“Yeah, the Mary-Jos are my best customers, ‘cept they’ve never actually bought a thing. What do you mean can I cook? Sure I can.”
His phone blares out from the pocket of his jeans. He sure does receive a lot of calls.
He looks at the screen and frowns. “I gotta take this.” He struts away, and answers the phone, speaking what sounds all lovey dovey to me. As if he’s trying to soothe someone. He’s obviously got a girl back in New Orleans. Maybe they’re trying to mend the bridges, or something. Not that it matters; I still love my Joel. I’m only here on business, I tell myself, and drink the steaming coffee, which tastes bitter now.
I’m about to leave when Damon strolls back in, rubbing his face. He seems jittery, nervous. I don’t think it’s my place to ask, but I am from a small town, which means it’s kind of in my blood to question.
“You OK?”
He looks startled, as if he forgot I’m here. “Oh, right. Lil, where were we?”
“You sure you’re OK?”
“Nothing time can’t fix,” he says, mysteriously.
His demeanor worries me, but I figure I’ll talk shop and eventually he’ll tell me what’s really going on. Call it female intuition, but there’s something happening in Damon’s life that takes the sparkle from his eyes after each of those phone calls. “OK, then.” I sit back and explain CeeCee’s idea.
The moon is winking behind clouds by the time I cross the street back to CeeCee. I know she’ll be baking up a storm; anything to keep herself from marching over to Damon’s to see what’s taking so long.
Opening the front door, I’m assailed with the scent of butterscotch from CeeCee’s pies. It’s rich and comforting, so buttery, and wholesome, I almost want to take one back to Damon.
CeeCee jumps out from behind the fridge, scaring me half to death. “So, what’d he say?”
“He said yes. I hope I made the right decision.” Fumbling with my apron strings, I decide I’m going to spruce up the shop. I clean when I’m nervous.
“Why you all twitchy like that?”
“You should see the inside of his shop. It’s got polished oak floors, a big old wooden bar, and these tiny little lights that shine right on down to all the bottles perched there. And some imbedded in the floor too. It’s just so warm, what with all that dark wood. He’s got all sorts of things you just can’t get around here. Makes me think this place—” I glance around at the bare white walls, and the long silver benches we use to roll out dough “—is a little stark. You know, once we put the Christmas decorations away…”
CeeCee plants her hands on my shoulders. “So we flick some paint over the walls, and buy some lamps, but what’d he say about the business side of things?”
“Oh, right. Yeah, we discussed it, and we’re going to give it a three-month trial. We’ll expand the catering, and he’ll get someone to run his shop, like you do here, and see if we can venture out further afield. It was the darnedest thing, though…”
“Sit down,” CeeCee says. “You’re all fluttery like some kind of butterfly.”
We move to the lounges, and I take a few deep breaths. I think I’ve overdone it with those fancy coffees of his.
“What’s making you nervous?” CeeCee asks.
“Well, we were discussing all the ins and outs, and what we’d expect from each other, you know, trying to lay some ground rules out before we agree to start, and he kept taking phone calls. Every two, three minutes. In the end, he didn’t say anything, just rushed off with the phone, and then came back with this defeated look on his face.”
“You ask him who it was?”
“I asked him if he was OK. He kept changing the subject.”
CeeCee mutters to herself, and starts wringing her hands. “I don’t believe it! Oh, Lord.” She looks up at the ceiling. “Why you do this to me?”
“What are you talking about, Cee?”
“I seen the signs.” She points to the spot between her eyes. “I seen you two…together.”
I slap my leg and laugh. “Oh, Cee. Is that why you dreamt up this business venture? So I could get a boyfriend?”
“Why o’ course!”
“I should know better than to trust you when it comes to me and single men. I’m nervous, because what if he does have a girlfriend, some kind of long-distance relationship or something? He can’t be running off every two minutes to speak on the phone. And what about if he up and walks out, once I get a bunch of customers?”
“He ain’t like that,” CeeCee says knowingly. “He a Guthrie, after all. They good people. You just say it delicately, maybe phone calls are better left for after work, like that.” She lets out a squeal. “I knew it. I knew this was gonna be your year.”
