Finding Love at the Christmas Market

by Jo Thomas

  He bites his bottom lip as he thinks. I knew I shouldn’t have gone to the bakery. I knew Heinrich wouldn’t like it. Why on earth did I not listen to myself?

  ‘Maybe …’ He looks at me with what I think may be a twinkle of excitement and I wonder if he’s about to call off whatever he has to do and come to bed.

  ‘Yes?’ I smile back.

  ‘Maybe it would be good if you were to see him again,’ says Heinrich. ‘He’s in trouble financially. It’s not a secret. The whole town is struggling. As you know, I’ve offered to buy him out, expand my business, but at the same time I’d be doing him a favour.’

  ‘Expand the business,’ I repeat, wondering who really is the winner here.

  ‘Like I say, I’d take over the shop, keep it as it is, but sell my cakes and bakes from the factory there.’

  ‘So the shop would stay the same?’

  ‘Exactly the same.’ He nods. ‘And he would be able to walk away without going bankrupt and start again.’

  ‘It seems like a good solution. And the town would benefit from the bakery being there,’ I say, as if I’m thinking aloud. ‘So what’s the problem?’

  Heinrich sucks his teeth. ‘William is a very proud man. He thinks that the reason the business and the town are in trouble is his fault. He won’t accept any help from anyone. Especially not from me, or my family.’

  ‘But why not? Like you say, if he’s in trouble and you’re offering a way out, why wouldn’t he take it?’

  ‘It’s like a drowning man turning down an outstretched hand.’ Heinrich tuts, then turns back to me. ‘Look, maybe you could talk to him, get him to see sense.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. William’s not the sort of man who’d listen to advice, especially not from someone like me.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, we’re not really friends. Like I say, he just helped me out.’

  For a moment, we say nothing. I wish there was a way I could help both men, heal the rift between them and build some bridges.

  ‘Sounds like you’d both get what you wanted if he’d accept.’

  ‘Well, I know it would certainly help him get his wife and son back if he accepted my offer.’ He chews the bottom corner of his lip and checks his watch. ‘Maybe you could go back to find out a bit more about the gingerbread. Get good at it. Post it for your Facebook group.’

  I frown. ‘But I’ve already done that. I don’t need to go back.’

  ‘Maybe you could go again, look interested. If he won’t listen to you, or anyone, maybe the only way to make this happen, so he saves face, because he can’t bear to accept my help, is if he doesn’t win on Sunday. Maybe you could get a glimpse of his installation for the competition this year,’ he says. ‘If he loses, he’s got to sell. It would mean that he has no other choice. He’s not accepting my help, he’s having to take it.’

  ‘You want me to spy on him?’

  ‘Not spy, just take a picture. Just one. Then it would really secure things for the deal. If I know what he’s doing, I can make sure we are in the winning position. It works for all of us. He gets a hand out of the hole he’s in, a chance to get his wife back, and I take over the shop and spread our market into theirs for next year, bringing back the tourists.’ He taps his watch face. ‘If I can get him to agree to sell to me, we could expand, get our cakes into his shop and have a really good image for our product. Take the idea to the UK too! Once we get the shop back into my family’s hands. It could be our future.’ He kisses me. ‘We could sell the cakes all over the UK, with the old shop as the face of the business.’

  I stare at him.

  ‘That would mean you and me spending a lot more time together. Base ourselves in the UK, maybe. But William needs to save face. He doesn’t want to sell to me unless he has to. If we win on Sunday, he will have to sell. His wife, Marta, I know, would be very pleased to hear he’d agreed to sell. This could be his second chance at happiness with his family.’

  I’m speechless. This is all going very quickly – but it’s what I’d hoped for, isn’t it?

  ‘Look, I want us to work. I think my parents like you.’ I don’t. ‘And I do too. I want us to be together, a team, working to develop the business together. It’s one of the things we really have in common … I am planning something special for our last night together. And if you’re as happy as I am, I have a particular question I want to ask you.’ He smiles. ‘I know we will make a dream team.’

  My mouth hangs open. Is he saying what I think he’s saying? I hadn’t expected this.

