“So you catch up with Katie a lot, then?” I ask Damon, finding it almost impossible to keep the hurt from my voice.
He swallows hard. “Charlie and I go to her restaurant when I visit New Orleans. We talk shop, that’s all. There’s really nothing more to say.”
We stand silently. Anger courses through me and in equal measure I feel like a fool. Olivia smiles benevolently, and I make my mind up about her. She’s intent on creating a wedge between us for some inexplicable reason. My dad must sense the awkward vibe radiating from us. He scoops up a platter of oysters Damon prepared and waves it under my nose. Immediately I cup my mouth and run to the bathroom.
Chapter Five
Six days
Damon lifts the quilt up to my chin, and kisses my forehead. “I’ve left a pitcher of water here, and there’s soup in the fridge when you’re up to it.”
I nod, truly miserable. Being sick this close to Christmas, especially with so much work needing to be done, and Cee having to take up the slack at the café is the worst possible timing. “Sure.”
He sits on the edge of the bed; the slight movement makes me close my eyes against waves of nausea.
“You were angry last night,” he says, stroking my hair back. “About Katie.”
I bury myself further under the blankets. The night comes rushing back. “Yes, Katie. An old flame…one you catch up with when you go back to New Orleans. Which is fine, except you neglected to mention it to me.”
He laughs, he actually laughs.
I scowl. “Which part of this is funny, Damon?”
“The Katie part. She’s not an old flame, not even a teeny tiny flicker of a flame.”
I let out a drawn-out sigh. “Right, well, your mother didn’t seem to think that was the case.”
He leans over me, his face close to mine, his wavy hair falling forward. I resist the urge to tuck it back for him.
“Lil, Katie was one of my best friends throughout school. We both loved cooking, still do, and now she’s on her way to being one of the best chefs in America.”
“She sounds like the whole package, Damon.” I try to keep the jealousy at bay but it ekes out anyway.
He grins.
“Don’t grin at me!”
He strokes my hair back. “You’re beautiful when you’re jealous, you know that?”
I scoff. “I don’t know why you’re not taking this seriously, Damon. Your mother blurting it out like that last night made me feel about this big.” I hold my thumb and finger together. “I had no idea you spend your weekends in New Orleans gallivanting and doing who the hell knows what.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “She’s gay, Lil.”
“So?” I pull the quilt over my head. She’s gay? “But your mother said…” I muffle through the quilt.
He pulls it down and kisses the tip of my nose. “She’s a great girl, and my mother has always assumed we’d be perfect for each other. Her family knows my family very well. But Katie hasn’t told them she’s gay, so when we were younger we let them think what they wanted. It was easier for her and everyone assumed we were a couple.”
“I thought…”
“I know what you thought.” He stands and grabs a sweater from the drawer, with one quick movement pulls it over his head. “I’d never hurt you, Lil. Ever.”
My stomach is a queasy lump, and I blush. “I’m an idiot.”
“No, you’re not. In future I’ll tell you when I plan on gallivanting around New Orleans. Or better yet, you come for a weekend with me.”
He crouches by the bed. “I have to go. Will you be OK?”
I nod, closing my eyes against the roiling in my gut.
“The doctor should be here around lunchtime, but call if you need anything.”
Exhaling slowly, I say, “Can you check CeeCee is OK? Mamma’s going in to help her, but that could actually hinder her.” My mamma is the clumsiest cook there is. She’s liable to set the café on fire if you don’t watch her.
“They’ll be fine, but I’ll pop over and check. Let me know what the doctor says.” He kisses my forehead. “Sleep tight. I’ll call at lunch to check on you.”
I sink into the softness of the pillow. It’s only a moment before I drift off into a restless dream-filled sleep.
An hour or two later I startle awake, suddenly sure I know what’s wrong. I throw back the quilt, and race to the bathroom cupboard. In the very back are boxes of tests. I take one and rip the packaging open, hastily reading the instructions as I go, even though I’ve done so many before I’ve committed them to memory.
