Читать книгу A Gingerbread Café Christmas: Christmas at the Gingerbread Café / Chocolate Dreams at the Gingerbread Cafe / Christmas Wedding at the Gingerbread Café - Rebecca Raisin, Rebecca Raisin - Страница 25
ОглавлениеI 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 the time CeeCee and I finish the day’s work. Square ganache-filled truffles shine from their perch in the glass display fridge. We’ve made a range of flavors, from simple dark chocolate to the more time-consuming white chocolate with Earl-Grey-tea-infused ganache. For those, we candied the delicate 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.”
