He rolls his eyes. “If you’d care to look a bit closer you’ll see it.”
I scan the bathroom. My green terrycloth robe isn’t on the hook — instead there are two new bathrobes hanging up. Flummoxed why he’d buy bathrobes, I say sweetly, “Thank you! I’ve always wanted a new robe! How did you know?”
With a chuckle he says, “Lil, you’re the worst liar!” He pulls one of the robes down and hands it to me. On the right lapel in shiny gold embroidery it says, ‘Mrs. Guthrie’. “Oh! That’s so sweet! And what about yours?” I take his down; sure enough ‘Mr. Guthrie’.
“I figured you spend half your life soaking in the tub…this way you won’t forget me.”
“I could never forget you.” I lean in for a kiss.
“There’s a bunch of bubble bath, and stuff there from Mary-Rose’s shop. I thought you could relax, while I make us a fancy dinner…and then you’ll get your other surprise.”
“Another one?”
He grins wickedly. “This one is more for both of us.”
I make a show of wiggling my eyebrows. “Can we skip dinner?”
“This is why I love you…”
I pull my boots off, and take down my jeans. “There’s room for two, you know?”
His eyes are trained on my shirt as I unbutton it from the top down.
“Let me help you with that.” He rips my shirt open, and we laugh as buttons scatter to the floor. “This is why I bought the dressing gowns…”
Chapter Four
Seven days
The next day I’m up early. Tiptoeing to the bathroom, I wash up, and rummage through the bag of make-up samples Missy gave me. Tossing aside the scarlet reds, and eye-popping oranges, I finally settle on a pink lipstick. It’s still two shades brighter than what I’d pick, but I guess that’s Missy’s way of compromising. I apply foundation, which instantly makes my skin prickle. I figure the damage is done so lash on the mascara hoping I don’t look like a clown. With two swipes my lipstick is on.
Sighing at my pink-lipped reflection, I amble to my wardrobe, careful not to wake Damon. Jeans, jeans, jeans, baggy tees, sweats. Golly, I had no idea my collection was so limited. The joys of being able to hide under an apron most days has had a severe effect on my apparel.
Nothing I have is even remotely stylish. I don’t let this stop me from pulling out the bulk of my clothes in the hope I’ll find some forgotten twin set or a fancy woolen wrap dress. I know things will be hectic at the café and I won’t have time to come home and get changed before dinner with the soon-to-be in-laws tonight. As I step over the pile of clothes I’ve dropped to the floor it dawns on me how stupid I’m being. The way I dress probably won’t make an iota of difference to Olivia. And why the hell do I care anyway?
With a grin, I pull out my favorite Christmas sweater, a Kermit-green knit that announces: This girl believes in Santa! With the token chubby Father Christmas embroidered to the fabric. So I won’t win any prizes for my fashion sense, but if you can’t wear an ugly Christmas sweater and not smile, then there’s something wrong. I pull on my jeans, and head to the dresser to pick out a set of Christmas earrings.
The kitschiest, brightest outfit I own will do just fine today. Plus, it cheers up our customers, and I have a few local children that stop by daily and have a giggle over what I’m wearing. We make them welcome, and sit them near the fire with some Santa coloring-in pictures and a cup of warm cocoa.
The phone shrills from the depths of the lounge. I race out to find it, wondering who’d call so early. Damon still sleeps in the bed, his soft snores following me out of the room.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Child, what’s with all the secrets? Just because I’ve been away does not mean you have a right to keep me out of the loop!”
And here we go. “Mamma, what’re you talking about? We only just went through the wedding stuff a few days ago!”
She huffs. “And you neglected to mention Damon’s folks are in town! You know your daddy and I need to meet them…”
Oh, golly. “Geez, Mamma, they arrived late the other night. It was news to me too. How on earth did you find out already?”
“None of your beeswax.”
“So it was Rosaleen, I take it?” You have to give it to her: Rosaleen would make a fine detective.
Mamma sighs all dramatically down the line. “And so what if it was? At least someone’s telling me what I need to know!”
“I’m probably the best one to ask, though, Mamma. Not Rosaleen.”
“Lil, are you getting jittery? Is that what this is?”