Two minutes. I’ll know in two minutes. My somber mood is instantly replaced with hope. Maybe I’m pregnant?
One hundred and twenty seconds have never moved so slowly, as I wait with the stick sitting on the window ledge, as if it’s not something life-changing, as it so clearly is.
I think of how I’ll tell Damon. Sweet things, I’ve heard, like putting a bun in the oven, and asking him to open it. Will he understand? Or buying booties, and wrapping them up. Or…
Two minutes are up. With a deep breath I peer at the test. One line shrieks out in neon pink. Negative. Devastatingly, positively, negative.
I ditch the test in the bin, and head back to bed, not bothering to wipe at the tears as they fall.
A knock at the door wakes me. Glancing at the time, I see it’s only eleven. Too early for the doctor. I amble out of bed, not bothering to check my reflection in the mirror.
I press my face up to the peephole. It’s Sarah. I smile, in spite of myself. I have the best friends.
“Hey,” she says as I motion for her to come in.
“Hey.”
“CeeCee told us you were sick. She made you a basket of goodies, and I brought you some magazines.”
I take the proffered bag, and say thanks.
“Get back into bed, Lil. You look positively green.”
I give her a rueful smile. “I thought I was pregnant, but I’m not.”
“Aw, Lil. I’m sorry.” She follows me to my room and sits on the end of the bed. “Maybe, you know, once all the wedding stuff is organized, and after all your Christmas orders are sorted, your body will slow down, and it’ll just happen.” Her black bangs hang over her eyebrows, highlighting the genuine look in her eyes.
“It’s stupid worrying over it, already, isn’t it?”
“It’s not stupid, Lil. You’ve wanted to be a mom your whole life. It will happen, but right now you’ve got so much on. It’s just a matter of time.”
I’ve been taking pregnancy tests almost weekly since Easter. But Sarah is probably right: once things settle down my body will just know, and it’ll happen. The yearning for a child is almost indescribable sometimes, is all.
“You’re right,” I agree. “There’s still so many little things that need to be organized and I feel awful leaving CeeCee at work. Is she OK?”
Sarah scrunches up her nose. “She’s…” Her voice trails off.
“Mamma?” I know by Sarah’s expression there’s been some kind of drama at the café.
She nods. “I don’t know how to tell you, Lil. So I’ll just say it. She somehow tripped and knocked your display fridge over. The wedding cake…” Sarah pales. “I’m sorry, Lil. It’s completely ruined.”
I gasp, picturing the three tiers of perfection toppling over and smashing to the floor. “Please tell me you’re joking,” I whisper through my hands.
“I’m so sorry, Lil. Your mamma is beside herself with worry. But I’m sure we can fix it. We can all help…”
“But…how?” I’m beginning to feel as though my wedding is cursed.
She shrugs. “CeeCee said don’t worry, you can make another one when you’re back.”
I’m too stunned to speak. That cake took us the better part of a whole day. Will we even have enough time to make another one? I want to weep with the worry I feel. “I can’t believe it. How could she knock over a huge fridge?”
“She feels te
rrible, Lil.”
I sigh, thinking of Mamma, I know she’ll be upset, and I fight hard to let the anger subside. “I guess we can always make another one…”
Sarah presses on. “Good news. Missy said Bessie’s finished our bridesmaid dresses and yours isn’t far away.”
I smile, Sarah’s managed to change the subject to something more positive. At least that’s one thing Mamma can’t ruin. “I can’t wait to see them.” The girls have mink satin gowns, similar to my dress, but with a high back. They’re cut on the bias and swirl out at the bottom like a creamy wave. When we hunted for material, and held up the color next to each of their faces, it suited them so perfectly they instantly agreed on that fabric. I’d expected the usual bridesmaid disagreements, especially as all of us can be vocal when we dig our heels in, but, so far, everyone seems happy with my choices. Bessie from the haberdashery shop designed them, and they’re truly magnificent.
“When you’re feeling better we’ll all go and you can see what you think.” Her forehead furrows.
“What?”
