CeeCee hems and haws. “See? I told you that tree was a good idea! Draws folks like bees to honey…”
“It sure does,” I agree. “Pull up a stool, George, and I’ll make you up a plate.” Dusting my hands on my apron, I meander off, searching the selections in the fridge for gingerbread flavors. I take some gingerbread macaroons, and a chunk of gingerbread fudge, and add them to the plate.
“Don’t forget the gingerbread cake pops,” CeeCee says, pointing. I take a cake pop, and a few dark chocolate and gingerbread truffles from the fridge. So we’re a little addicted to gingerbread flavored treats? What kind of Gingerbread café would we be if we weren’t! There’s something so child-like and sweet about the flavor, and it only gets better once we fancy it up for adults in the form of a more gourmet morsel.
“So where is that wife o’ yours?” CeeCee asks as she heads to the fridge and takes out foil-covered cream cheese for the chocolate-fudge cheesecake.
George’s eyes light up as I put the plate in front of him. “Running errands. She said something about organizing the centerpieces for the tables. I guess you’d know more about that, Lil?”
She what? I only told her very quickly what we envisaged. I imagined we’d go into more detail tonight, and then if she wanted to help she’d at least know what we were looking for. “Oh? I mentioned it the other night, but we haven’t actually discussed it properly yet.”
George bites into a macaroon, and nods his appreciation. “You know Olivia.” He shrugs, non-committal.
No, I don’t know her at all.
He half laughs when I don’t say a word and says as if by explanation, “Loves being involved.” He shrugs, and gives me an apologetic look.
Maybe she’s simply window shopping? Surely she wouldn’t go ahead and buy something without checking with us first. “I hope she doesn’t go to too much trouble,” I say, with an edge of concern in my voice.
“She loves that kind of thing, Lil. Once you get to know her you’ll see. She might seem…overbearing at times, but it’s more that she wants to be useful, rather than outright in charge.” He manages to blush, as though speaking this way of his wife is out of order. “But, it’s your wedding, Lil. And if by chance Olivia does tug the reins a little too hard, I hope you feel comfortable having a private word with me.”
It’s easy to see where Damon gets his personality from. George is friendly and warm, and him offering to step in is a comfort. He obviously knows his wife well. “Thanks, George. Maybe tonight once we get into the finer details of the wedding, Olivia will feel more involved.”
“I’d say so,” he says amiably. “Until then, I might pay a visit to Damon. Thanks for these.” He holds up a truffle. “I’ll see you tonight, ladies.”
A few hours later we’ve done the bulk of the mayor’s order, and decide to finish it off later. We’ve tidied up and are ready to move on to the next thing on our list. The most exciting thing we’ve ever baked, too.
“Nothing for it, let’s make that wedding cake o’yours.”
I let out a squeal. We’ve spent the last two months searching for the perfect cake design. We settled on a three-tier cake, elegant and striking. We had folders full of design ideas, and it was so hard to narrow it down. After all, we’re known for our cakes, and it has to be perfect.
“I’ll start on the sponges, Lil, if you want to mix the different flavored ganaches.”
I take the hand drawn design from the folder, and flip through the pieces of paper for the recipe we settled on. Reading through, I wonder if it’ll be as delicious as we imagine. “Hazelnut ganache for the top layer, dark chocolate and orange for the second, and vanilla bean for the third. What do you think? That’ll cater for all tastes?”
“Surely will. Ain’t no one gonna see a cake as pretty as this, neither.”
We set to work, excited to finally start the design we’ve been dreaming about for months. CeeCee’s mouth is a tight line, and I can’t stop my fluttery hands. She’s concentrating hard, yet I can’t seem to focus. I keep going back to the drawing, if we pull this cake off it’s going to be the most elegant piece of artwork we’ve ever baked. And all for my wedding day. Just the thought is enough to send my heart racing. I picture Damon standing behind me as we cut the cake in front of our friends and family, and I’m giddy with love.
“It’s spectacular!” The wedding cake sits safely in the display fridge, after we took out three lots of shelves to fit it inside.
“I ain’t never seen a cake like it.”