Mamma’s the second person to suggest I’m a bundle of nerves. I take a deep breath and silently count to ten. What is it about weddings that send everyone a little mad? “I’m not jittery, Mamma. I’m just busy. So how about you and Dad come and meet the Guthries at the café for supper?”
I picture my mother at the other end of the phone. Her dark blond hair falling in soft short curls around her face. She’ll be wearing the usual sweat suits and sneakers, as though she can achieve so much more if she dresses as if she’s going to the gym. She’s been power-walking over to my house every few days, with her pencil behind her ear, ready to take notes for the wedding. Even a blizzard won’t stop her from marching here. She’s the softest person around though, truly wears her heart on her sleeve.
A tut drags me back to the phone. “You’re expecting me to have supper with the Guthries…” she pauses “…and you tell me this now?”
It seems we all feel a mite uncomfortable around the distinguished Guthrie family. “Yeah, Mamma, why? You’ve got plenty of time between now and then.”
Another drawn-out Mamma sigh wangles its way down the line. “Fine. But I do have quite a big wedding list to conquer, you know.”
“Like what?”
She pauses, which I know means trouble.
“Out with it! What?”
“Now, honey…”
I groan. “Don’t you honey me…what are you up to?”
“Don’t think I can’t tell by your tone that you’re not open to this.”
“This sounds ominous…”
“Just hear me out. Your cousin Jeremiah—”
“No!”
“That’s not hearing me out!”
“Mamma, he is not coming to the wedding. Absolutely not!”
I can almost hear her mind tick while she thinks of a response that will convince me. My older cousin, Jeremiah, got himself so intoxicated before my first wedding that when I walked down the aisle he hummed the theme song for Jaws at the top of his voice. It didn’t end there. I wanted to strangle his scrawny neck before the night was out.
“He’s changed…he’s more…together now.” She uses a beseeching tone that she knows will guilt me into agreeing. “And, Lord, think of your Aunt May. She’s been through the wringer with poor Jeremiah. It would be uncharitable not to invite them.”
“Mamma, are you serious? How do we know he’s not going to act the same?”
“Lil, please.”
I think back to the one-man wedding wrecker. Jeremiah groped my bridesmaids, interrupted the speeches, knocked the two-tier wedding cake to the floor — not before splattering the groomsmen who sat next to it. His grand finale, though, was the worst. He lit up a bunch of fireworks he’d stolen from God knows where, which unfortunately went off before he had time to get away, resulting in his tight black curls setting alight. He looked like Lucifer himself.
“He’s sorry. He wants you to know that. You know his hair grew back grey — surely he’s paid enough!”
I’m truly bamboozled. Shaking my head at my mother’s attempts to cajole me, I glance outside, to see snow falling heavily. Another cold and wintry day, the kind that favors snuggling in front of a fire with a hot cup of cocoa.
“Mamma. I just want it to be perfect. If he’s there I’m going to worry about what he’ll be up to…”
She exhales a huge breath. “Honey, weddings and funerals are famil
y time. Let’s just be grateful it’s a wedding and not the alternative.”
I shake my head at my mamma’s reasoning. There’s no way she’s going to give in, I just know it. The guest list is swelling at the seams, and thinking practically we really can only fit a certain number at Guillaume’s. But how can I say yes to Olivia, and not to Mamma?
“Lil, I admit his behavior could have been better—”
“Better!”
“Hear me out, Lil. But that was a long time ago…we’re all different than we were back then. You’d be the first to say everyone deserves a second chance.”
She’s done it — her much-practiced mother guilt. “Fine, Mamma, but if he does one crazy thing, just one, you have to make him leave.”
“Deal.”
I sigh.
“And also, Jeremiah is-bringing-his-family.” She scrambles the words so fast it takes me a moment to decode them.
“What? No! What family?”
“He’s seeing a lovely lady with six kids…”
“Mamma!”
“OK, OK, I’ll tell them to get a sitter. Now I’ll see you tonight at the café. I don’t know how I’m meant to get everything done in time. There are the ribbons for the chairs I need to pick up, they’ll need ironing—”
“What ribbons? For which chairs?” Exasperation edges into my voice.