“There was one other thing, though, being relayed like Chinese whispers, we might have misunderstood, because it doesn’t seem right…”
“What doesn’t?”
Sarah takes a deep breath and says, “Well, Bessie told Missy that Damon’s mother called in to see your dress.”
“Really? I haven’t even seen it!”
Sarah swallows hard. “She told Bessie to make it short, to cut it above knee length…”
I gasp. “What? Why would she do that?”
“So you didn’t ask her? That is so odd! Don’t worry. Bessie thought the whole idea was ridiculous so she said to Olivia that unless you come and tell her yourself, she’s designing the dress the way you asked.”
My mouth hangs open. Why would she do such a thing? I tell Sarah about the centerpieces, and about alluding to the fact Damon was visiting his so-called high-school sweetheart, and how they were perfect for each other.
“So when you add all those little things up, Lil, it does sound like she’s plotting something.”
“But why?” To have someone level-headed like Sarah agree makes me crumble inside. What’s Olivia’s motivation?
Sarah shrugs. “God knows. You’ll have to ask her, Lil. Be upfront, and demand to know why she’d do that. Otherwise, what else has she got planned?”
My eyes go wide as I think of all the things she could undo without my knowing.
“This is like something out of a book,” Sarah says, biting down on her lip.
“You’d know,” I say, laughing. “It’s so ridiculous it’s almost funny.” I sober when I imagine myself walking down the aisle in a short gown, and then being surprised by a venue change. “I’ll have a talk with Bessie, and then see what Olivia has to say.”
Later that evening I’m as sick as I was the night before. If the ground opened up and swallowed me I’d be OK with that. It’s like being seasick, as I roll slowly over in bed lest I start retching again.
Damon arrives home as the snow falls hard outside. I’ve hardly moved all day, and I know the house will be arctic without the fire lit. He enters the bedroom, his complexion rosy from cold. “Lil,” he says, and kneels beside the bed, surveying me. “Have you eaten?”
I shake my head no.
“How about I fix you some soup?”
“No, I’m OK.” I’m still too queasy to think of food. I pat the bed. Damon shuffles around to the other side, takes his boots off and gently hops in beside me. He pushes tendrils of curls softly from my face.
“What did the doctor say?”
“He took some blood tests, just in case, but thinks it’s just a twenty-four-hour thing. I should be OK tomorrow.”
“I hope so,” Damon says. “It was the strangest feeling, glancing across the road today and you weren’t there.”
“I missed you.”
He groans, and pulls me in for a kiss. “I missed you more. Next time you’re sick, I’ll stay home. Everything else can wait.”
I smile. “You’d close your shop, just like that?”
“I would.”
I drop my gaze, collecting my thoughts so I can tell Damon without making it a blubber-fest. I feel silly crying over the fact I thought I was pregnant. “I took a pregnancy test.”
His eyes go wide, and he pulls back and searches my face.
“Oh,” he says, reading my expression.
“Not this time,” I try to keep the disappointment from my voice.
He presses his lips together. I know he wants this as much as me. “It’s OK. Maybe we just need to try harder.” He gives me a silly smile, trying to lighten up the mood.
I laugh. “Well, OK.”
We lay silently staring into each other’s eyes. I commit every nuance of his face to memory. The tiny thin scar he has above one eyebrow, a relic from a childhood bike tumble. The starburst pattern in his deep brown eyes, like miniature fireworks. The love I feel threatens to swallow me up whole sometimes. Real love, it makes life come alive and when we’re like this together, in the quiet, any doubts about Olivia float away. I’m determined to get to the bottom of her antics without Damon getting tangled up in it. But right now, I’m going to enjoy snuggling in Damon’s arms while the snow falls heavily outside.
Chapter Six
Five days
The next morning, still fragile, I head to the café.
“Well, lookie here,” CeeCee says as I untangle my scarf and walk through the front door. “Oh, Lil, you pale as a ghost. This ain’t good right before your wedding. How you feelin’?”
