Christmas At The Café. Rebecca Raisin
Читать онлайн книгу.
blinded by the headlights of a wide old car pulling in the car park. The engine rumbles like some kind of beast.
I shield my eyes from the glare of the lights before the car crawls into a space, and the bright headlights shine on the fence instead. I don’t recognize the car, but can guess by the classic model it’s something belonging to Old Lou. Cars like this are spread all over his property dying a slow rusty death from being pummeled by the elements.
The car shudders to a halt, and out steps Joel.
My stride falters when I see his familiar lopsided smile. He’s dressed in low-slung denim jeans, and a tight black sweater. His dark hair is swept back, as always, making his olive skin and deep brown eyes the first thing a girl might notice. But all I see is the same expression on his face when he was close to making a sale at the car yard, and I steel myself.
“Thought you might’ve got cold feet.” He saunters over to me, and pecks me on the cheek. Up close, I see dark circles under his eyes, and take a step back at the stale smell of cheap wine that cloaks him. “Figured I’d drop by and see you instead, and your…empire.” He waves a hand towards the café.
“Let me lock this up.” I point to the storage shed. “Go on inside.” I’m surprised to feel absolutely nothing from seeing him again. I thought maybe there’d be some kind of wistful flutter of the memory of our love but instead, there’s just numbness. I guess the spell he had over me is long gone.
He moves to hug me but I sidestep him. “Joel, I warned you about that. I’m with someone else now.”
Putting a hand to his chest, he feigns surprise. “It was just a hello hug between old friends.”
“Go on in,” I say more forcefully.
“OK, don’t run away now.” He winks, and runs a hand through his hair.
I ignore him, and turn back to the shed as I hear his heavy footfalls on the back steps.
Taking a deep breath, I remind myself to give him ten minutes, and then send him on his way. Damon will be waiting for me. Longing races up my spine when I think of going home and showing him just how much he means to me.
When I walk back into the café Joel’s standing by the cash register shaking the shrilling turkey. “What are you doing?” I ask, snatching it away from him.
“Whoa, you sure are defensive these days, Lil. I was wondering what the hell it does, that’s all.”
There’s no way I want him anywhere near Damon’s gift; silly as it sounds, it’s special to me, that goddamn turkey, and the memory it holds.
I stuff the turkey back on his spot, and cross my arms over my chest. “So, what is it you had to discuss with me?”
He rubs his hands together and surveys the kitchen. “Coffee first? Or maybe, a glass of something stronger?”
“Everything’s switched off. And we don’t keep alcohol here.”
He clucks his tongue, and slowly wanders around the café, picking up things as if he’s in a store. “I like what you’ve done with the place. It looks…cozy. No more stark white walls, and only a stick or two of furniture.”
I itch to say it’d taken a good two years and a lot of hard work to be able to afford luxuries such as paint and the odd assortment of shabby-chic secondhand furniture we’d acquired slowly. But I bite my tongue. He’s stalling for time, and I don’t want to drag this visit out any longer than I have to.
“Joel, I really have to go. So can we get down to it?”
When he turns to me, I hold my breath; something in his eyes scares me. “You know I left here with only the clothes on my back. I didn’t ask for anything from you.”
I return his glare. He can’t be serious. “That’s because there was nothing to take from me, Joel. Remember?”
“Is it serious between you and Damon?”
I rack my mind wondering who would have told him about Damon. Joel isn’t exactly popular in Ashford, and Old Lou never ventures into town. Even Rosaleen, the town know-it-all, wouldn’t stoop so low as to tell Joel anything.
“It sure is.” I pick up my handbag, and fling the strap over my shoulder. “If that’s all you came to discuss then your question is answered. I hope you have a nice life.”
He laughs, a low, mean sound. “I do have a question for you, Lil. How much does the café make these days? I’ve seen flyers all over the place advertising your so-called chocolate festival. Word is you’ve got yourself a nice little earner…”
The malice in his voice leaves me cold. “That’s none of your concern now, Joel.”
“No?” He steps behind the register and presses the button to spring it open. When I see his face drop, I hide my smile. The takings are safely tucked away in the freezer in an empty box of frozen peas. CeeCee and I figure no one would look there, not that there’s much crime around Ashford anyway.
“What, Joel, do you need a loan or something?” I try to keep the disdain from my voice. “You think you can walk in here and act like some kind of evil cameo from a Batman movie and I’m just going to stand here and take it? You really need a trench coat or some gloopy black eyeliner to be believable.”
He slams the cash register shut. “I’ll cut to the chase, then, silly Lily.” His voice is hard, and his eyes no longer hold the close-the-deal look; they’re icy with anger. “When I left you for the glamorous Rita, I’ll admit it was for her sizeable assets.” He holds his hands out in front of his chest.
I scoff. “Oh, please. As if I care.”
“It wasn’t just the double-D cups that had me hooked. It was also her healthy bank balance. Anyhow, that’s all finished. And it pains me more than you know to say she didn’t set me up like she promised. So what do I do? You gotta spend money to make money, right? Speculate to accumulate?”
I purse my lips; he’s a walking cliché. What did I ever see in him? “What is it you want, Joel?”
“Well, I got to thinking where can I get some money fast to start another car yard… Any idea?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “No idea.”
“And then I thought…actually, yes! The quaint little Gingerbread Café, a veritable money spinner of late. I got to remembering how this café came about. Do you remember, Lil?”
My throat tightens, and I blink back tears. There’s no way I’m giving him the pleasure of seeing me cry. “What are you saying, Joel?” It’s all I can do not to hiss the words.
“I set you up, Lil. I paid for all of this…stuff.” He turns, his arms outstretched. “As I recall I loaned you twenty grand to get this place started. That oven is mine, that fridge; hmm, I think I paid for that dishwasher too.”
“You lost everything we had, Joel. Everything. I managed to hang onto the café by sheer hard work. I don’t owe you a cent.” I hear the tremor in my voice and hate myself for it. It’s true Joel gave me the money to set up the kitchen in the café, but I didn’t consider it a loan, since I supported him financially most of my adult life before moving on to start the Gingerbread Café.
He sneers, and I resist the urge to slap the look from his face. “It was just bad timing, Lil. The whole global financial crisis thing. We both lost things we loved. But the money I loaned you wasn’t mine — it was…family money, you could say.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me, Joel. This is low even for you.” I shake my head, wondering how a man I once loved could be as cold and as calculating as this. Family money. I want to rage at him. Before he died, Harry, Joel’s father, was a loan shark, who cost a lot of people their homes with his exorbitant rates. I should have known better that any money from him would come with strings attached.
“But