I laugh along with her, but I’m plagued by doubt. Who would call someone so many times? What’s his secret?
Chapter Six
“I’ve tallied up the takings. We gone and had our best day yet.” CeeCee hands me the banking.
“Why, thank you.” We didn’t discount anything, and I sure haven’t seen a pile of cash this big in a long time. Things are definitely looking up for us.
“Head on over to Damon. Here’s his money for those gift baskets we made with all his goodies.”
It’s been nearly two weeks since we began working with Damon. He used our pork shoulder cuts in a cooking class, and we sold out of them the very next day. We’ve swapped and shared products for Christmas party orders, and gift baskets. It was CeeCee’s idea to make Christmas hampers with all beautiful jars of produce Damon stocked, and a selection of our baked goods. We fancied them up with ribbons, and wrapped the baskets in Christmas colors. They’re selling like hot cakes. And tomorrow, Damon and I cater our very first soirée together. I have something to ask him before I begin preparations for the party. “You going to be OK if I go over there?” I ask CeeCee.
“I’ll jingle that big bell if I get run off my feet,” CeeCee says, looking down her glasses at me. “You go. I’m going to start on some more Lane cakes for folk to have Christmas Day. Take your time.” She wanders off singing under her breath.
The Christmas spirit is alive and well in our small town. It’s impossible not to smile when young kids come in, their eyes lit up like fairy lights when they see the gingerbread house, and we give them a marshmallow snowman and a handful of candy canes.
Grabbing my scarf and jacket from the coat rack, I wrap myself up, and wave to CeeCee. “Shout if you need me.”
“Get,” she says, shooing me away like a fly.
I smirk, closing the door softly behind me. The street is busy with families doing last-minute shopping, mothers wearing frantic looks, searching for gifts before the shops shut for good.
I step into Damon’s shop. Customers are milling, picking up things and fussing over the sheer variety he stocks.
“Why, hello, pretty lady,” he says. My heart flutters. It truly does. He’s so darn attractive and it’s beginning to prove difficult not to flirt right back.
“Ho, ho, ho. I bring you a gift.” I hand over the banking bag.
“Thank you.” His smile does go all the way up to his eyes, I notice, just as CeeCee said. He puts the bag under the bench, and pulls out a box. “I also have a gift for you.”
I color. “Oh, what? But mine isn’t really a gift — it’s your money from the baskets.” He hands me a beautifully wrapped box, complete with a big gold bow.
“Go on, open it.”
I rip off the expensive-looking paper then stop. Gosh, darn it, I should have tried to do it delicately, as a lady would. Save the paper, at least. I lift the lid of the box, and when I see it laughter tumbles out of me.
“You shouldn’t have.”
“Oh, I think I should have.”
“What’s it do?”
“It’s a shrilling turkey. See?” He takes the plastic yellow turkey from my hands and presses a button. It starts hawing like a turkey on helium.
I pretend to wipe a tear from my eye. “That’s abo
ut the nicest thing anyone ever gave me. How did you know?”
“When I saw it, I thought of you.”
“A plastic, limp, bright yellow turkey reminds me of you, too.”
Customers look at us like we’re crazy, so I turn the shrilling turkey off and sit down.
“Coffee?”
“Sure.”
He’s hidden by the steam for a moment, while the noisy machine does its thing.
“Ma’am.” He places the cup down and ambles around the bench to sit beside me.
“I was…”
“I was…” we say in unison.
“You go…”
“You go…” We laugh; suddenly it’s really hot in here.
I motion for him to speak.
He looks at his coffee, and then up at me. “I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the Christmas carols with me? I hear it’s quite the show.”
“Sure, I’d love to.” I say, quickly, before my voice gets shaky like my hands are. A grin splits his face. “What were you going to ask?”
I wave my hand. “Aw, I was just going to ask if you’d heard about the Christmas carols. It’s quite the show.”
We smile awkwardly at each other, then take comfort in staring into our coffees.
I make a mental note to pull out my red dress, and dust off my boots. Jeans and sweaters are OK for work, but not so much for Christmas Eve. And not for a date with Damon. Not that it’s a date.