  ‘I want us to be together, Connie. I know we’ve only just met, but we’ve known each other for a few months now. We know everything about each other, practically!’

  I nod, dumbstruck.

  ‘I hope that it’s what you want too. Like I say, we have all the right ingredients to be a great team. And if we get the shop, we can move into the UK market too. And William gets a chance at a new start. Hopefully on Sunday we will all be celebrating a new chapter in our lives.’ He kisses me, then looks yet again at his watch. ‘I have to leave. Just go and see him. See if you can help this along a bit. You’re part of the family now … or I hope you will be very soon.’ And with that, he’s gone.

  I sit, staring around the empty room, replaying the conversation.

  I pick up my phone. I wish I could message Sam and tell him what’s just happened.

  I look at my screen and read the message William sent earlier this morning: You’re welcome. Any time.

  Should I ring Sam, ask his advice? Or should I wait? I don’t want to get it wrong. But I’ve done what Sam told me to do. I hold my phone to my lips. I want to be sure that that was what Heinrich meant when he talked about asking me a particular question. Is he going to ask me to marry him? And, if so, am I going to say yes? I’ve finally done what Sam said I should do and found someone online whom I want to be with. I took the chance and found love. I think about last night and all the effort Heinrich went to. It is love, isn’t it?

  THIRTY

  After last night’s email from Marta, asking him if he wanted to meet to talk about ‘where we’re at’, he wasn’t going to turn down the olive branch and a chance to get things back to how they used to be. Did she mean where they were at with the divorce papers, or seeing if they could go back to how things were, when he felt like a father and a husband, when he had dreams and a future? If she wanted to meet him this afternoon, he’d do it. He had to make this work for his son’s sake. He had to make Noah understand that he hadn’t abandoned him. He thought about the look in the boy’s eyes when he’d gazed in through the shop window yesterday morning and his heart twisted.

  He picked up his coffee cup from beside the bed and wandered downstairs. Fritz was there to greet him as usual. He bent down and patted him and went to turn on the ovens. And then he saw the message from Connie, thanking him for showing her how to make gingerbread and attaching the photograph Paps had taken. It wasn’t perfect but he liked it. It made him smile. He didn’t do enough of that, these days.

  He wondered whether to reply or not. He probably wouldn’t. He’d enjoyed talking cakes and patisserie with her. She’d been a brilliant student for the day. She had great skills. But, no, he wouldn’t message her again. He probably shouldn’t. Maybe just a quick You’re welcome. Any time would do it. He typed it quickly, sent it and put the phone down. That was it. He wouldn’t message again. No need to. Especially because she was involved with Heinrich. He needed to keep his distance. There was no way he wanted to get in the middle of anything going on between them. There was enough trouble between the two families. Besides, he had his own family to think about, Marta and his son. That was where he needed to focus. But he’d liked spending time with her. He’d made her laugh and she him. He hadn’t laughed in a long time.

  He wondered if she might know Heinrich’s plans for his cake installation on Sunday. Would she? If she did, would he want to know? He didn’t. He’d pulled out all the stops this year and hi
s piece was the best he’d ever done. He didn’t need to resort to espionage to win. Besides, the ice rink was arriving today. That would really add to the feel of the place in time for the competition. He hoped his son would join him down there. Spend some time together as a family. Feel like a family, feel like a father and son again, like he felt with his dad. Whatever happened, he mustn’t miss this meeting with Marta. He mustn’t be late. This was his chance and he had to try to get them back together and to how they once were.

  THIRTY-ONE

  I’m doing this for William and the town, I tell myself, not just Heinrich, as I walk back from the New Town, across the bridge, peering up at the castle as if I’m seeking confirmation that this is right. I’m doing this to help heal the rift and bring the two communities together. I’m trying to save next year’s market. I think about the hot-chocolate-seller, the toy- and jumper-sellers. I think about Anja and her guesthouse, everyone who relies on the Christmas market.

  ‘It’s all your fault anyway,’ I say to the castle’s turrets. ‘If it wasn’t for your competition, this war wouldn’t have set in. I’m doing this for Heinrich and for William. I’m sorting out your mess.’