The first tier is round, full of snowflakes like a snow dome, which spill down the silver cake, settling at the base. It’s like a silvery snowstorm come to life. With steady hands, we studded edible diamonds around each tier, and with a sprinkle of glitter it glimmers like an invitation to another world. Each layer has different flavored sponges, with mouth-poppingly luscious ganaches spread thickly through.
“I’m going to take the truffles out of that fridge, Lil. So we’re not opening and closing the fridge all the time.”
“It’s not like it’ll melt though, Cee.” I laugh.
“I know, but the less we disturb it, the better. I don’t want those snowflakes falling off. I ain’t too keen on making those ever again. My eyesight ain’t what it used to be, you know.”
“OK, Cee. That was some finicky work, all right.” Of course we chose to make snowflakes from palm size, right down to the size of a penny. As they became smaller we needed so many more to decorate the tier. After a while though your fingers freeze up on account of having to keep your hands stiff for so long.
“Saying that, though, I don’t reckon I’ve ever liked creating something as much as I have this. And that’s saying somethin’.”
I amble behind CeeCee and rest my chin on her shoulder. “You think we should make wedding cakes now?”
“As long as I don’t have to cut out itty-bitty snowflakes all day, I think I’d like that. Can you imagine what we’d come up with?”
I imagine the café stacked with cakes for weddings, birthdays, family celebrations. And it could be yet another financial back-up for us if the catering side of things falters. “I think we should give it a try.” If I got to spend a day lovingly making someone else’s dream wedding cake, it’d be a damn fine day to me.
At the end of a long day, I sit by the display window and watch the last of the late evening shoppers exit from the shops across the road so the owners can close up. It’s dark out, and CeeCee’s gone home, insisting dinner tonight is only for family.
With the café all toasty warm, and Jingle Bells playing merrily in the background, I get my second wind, and continue on with the mayor’s order. We’ve only got the yule log and CeeCee’s lemonade pie left to make and then we can deliver it early tomorrow.
Yule log is one of my favorite Christmas recipes. Making the cake resemble a log, with all the grooves and gouges, dusted white with snow, is a Christmas tradition in our family. My grandma used to make it every year when I was little. I loved watching her roll the sponge, and cover it with thick butter-cream icing, before running a fork down the length for her grooves. In that soft way of hers she’d share stories about her childhood, while I listened, rapt, occasionally dipping a finger into the chocolate icing.
When I make yule log, I’m transported back to her orderly kitchen, and it warms my heart as though we’re still connected. If you share that kind of love, it can always be brought back to life when you bake. It’s almost as if she’s standing right behind me, smiling.
Glancing at the time, I realize everyone will arrive for dinner soon. Instead of making the base of the yule log, I take some gum paste from the fridge. I set to work, massaging it, to make it pliable to make acorns. They dry rock hard, and aren’t the nicest to eat, but they finish off the woodsy look.
“Hey.” Damon sidles up behind me and kisses the back of my neck, sending goose bumps down my body.
“Hey…” I say, turning to his soft smile.
“It’s fre
ezing in here.” In my trip down memory lane, I hadn’t noticed the fire is down to embers. I set the acorn leaves aside.
“Take a break. Put your feet up.” He leads me to the sofa, and starts fussing with the fire to spark it up before joining me.
He surveys me. “Lil, you look a little…peaked. Are you OK?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” I must look a fright. I push a tendril of hair back, as usual wearier once I’ve sat down for a moment.
“OK. It’s just I don’t want to be standing at the altar alone, while you’re tucked up in bed sick or something.”
I giggle at the thought of Damon all dressed up in his tux, checking his watch. “I’m no runaway bride. If I was sick I’d be there anyway. Happy to spread my germs with you. In sickness and in health, remember?”
He throws his head back and laughs. “I remember. Let’s test the waters.” He leans closer and cups my face, and kisses me slowly. A tingle of desire races through me, and I’m giddy with the fact I get to marry this man.
“Get a room!” We jump as if scalded to the sound of my dad’s jocular voice and rise to greet him. He wraps me in a warm hug, and musses my hair. “Where’s Mamma?” I ask.
