Christmas At The Café. Rebecca Raisin
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owe me a hair set, sugar plum. This hat sure gonna flatten my wave.”
“Sure, I’ll organize Missy to fix your hair up pretty for Christmas.” I laugh.
“I look a sight!” she says, grinning at her reflection in the window. “Right, go print me some coupons, and I’ll set to work.”
Leaving Mrs Claus out front, I rush back to my shoebox-size office and hastily type some coupons. Everyone in town loves a bargain, and if they are seen doing something for the church, even better.
Let’s see him try and outmaneuver me on this. I have the added bonus of being a local born and bred, and our town is more reserved with new folk.
With a sly grin on my face, I jog back out to the front, yelling, “That fool won’t know what hit him,” only to run straight into the damn fool.
“Who are you talking about?” Damon asks, rubbing his chin where my head has just connected.
“Ouch! Who creeps up like that? If you want me to feel the earth move, that isn’t the way to go about it,” I say, sure I’m going to be sporting a big lump on my head any minute now.
“Which fool are you talking about?”
I make a show of wincing, while I try and think of an answer. CeeCee’s no help, standing there as a half-dressed Santa, her lips quivering as she tries to hold in laughter. I know she’s going to lose it, and then the whole sorry story will come tumbling out of her mouth.
“Excuse me, mister, who said you could come in here and spy on us?”
His forehead creases, and that same sexy smile creeps back on his face. “Who said I was spying?”
“That smile might work on other girls, but it sure doesn’t work on me. I said you’re spying. Now get on out of here. Shoo.” I wave my hand towards the door.
“Shoo? Not until you tell me who the fool is.”
“You’re as dumb as a bucket of rocks if you think I’m telling you anything.”
“I see.” He scratches his chin, which has a red mark from our collision. “I think you’re cooking up another plan to steal my customers.”
“Of all the…I think you’re forgetting who was here first. You’re stealing my customers—let’s be clear on that.” I try hard not to poke my tongue out at him. He brings out the worst in me, this newcomer. He’s wearing those same tight jeans, and under his open jacket he’s wearing another of those checker shirts, but has yet another button undone. I can see right down to his belly button and I happen to notice he’s got quite the six-pack going on. The girls round here are going to swoon over him.
He edges backwards, his brown eyes sparkling with mirth. “Well, my family has lived here since before there was electricity, don’t you know? And wouldn’t the town folk love to know you’re not giving me the same warm welcome that they are?”
CeeCee bustles over. “Oh, yeah? And who’s your family, then? Ain’t no one mentioned your people to me.”
“My people, as you say, are the Guthries, born and bred right here in Ashford for as long as anyone can remember.”
CeeCee and I inhale sharply. The Guthries are the oldest and richest family in our town. So rich, they don’t live here any more. They follow the sun and never struggle through a winter unless they’re skiing. They owned a fleet of cargo ships, and train lines, and had their fingers in all sorts of pies when it came to transport. A few years back they sold their businesses, raking in a fortune. They still own by and large a heap of properties around town, and are well-respected, church-going folk. Not that we ever see them in Ashford, any more.
It’s all I can do not to cry. There’s no way I can beat him if he’s backed by that kind of money.
“Why you even bothering to work, then?” CeeCee asks. “We know most o’ the Guthries don’t do much ‘cept sit on their porches and get fat off good ‘ol American food, since they got no need for employment. They’ve got people to do their bidding.”
“They’re 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