“I’m good, Cee. How are you? I felt so guilty leaving you here.” The café looks the same as it always does; one day off and I half expect things to have changed. Well, aside from the gap where one of our display fridges used to be.
“Don’t you worry ’bout me.” She huffs, and I know she’s worried about the wedding cake and what I’ll say. “Lil, I’m so sorry…”
“Cee, don’t be. There’s nothing we can do about it now. I just hope we have enough time to make another one. And this time, we’ll ban her from the café, just until it’s safely delivered to the restaurant.”
“Oh, Lil. It was terrible…when I saw the fridge come down, and your mamma fly through the air to catch it, golly…” We start laughing on account of Mamma’s clumsiness. She has trouble boiling water at the best of times. Though without her we would have been in a pickle; there’s no way CeeCee would have been able to cope alone.
Our talk is cut short as the doorbell jingles, and a flurry of customers arrive.
“Hey, Georgia,” I say to a regular of ours. She comes in most mornings with her little boy Matthew. “The usual?” I ask.
“Yep,” she says, smiling. “But Matthew wants two gingerbread men, says he’s earned it on account of his school report.”
I raise my eyebrows at Matthew. “Is that so?”
His big brown eyes look earnest as he says, “My teacher says I can read as good as the class above me. She sent Ma a letter and everything.”
Matthew had all kinds of problems when he started school. He couldn’t make sense of the words like other kids. Georgia struggled for the last two years trying to work out how to help him. She found an amazing tutor called Jo, who diagnosed his dyslexia. They’ve been working closely with him ever since.
I bend down to Matthew’s height. “Do you really think two gingerbread men are enough? I mean, that kind of brilliance needs to be celebrated. How about I give you some gingerbread men to take home, and you can choose whatever you want out of the Christmas display?”
He claps his hand over his mouth and looks up at his mother. She nods yes. Turning back to me, he says in a hushed tone, “Out of the window display? Anything?”
I scruff his hair. “Anything. You earned it.”
He shrieks and runs to the window.
Georgia and I exchange smiles as Matthew comes bouncing back with one of the chocolate Christmas boxes that
are about the size of his head. “Whoops,” I say. “I take no responsibility for the ensuing sugar high.”
Georgia laughs. “I don’t see any signage, Lil, that says I can’t leave him here while I go shopping.”
I tap my chin. “Er…it’s around here somewhere.”
Matthew sits in his favorite chair by the fire, and commences eating. Chocolate crunches and cracks and falls all over the floor in his haste.
“I’ll bring your drinks over,” I say. “And maybe a plate for Matthew.” Kids and chocolate, there’s no better combination. Customers look over at the small boy as he chews happily, not caring chunks of chocolate box fall to the floor with each bite.
Matthew’s hands are smeared with chocolate as the fire crackles heartily behind him. My chest tightens as I think how lucky I am that these people are more than just customers, they’re friends. Ashford is a small town, and I know all the ins and outs of Georgia and Matthews’s life. It’s been tough for Georgia, a single mom with a child who needs extra help, yet she’s done it, she’s worked tirelessly for her son. Whenever she needs a hand, her gardens mowed, or something in the house fixed, someone will step up; they won’t expect payment, or even thanks. It’s just the way things are done here. Folk look out for one another.
And their visits almost every day are a highlight for me. This place, with its mix of eclectic people, is so easy to live in. It makes me all warm and fuzzy like one of Sarah’s heartwarming novels.
A young couple mill at the front of the café near our wicker baskets, which CeeCee has filled with shortbread shaped like Christmas trees. They flop against each other as they peruse, in that new love kind of way.
CeeCee and I set to work making gingerbread coffees, and hot chocolate for regulars who come in and hover by the fire. The café is a hive of activity this time of the day, friends catching up over plates of warm bagels, their chatter more animated as they cradle cups of steaming-hot coffee. They bunch closer when newcomers arrive, and stand back so they can warm themselves by the fire.
Christmas Wedding at the Gingerbread Café (The Gingerbread Cafe - Book 3) (A Gingerbread Cafe story) Page 9