Dad scratches the back of his neck. “She’s running late on account of a wardrobe malfunction. I don’t know what that means, but there you have it.”
“A wardrobe malfunction?”
Dad shrugs and Damon takes it as a cue for drinks. “I’ll uncork the wine. You guys catch up a while.”
“Good man,” Dad says and sits heavily. There’s something utterly teddy-bearish about my father. He’s got a pot belly from too many sweets, and wears red braces that make him look like some kind of professor. His bushy eyebrows stick straight up as if he’s been zapped with lightning; they’re longer than the hair on his almost-bald head.
I lower my voice and say, “She’s dilly-dallying over what to wear, isn’t she?”
He touches a finger to his nose implying it’s a secret. “She said she’d just be a minute.”
“I don’t see what’s wrong with what she usually wears.” I have the grace to blush a little as I remember myself fretting about the exact same thing this morning.
Damon returns with a bottle of red wine, and glasses. “Now you’re talking,” Dad says, accepting a glass eagerly. I think his pot belly might also be a product of his penchant for red wine, which he claims is purely medicinal.
A second later Mamma arrives, her hair covered in snowflakes, which melt quickly as she rushes towards the fire. She unwraps her winter coat and throws it towards Dad. “Evening all!” she trills happily.
“Mamma!” My eyes go wide with surprise. “What are you wearing?”
Golly, I can see where I inherited my fashion sense from. Mamma is decked out in a silky pantsuit, with every color imaginable splashed across it making my eyes cross in confusion.
“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” she says. “I borrowed it from Rosaleen. She said shoulder pads are coming back in. And that the vibrant colors make me look a decade younger.” She gives her newly styled hair a dramatic flick. Obviously she snuck in to see Missy at the salon this afternoon too.
“Where’s Cee?” she asks.
“Gone on home. Says tonight is just about family.”
Mamma’s lips pucker. “But she is family.”
I shrug. “She wouldn’t hear a word of it.”
CeeCee is more than an employee; she’s my best friend and more like a mother figure, especially when my own was traveling the globe for nearly a year.
Mamma says, “Maybe she’s beat, Lil. You’ve both been burning the candle from both ends.”
“Yeah…I guess.” I survey the café, making sure I haven’t left any empty mugs or plates around. On the bench is the gum paste and the few acorn leaves I managed to mold so I wander over and pack them away. With one last look around I’m satisfied the café is as ordered as it’s ever likely to be. I wonder what strangers make of it when they walk in. The sofas are so well loved they’re worn. The dark chocolate walls have tiny chips where kids scuff up against them when they’re hooting and hollering around the place. Christmas decorations hang down from silver hooks in the ceiling, and golden tinsel laces around every available surface. To me, it seems cozy and festive, and almost like a home away from home. Woolen throw rugs are bundled in a wicker basket by the recliners, and secondhand books are an arm stretch away. I want people to visit, and loll about as if they’re at a friend’s house. To stumble in on a cold day, take a deep breath, savoring the scent of what we’re baking, and take their time while they’re here.
Dad and Damon wander to the window display, wine glasses in hand, chatting away as if they’re old friends. They’ve only known each other a few weeks, and already they get on so well, it makes my heart sing to watch them. Dad’s one of those people that really listens when you talk. Looks you right in the eye and asks questions as if you’ve gone and solved the meaning of life or something.
Mamma pours herself a glass of wine and I take the opportunity to strike. “I hear we need a few more place settings at the wedding?” I purse my lips.
She fumbles with the stem of her wine glass. “Honey, it’s only a few—”
“An entire bookclub, Mamma?”
“They’re my friends…”
“And Rosaleen?”
She lifts a hand. “You ever think she’s just lonely? I think she could use some friends, Lil.”
“How’re we all supposed to fit at L’art de l’amour? Mamma, I know you’re excited but how can I make that work?”
“Well, I asked—”
A flurry of wind whips in as the front door opens and in walks Olivia with George in tow.
“Good evening.” Olivia saunters over. She’s wrapped a fine fur stole. She makes a huge show of kissing Damon on both cheeks before striding over to me.