“For the reception — Guillaume said it was OK. Though I did have to say it was Cee’s idea… Anyway, never you mind, Lil. I know you’re busy at the café. I’m fine-tuning, that’s all.”
“OK…” I say warily.
“You’ve gone and thrown a spanner in the works by telling me about supper so late…” Her voice trails off as she says almost to herself, “I’ll have to leave the wishing well until tomorrow…”
I don’t bother asking what the bejesus a wishing well is for. I know she’s worrying about the Guthries and what they’ll make of her and Daddy so I say softly, “OK, Mamma, and they’re just people like any other, so don’t go feeling you have to act differently.”
“I know that, sheesh, Lily-Ella. See you soon.” And with that she hangs up the phone, no doubt about to burst into the bedroom and galvanize my slumbering father. I smile, suddenly feeling all warm and fuzzy that my parents are finally home. Like everything with my mamma, she’d planned a cruise, and a world trip to follow, with military precision. Just under a year they’d traveled the globe, and at one point I thought they may never return. I’ve always been close to my parents and I missed them more than I cared to mention when they were away.
Ambling back to the bedroom, I peek past the door and see Damon slowly rousing. “Hey, pretty lady,” he says, and pats the bed next to him. Butterflies swarm in my belly. I don’t know how a man can wake up and look so downright sexy. His wavy hair is mussed from sleep, he has pillow crinkles on one cheek, and somehow it all adds up to an invitation back to bed. Not that we had a whole lot of sleep…
Without a second thought, I pull back the covers and hug the warmth of his body. He weaves a hand behind me, and pulls me close. “We’ll be late,” I say.
He shrugs. “It’ll be worth it.”
I laugh, my mind focused on the man in front of me. “It sure will.”
When I arrive at the Gingerbread Café CeeCee’s standing behind the silver prep bench rolling out pastry as if her life depends on it. She’s muttering to herself and shaking her head.
“Talking to your invisible friends again?” I joke as I unwind my woolen scarf, a favorite of mine that CeeCee knitted for me years ago. I hang my parka on the coat rack, and stand with my back to the fire, jiggling my legs when the heat sears.
“You’ve gone and caught me having an argument with this here pastry. I was a million miles away on account of it not complying with me.” Dusting her hands on her apron, she walks to me and pecks me on the cheek. “You look…” Her lip wobbles, and she turns away. Next second she’s slapping her knees and doubles over laughing.
I survey my outfit. I’m sure she’s seen me wear this a million times over. “You got a problem with the fat man all of a sudden?” I point to the chubby Santa on my sweater.
She manages to stand upright and slowly turns to me. “Lil,” she sputters, “you killin’ me!”
Baffled, I look down at my outfit again thinking I’ve got my jeans inside out, or back to front.
“For someone who doesn’t wear make-up you surely got it spread across your face real good!”
Shoot! I rush to the mirror in the office and check my reflection. Oh, God! It looks as if someone scribbled all over my face with lipstick. This is why I don’t wear gloop. I scramble to find something to wash my face with, eventually unearthing a container of wet-wipes from the dusty recesses of the desk drawer. I swipe at the residue of make-up, including the black smears of mascara that are everywhere except my eyelashes, and curse myself for languishing in bed with Damon. We’d canoodled for a lot longer than we should have, knowing we were already late. There hadn’t been time for coffee, or even our usual curbside goodbyes.
As I return to CeeCee she’s still hawing and slapping the silver bench when laughter gets the better of her. “I don’t want to know how that happened…”
I purse my lips, and try to think of a plausible excuse. “Well, you see…”
“Don’t even try, Lil. I bet if I walked over to that fine-looking thing across the road his face would be covered in make-up too.”
My eyes widen and after a high-pitched squeal I dash out of the café, my feet slipping on the icy pavement; I run on the spot, trying not to fall. Eventually, I catch myself, and walk a little more sedately over the road. Damon’s standing in front of the coffee machine that’s the size of a small car, discussing the merits of braising lamb shanks as opposed to baking them with a group of elderly women. They’re not paying any attention to what he’s saying; instead they’re whispering behind their hands. Scrunching my eyes to a sliver, in case it helps minimize the damage, I look at Damon and see the reason for their distraction. The so-named Pink Passion lipstick is spread across Damon’s face. He looks like one of those bobble-head clowns that you drop balls down the mouth of at an amusement park.
