
Bending down, I write about the buttermilk pies, and the chocolate-dipped strawberries, we made earlier. I turn as someone lightly taps me on the shoulder. I hear a little giggle as I feel a tap on the other shoulder. I spin the other way and look into the deep azure eyes of Charlie. She giggles again, a high chipmunk-like sound.
“Tricked you.”
I take her into my arms. Her gorgeous blonde curls tickle my nose as I bury my face in her hair. “Charlie bear, you’re here!”
“Yep, for a whole week! Daddy said we’re going to paint eggs and do lots of fun stuff…”
“We sure are.” I glance across the way at Damon, who stands to watch she’s crossed the street safely. I wave at him and point to the café as I take Charlie’s hand and lead her inside. Damon’s daughter, Charlotte, or Charlie as we call her, first came to Ashford just after Christmas. I kept my distance so she could enjoy her time with her daddy but it didn’t take long for her to toddle over the road and ask for a gingerbread man. Soon enough she was helping cut out the figures and stayed most days to bake alongside us, before leaving to go back to her mom, and return to school in New Orleans.
It was decided Charlie would spend the Easter break with us because her mom was taking a trip to Vegas, and it’s not the kind of place suitable for a seven-year-old.
“You know what else we’re going to do?” I ask as I set her up on a stool by the bench.
“What?”
“We’re going to have a chocolate festival! The whole town is getting involved, even your daddy, so we might need someone to be our taste tester…”
She squeals and claps her hands. “I can!”
I look solemnly at her. “OK, you’re our quality control. And do you know what else? If you’re really lucky, you might meet the Easter bunny!”
She slaps her hands on her cheeks and says, “The real Easter bunny?”
“Of course!”
CeeCee and I cackled like witches when we found an adult bunny-rabbit dress-up online, and even more so when they only had one in stock in pink and…in Damon’s size. It was our finest moment, presenting him the suit complete with ginormous rosy rabbit head with flippy-floppy ears. So we might have sung a nursery rhyme or two to convince him it was for the children…when in actual fact it was for our amusement.
“I can’t wait!”
“And then on Sunday we have the town egg hunt. It’s going to be great fun. You’ll have a basket to hold all the lovely eggs the Easter bunny hid.”
“We might need a map.” Her little mouth puckers.
I grin and bend down to hug her small frame. “A map might be a good idea. Now let me fix you a snack. CeeCee’ll be back soon, and she was going to ask you to help her bake some hot-cross-bun cake pops, but it’s a very tricky job. I wasn’t sure if you were up to the task…”
“I am! I am! I love cake pops. CeeCee said I’m the best helper she’s ever had.”
“She’s right.” I pour Charlie a glass of milk. “Now, how about you go look in that fridge over there, and see what you want to eat?” Her eyes light up as she sees the variety of chocolate lining the shelves.
“They’re all so pretty. Can I have the gingerbread-man one?” She points to an egg wrapped in the special foil. I kiss the top of her head before taking it out for her. “Good choice,” I say.
***
Cee returns not long after and yelps when she sees Charlie helping me ice a chocolate crepe cake.
“Oh, my sweet little angel! Come here and give me a great big hug!” Charlie slips off the stool and races into her arms. CeeCee adores the little girl and seems to have adopted her as another grandbaby.
Once we’re all settled down, CeeCee tells Charlie what they need to make hot-cross-bun cake pops.
“They gonna be a little taste explosion,” CeeCee tells her. “You pop the square of fruity cake in your mouth, and bam, it’s a mini hot-cross bun on a stick! With a nice coating of chocolate, mind.”
“Just like a hot-cross bun?”
“The very same with the white cross and everythin’.”
Charlie looks serious as she helps CeeCee pull out the ingredients they’ll need.
***
The Gingerbread Café resembles a chocolate shop by