Mamma starts to fidget with her shoulder pads. “Olivia, I’m Lil’s mamma, Sue. It’s nice to finally meet you.” I hear the nervousness in Mamma’s voice and I just want to hug her.
Olivia smiles that sugary smile of hers and says, “Wonderful to meet you, Sue. We’ve been looking forward to this for an age.”
“Us too.” Mamma smiles at Olivia.
Olivia takes off her stole, and begins taking her gloves off, finger by finger. “Lil, as we discussed I went ahead and found you the centerpieces. They’re being delivered tomorrow.”
I clear my throat. “About that, Olivia, we didn’t actually—”
She grins at Mamma. “She’s so busy, what with the café, and Christmas, it was the least I could do. I practically drove the entire length of Connecticut until I found them.”
“That was really kind of you,” Mamma says. In the background Damon makes a joke that has both dads sputtering into their hands.
I glance back to his mother. “But, Olivia—”
“They’re gorgeous, stunning in fact. Big fake sweeping white lilies.” She puts so much emphasis on the words fake and lilies that I almost reel. Is she calling me fake? “They sit in a crystal vase, quite tall, actually. I did worry about people being able to see over the top of them, but figured that isn’t important in the scheme of things.”
“They sound darling,” Mamma says, and nudges my arm. “Don’t they, Lily?”
Damon sits on the arm of the sofa, swishing his red wine before taking a mouthful. I try to catch his eye, but he’s too caught up with a story my dad is telling. “Well,” I say, “I’d hoped on getting poinsettias as part of the Christmas theme.”
Olivia lets out a high-pitched laugh. “Oh, Lil. No! They’re so old-fashioned.”
Mamma nods. “I’ve been trying to tell her that.” I stare at Mamma, trying to explain by the sheer look in my eyes that she’s not helping.
Mamma touches Olivia’s arm. “Let me get you a drink. Red wine OK?”
“Lovely.” Olivia throws her gloves on the nearest table, and fusses with her jacket. “I hope you’re not upset, Lil? I didn’t do the
wrong thing, did I?” For a brief second she looks contrite, and again I wonder if I’m making too much out of nothing.
“I’m sure they’re lovely, Olivia. I guess we’ll make them work. Although we had planned on a more festive—”
“Great.” She cuts me off as she twirls her wedding ring on her finger, a dazzling diamond that probably cost more than my house.
Damon wanders over, smiling like a loon. He loops an arm around my waist. “Your dad says he’s got the bachelor party all sorted. I intend to win big, and show the old men how it’s done.”
“Is that so?” I ask, arching a brow. Thankful he’s finally beside me.
“Darling, I was just about to tell Lil all about Katie. All those tête-à-têtes you two have when you come to New Orleans… I thought maybe it’s not too late to fly Katie here. She could definitely help with the menu.”
Mamma returns with an over-full glass of red wine, and manages to slosh half out before handing it to Olivia.
Olivia grabs a napkin from the table and wipes the side of her glass. Poor Mamma looks mortified. I shake my head, trying to signal to her it’s OK.
“Katie’s a lovely girl, quite famous in her own right as a chef these days, works alongside a Michelin-starred someone-a-rather. Damon adores her! Always rushes straight over there when he arrives in New Orleans. Don’t you, darling?”
I give Damon a closed-lip smile as my pulse speeds up. Damon has never once mentioned anyone other than Charlie when he visits New Orleans. I take a step back from him; his hand falls from my waist. “You rush over where exactly?” I keep my voice neutral but I’m sure everyone can tell from the clench of my jaw it’s the first I’ve heard of…Katie.
Damon has the grace to blush. “Katie’s an old friend of mine from high school—”
“They were childhood sweethearts.” Olivia puts a hand to her chest. “Such a sweet girl, lovely family too.”
Damon says, “We were just friends in high school.” He clutches my hand, and gives it a squeeze, but right now I have the most immense urge to ask Olivia what she’s playing at here. And Damon, too. Lunches with his childhood sweetheart?
Christmas Wedding at the Gingerbread Café (The Gingerbread Cafe - Book 3) (A Gingerbread Cafe story) Page 8
