Christmas At The Café. Rebecca Raisin
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tea leaves and used tweezers to prop them on top of the small squares of perfection. There are caramel pecan truffles with honeyed pecans on top, because we figured some people would appreciate some more extravagant flavors.
We drag ourselves away from the fridge and tidy up as the soft sunlight begins to fade. The street empties as town folk make their way home at the end of the day. Charlie wandered off home with one of the older kids who live next door to us to watch movies but more likely take a nap after a busy day baking.
“I’m going to go ahead and bring the tables inside,” I say to CeeCee. Outside the air has cooled, and I hug my cardigan tight. Flowers bloom from our pots, bright red roses so vivid I can’t help but stare at them, enjoying the way they sway slightly in the breeze, almost as if they’re waving. I fold a small wooden table, and go to lift it when Damon appears.
“Let me take care of that,” he says, lifting it as if it weighs nothing.
He hoists it over his shoulder and navigates the doorway, careful not to knock it into the newly painted walls. In his wake, his aftershave and the mix of scents that perpetually envelop him drifts to where I stand. The usual Damon smell of coffee beans, and something spicy with a hint of cinnamon; he’s downright edible, and it makes my pulse quicken.
When he returns for another table, he glances at me and stops. “What is it?” Concern etches his face. “You look so pale, Lil.” He rubs his strong hands up and down my arms.
“Just enjoying the view,” I say, giving him the once-over, but my voice sounds strange, even to me.
He pulls me to him, and holds me tight. Resting my face against his chest, I hear the steady thrum of his heart. It’s comforting and in some cheesy way I imagine it beats just for me. I know I need to confide in him about Joel. Damon’s not one to tell me what to do, but I owe it to him to explain so he knows it’s about closure once and for all and nothing more.
He clasps my face, rains kisses on my forehead, the tip of my nose, and then ever so softly on my lips. I close my eyes, and kiss him back, harder with more urgency. We pull apart and I gaze up at him; his eyes are lit with a question. He tilts his head, like a sign to start talking.
“It’s Joel,” I say. “He’s back and he wants to see me. Says he’s got something to discuss.” Damon’s hands fall to the crook of my back, and I shuffle closer to him. Arching slightly to see each other, we rest thigh to thigh, hip to hip, connected.
I continue: “I don’t want you to think it’s anything more than it is. I feel absolutely nothing for him except pity, if you can even call it that.”
He searches my face before replying. “What do you think he feels for you, though, Lil?”
“Whatever it is it’ll only be a passing thing. He’s at a stopgap right now, and that’s got something to do with it. But I won’t go if it makes you second-guess us.” I gesture to the small space between our hearts.
Damon lets out a gruff sigh. “Nothing’ll make me second-guess us, Lil. If you feel you need to do this, you go on and do it. I trust you, Lil, I know you. And that’s all that matters to me. Plus we don’t call you feisty Lil for nothing. I know you can look after yourself.”
I slap him playfully across the arm. “Who calls me feisty Lil?”
He shrugs. “You know…everyone.”
I grin up at him. “They do not!”
“OK, they don’t.” His face softens with laughter.
“Well, I’m glad you trust me, and I just know it’ll be easier to see him face to face and sort this out once and for all.”
“If he hurts you in any way, you know I’ll kill him, right?” Damon says, his voice light, but I can still make out the serious undertone.
“You’ll have to get in line behind Cee. Who I haven’t told, by the way,” I add quickly.
He runs a hand through my hair, tucking it behind my ear. He’s so gentle in everything he does; I get to wondering how I’m so lucky. “You think that’s wise?” he asks. “I happen to know from experience it doesn’t take long for news to spread around town.”
I blush, thinking back to Christmas Eve when Damon and I first kissed. No way we could keep it to ourselves when we embraced passionately in front of the town hall where almost all of the residents of Ashford stood, waiting for the carols to begin. I blame Damon for that public display of affection. He’s got a way of making me forget where I am and what the hell I’m doing.
“Lil?”
I blink away the memory of kissing him in the snow. “I’ll tell her tomorrow, when he’s gone. CeeCee’s liable to hunt out Curtis’s old shotgun if she knows he’s here.”
“How’s her aim?” he jokes, embracing me once more.
***
Back inside, I banish the thought of the impending visit with Joel as CeeCee and I do the usual clean-up. She stacks the magazines and resets the tables, and I give the kitchen a mop.
“Sugar?”
“Mmm?”
“I had an idea ’bout the chocolate festival. We sure gonna be busy serving folks, and all we’ve got organized for the l’il ones is painting those eggs. Why don’t we do some more activities for them so their parents can enjoy the day while we occupy the kids in here? You know, maybe some face painting or some such…”
“Great idea, Cee! We can do all sorts of things. I was going to make gingerbread Easter bunnies — they can decorate them with tubes of icing. And what about egg-and-spoon races? And egg rolling? This’ll be so much fun for Charlie!” I put the mop back in the bucket and swish it around.
“Right,” CeeCee says, blustering over with a bout of enthusiasm. “We better make a list. We’ve only got a few days to prepare.”
“I’ll ask the Mary-Jos to bring their face-painting kits. They’re like children themselves — I know they’ll have a great time.” Nothing has changed with the three Mary-Jos, cousins, who look the same, talk the same, and hang around Damon’s shop, fluttering their eyelashes at him in the cutest case of puppy love going around. They’re sweet teenagers, just bored in Ashford.
They delighted in making posters for the chocolate festival, I think mainly so they could drive to the bigger towns and gawk at the teenage boys as they handed them out.
“Surely they’ll jump at the chance to do something other than look pretty,” CeeCee mutters. “Let’s start on those gingerbread bunnies.”
Glancing at the clock, I see it’s almost six. I don’t want to get out to Old Lou’s too late and have Damon’s mind racing at where I am. My stomach flips having to lie again to CeeCee. “Let’s leave it for today. I’ll come in early tomorrow and make a start. How does that sound?”
She yawns and pads over the wet floor, careful not to slip. “You right, I got all excited on account of those kids comin’ here. Let’s start tomorrow, and you see ’bout asking the Mary-Jos if they can drag themselves away from Damon’s stoop to help out on Saturday.”
I nod and fumble with my apron strings.
“We done?” She surveys the café; everything except the mop bucket is as it should be.
“Looks like it. Head on home, and I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t forget your scarf.” This time of the evening there’s a chill in the air.
“Shoot, then I got to cross over your nice clean floor again. No matter, I’ll get it tomorrow. You go see that fine-looking thing now, you hear? Don’t fuss around here no more.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I hug her tight and promise myself I’ll tell her all about Joel tomorrow.