“Damon,” I say urgently.
“Hey, Lil! This here’s my fiancée, from the Gingerbread Café.”
The ladies give me a knowing look. I wave limply and tug on Damon’s arm. “I need a quick word.”
Damon throws the ladies an apologetic glance, and leans down to whisper, “I’m in the middle of a cooking demonstration here.”
“I’ll be quick.”
He wriggles his arm free. “Lil, can’t it wait?”
“You have lipstick all over your face!” I yell a little too loudly. Everyone in the shop stops and turns to stare at Damon. “Sorry!” I say as I watch a blush creep up his cheeks, which, I must say, matches quite nicely with the Pink Passion.
“Would you excuse me, please, ladies?” he says to the women, who are outright tittering at his expense. “It seems I’ve…er…” He throws me a desperate glance.
“We er…had cupcakes for breakfast!” I holler. “With pink icing! Lots of pink icing!”
Damon breaks into a wide grin, and pulls me to him. “You, my lady, are going to ruin my reputation.”
“That’s my plan,” I whisper back.
He kisses the top of my head, and I wave to the women before making my way back to the shop.
Shivering from the cold, I dash back inside the café, and stand by the fire.
“So, pumpkin, you had pressin’ business over the road, I see?” CeeCee looks down her nose at me and continues to roll pastry dough.
Before I can respond the doorbell jingles and in walk Missy from The Sassy Salon and Sarah from The Bookshop on the Corner.
Missy click-clacks her way to me in her high-heeled boots, her big pregnant belly swathed in a bold zebra-print form-fitting coat. “We thought you must have been robbed or something!” Missy screeches. “What on earth were you running
over the road like that for?”
Sarah, who’s dressed in a more sedate grey pantsuit and black coat, gives CeeCee a hug and walks quickly to join us by the fire. “Lil, oh, my God, I snorted coffee up my nose when I saw you ice-skating your way over there. I called Missy straight away and told her to stick her head out the door and take a look at you!”
Missy smacks her hands together and laughs. “Your impression of running man rooted to the spot was darn right labor-inducing!”
It’s my turn to blush. “Well…you see, we ate cupcakes…”
CeeCee trundles over with a tray of gingerbread coffees. “Oh, don’t you listen to those lies she about to sprout!” she says knowingly.
Missy guffaws and eases herself on the sofa, a hand on her back, and one on her belly.
Sarah’s eyes light up. “Do tell…”
I laugh, and know there’s no way I can get away from spilling the beans. Sure as shooting it’s going to end up on CeeCee’s Spacebook. “Darn it, no one can keep any secrets in this town!” Everyone finds a spot to sit, and my heart lifts at us girls having some time together. Usually we gather at some point each day to shoot the breeze but of late, with all of us busier, we haven’t had as much time. “Did you say labor-inducing?” I frown over at Missy.
“Not really,” she says, “though my old bladder isn’t what it used to be. It should be illegal to make a pregnant woman laugh like that, Lil.” She takes a sip of her decaf coffee.
We giggle at Missy’s joke. They’re the type of girls that make your cheeks ache from smiling, and your belly hurt from laughter.
CeeCee closes her eyes and runs a hand over Missy’s bulging belly. “Won’t be long now, Missy.”
Missy turns to CeeCee, her eyes wide. “I’m not ready!” she blurts out, high-pitched as though she thinks CeeCee means she’s going into labor right now.
“He ain’t ready right now, either. I seen it.” CeeCee points to the spot between her eyebrows. We all tease CeeCee about her second sight but she’s been scarily accurate in the past so a kind of silence descends as we think of Missy finally having the baby she’s dreamed about her entire adult life. She’s worried about being an older mom at forty-five, but none of us think that matters a damn. Forty-five seems as good an age as any to have a baby.
Christmas Wedding at the Gingerbread Café (The Gingerbread Cafe - Book 3) (A Gingerbread Cafe story) Page 6