I rush back into the shop, feeling guilty about how long I’ve left CeeCee on her own. She’s in a state, fanning her hands at her face, and looking all faint. “You OK?”
She sobs as if she’s gone and lost her best friend. “Cee, what is it?”
Lifting her head, she walks to me, throws her arms around my shoulders, like a bear. “I’m just as happy as a hog in slop! I heard you gone said yes to a date with Damon!”
The joys of living in a small town. “Seriously, how did that get to you so quick?”
“Emma Mae was over there, and heard you twos giggling like children. She said you were snuggled up, all cozy-like.” Her eyes twinkle with unshed tears.
“Emma Mae’s a busybody. It’s not a date. We’re just going to the carols together. As friends. No one even mentioned the D word. Plus that phone of his started bleating out all over the place again. Makes me wonder what he’s hiding. Kind of puts a pall over things.”
Knitting her brow, she glances over at the shop, as if she can discern from here what Damon’s secret is. “Surely someone knows something about why he suddenly back.”
I follow her gaze. Damon’s gesticulating wildly to the local sheriff, probably about the boys attempting to shoplift earlier that day. Poor kids, trying to get their mamma a present on account of their daddy walking out not so long ago. At least Damon had a heart once he heard their story. He gave them a box of small goods to take home to their mamma, as long as they promised never to steal again.
“I think,” CeeCee says, dragging her eyes back to mine, “he’s probably just tying up loose ends back in New Orleans. You said he had a shop there, right?”
“CeeCee, it doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m just happy to go to the carols with someone other than myself. Plus, it’ll set tongues wagging, so that’s a bonus too.”
She nods. “Sure as shooting will. Now you all ready for that fancy shindig tomorrow?”
“I think so. I’m going to stay back tonight and do as much prep as I can, then Damon and I’ll head on over about lunchtime to set up. You sure you’ll be OK by yourself? It’s been busy these last few days.”
“I’m sure. If I get stuck Walt said Janey’s just a phone call away. Folk ‘round here won’t mind waiting if there’s a queue. I’ll ply them with candy-cane coffee, or some such. You don’t worry ‘bout a thing, ‘cept Damon.”
“‘Cept Damon?” I copy, arching my eyebrows.
CeeCee fusses with her hair, and tries to look innocent. “You know what I mean.”
Chapter Seven
“So far so good,” Damon says, setting down a tray of empty Chinese soup spoons that moments before had been filled with tuna and mango ceviche.
“Wow, that was quick. Are we making enough?” We’re halfway through, and so far it doesn’t look as though people are slowing down with the food.
Damon winks. “We’ll have plenty, don’t you worry. The noise level goes up every time I go out there, and I hazard a guess that the alcohol consumption is rising right along with that noise. People are starting to dance. I think I saw the mayor doing Gangnam Style…”
“Oh, golly! I can’t wait to see pictures of that.”
Damon’s right. If anything we’ve over-catered. I want to make sure we’re known for quality food, and plenty of it.
“What’s next?” Damon says, standing so close I feel his breath on my neck. Goose bumps break out on my skin, and I blush at the thought of him noticing them.
I clap my hands together. “OK, we need to slice the turkey and cranberry tart, and assemble the choux pastries—”
“With rare beef and horseradish?” Damon interrupts.
“Yes, good memory. Be careful with the choux…”
“I know, I’ll treat it like I would a lady, gentle and lovingly.”
I scoff and roll my eyes at Damon. “Can you get any cheesier?”
He grins back at me and I notice when he’s really smiling he has these teeny tiny little dimples, which are inordinately adorable on a fully grown man.
Damon takes the tart from the oven, and begins slicing it. The scent of roasted turkey makes my mouth water. Before I know it, Damon’s beside me again. “Here, try it.” He slides a small corner of the tart into my mouth. It takes me by surprise and, in a rush to close my mouth lest I stand gawping, I feel my lips brush his fingertips. He leaves them there for what feels like for ever.
“Good?” he asks.
I nod. Unable to speak and not only because I’m chewing.
His expression changes, to something more serious. “You have to try new things once in a while, don’t you think?”
I mumble agreement, and look down to the smoked-salmon blinis I’m making. Damon knows I always try my food before I send it out, so I know he isn’t talking about the canapés. He goes back to the tart, and I let out a breath I’ve been holding.
The evening progresses so fast, I’m almost sad to think we’re just about done.
Damon has a tea towel slung over his shoulder and is busy stacking the multitude of dishes into the industrial-sized dishwasher.
“Glad to see you know how to work one of those,” I say. “You’ll make someone a mighty fine husband one day.”
He takes the tea towel from his shoulder and hangs it on the oven rail. “Oh, yeah? A man who cooks and cleans — you think there’s a market out there for that?”
“Depends — what else can you do that might satisfy a lady?” The words tumble from my mouth before I’m able to stop them. I spin on my heel and head to the bathroom before he can respond. As I reach the door, laughter spills from me. I can’t believe I just said that.
Chapter Eight
Christmas Eve and the excitement is palpable. The magic of Christmas never fails to amaze me. I bawled like a baby not two hours ago, when we delivered our gingerbread house to the children’s hospital in Springfield. Damon came up with the idea when we were musing what to do with it. Those courageous kids’ eyes went so wide when they saw four of us carry it in. We set it up nice and pretty in the games room. CeeCee made the kids gift bags full of treats, and they were so excited, it made my heart skip a beat. Just thinking of them being away from home at Christmas, and being so brave, made me appreciate everything I had in my life. I gave them all great big hugs before we left, and promised them we’d return for new year with some party supplies.
It’s arctic out. I shrug down into my jacket as CeeCee and I close the shop, and breathe a sigh of relief. That’s work over for us for a few days. No more baking and no more late nights.
“So,” CeeCee says. “I’ll see you tonight at the carols. I’m gonna make us a little feast, so you two lovebirds don’t worry about a thing. Just concentrate on getting yourself prettied up.” She casts a cursory glance from my head to my toes. “You not gonna wear jeans, sugar plum.”
“Firstly, we’re not lovebirds. Secondly, I’m planning on wearing a dress, but not if you’re going to make it into something it isn’t.” I arch my brow, and try to stare CeeCee down, but I know from experience I won’t win this battle.
“Most the girls in town would give their eye teeth to have your figure, and you hide it behind those old jeans, and scruffy sweaters. You got it, flaunt it, I say.”
“Oh, please, CeeCee…”
“There’s not a man gonna be able to resist you, especially the fine thing across the way, mmm hmm.”
“You sound like you want to eat him.”
She guffaws, her beautiful face crinkling up like paper. “You got that right — like gooey caramel, that boy.”
Laughter barrels out of us, and I know we don’t sound very gentle.
“You go on now, and get yourself ready. I’ll see you at the town hall.”
I lean down to kiss CeeCee’s soft cheek; she smells like cinnamon and honey. “Thanks, Cee. I’ll meet you there later, then.”
Damon’s shop is dark. He must have locked up while we were hooting and hollering.
Walking home from town, I notice it’s gone quiet, sleepy. People have left for home to get ready for tonight; the schoolkids on holidays are probably toasting marshmallows by the fire. It’s a nice feeling, the town relaxing in on itself. There’s something incredibly sweet about small towns at this time of year. People look out for one another, and any tensions fall by the wayside. It’s a nice place, old Ashford, and I can’t imagine living anywhere else.
Jogging the few blocks to my house, I feel light as a feather. My weary legs don’t ache any more. Funny how knowing I have a few days off energizes me.
Inside, my red dress lies sprawled over my lounge like a crimson wave, and my boots sit patiently on the floor. I know I’ll be toasty warm inside the town hall; it’ll just be a matter of not turning into an icicle walking there. We used to suffer in an amphitheater, year after year, each hoping the carols would end so we could go home and warm up. Until last year it was decided the carols, and all the Christmas festivities, would be held in the town hall from now on. It’s a wonder no one thought of it sooner.
Christmas at the Gingerbread Café Page 4