  I’m doing it for both of them and their families, I tell myself. Isn’t that what I do? Try to help where I can? Or am I really trying to ignore my own dilemma about Heinrich’s question? I turn my thoughts back to William, who, by all accounts, needs to see that selling to Heinrich could be the best thing for him, but also needs to save face. He said he’d poured everything into the market this year, and Anja told us that he’d borrowed up to his max to get the skating rink. If William is too proud to accept Heinrich’s offer of buying the shop, I can try to help. If Heinrich wins on Sunday, William will have no choice and everyone will get what they need. I just have to work out how to do it …

  By nine o’clock, William was finishing his morning shift in the bakery. He checked his messages. There was one from Marta, telling him where to meet and not to be late. He wouldn’t be. He couldn’t be. He had to show he was there for them. He wasn’t choosing baking over his family, not this time, if there was a chance to get things back to how they’d been. If it meant walking away from baking, maybe that was what he had to do.

  As he was about to close his screen to take his dog for a walk before opening the shop, a message popped into his inbox. He read it, reread it and smiled. Well, why not? Where was the harm? It was fine. He wasn’t getting involved, just helping out a group of tourists with their Christmas memories album. What was the worst that could happen? He liked the woman. It was hard to say no.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, as I enter the shop, the bell over the door tinkling. I’m as nervous as a kitten and nearly back out as soon as I see him standing there. I remind myself I’m doing this for all the right reasons. It will put an end to the rift and help William.

  ‘Hi,’ he says, and we look at each other, both waiting for the other to speak.

  ‘They look fantastic,’ I say, pointing to the stollen he’s just made.

  ‘Would you like to try a slice?’ he asks, picking up a knife, putting the cake on a board and cutting into it, placing the piece on the paper he’d normally wrap it in and handing it to me.

  ‘Thank you.’ I take a bite. ‘Wow!’

  ‘This is our traditional Christmas cake in Germany. It’s bread, with nuts, spices, candied fruit, and sprinkled with icing sugar.’

  I take out my phone and photograph it for the baking group.

  ‘It was originally made of flour, oats and water. No sugar, fruit or alcohol. Then it began to have flour, oil, water and yeast. But as it was baked in the weeks leading up to Christmas, in Advent, a time of fasting, they weren’t allowed to use butter. Finally, it got the royal seal of approval when a stollen was allowed to be made for royalty with butter. This is why it is known as the food of kings. Dresden is the home of stollen. They once made a huge one and it was carried through the streets for Prince Augustus in 1730.’

  I take another bite, getting icing sugar over my hands.

  ‘You’ve got some …’ He points to my nose and I rub it, adding more to what’s already there. ‘Here.’ He holds out a clean cloth. ‘Would you like some hot chocolate to go with that?’ he asks, as I take the cloth from him.

  ‘That would be lovely,’ I say. It’s not the coffee I had been expecting to have this morning, but I find myself perching on the stool beside the counter, feeling strangely at home in the warm shop. As he returns, I dust off my hands.

  ‘I see the ice rink is nearly ready to go.’ I point in the direction of the workmen installing it in front of the clock tower and behind the big tree.

  ‘Yes. Will you be trying it out later?’

  I laugh and shake my head. ‘No, not me! I know how much it can hurt when you fall. Still got the scar to prove it.’ I run my hand along my nose and remember the bang as I went down, face first, and the blood that followed, when I was seventeen and with my exchange student boyfriend.

  He raises his eyebrows. ‘Sometimes it’s worth the risk,’ he says mischievously and, just for a second, holds my gaze. Something in me lights up, and goes out again as he looks towards the hive of activity around the ice rink.

  I clear my throat. ‘Is that what you’re doing on Sunday?’ I can’t look him in the eye. ‘At the baking competition. Taking a risk?’ I take a sip of the hot chocolate and burn my tongue, which makes me cough, and spill half of my drink into the saucer.

  He laughs, his hair bouncing as he throws his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. ‘Did Heinrich send you to work out my plans? To try to persuade me to sell to him?’

  ‘No,’ I blush. ‘Well … yes.’ I swallow. ‘A bit …’

  ‘You’d make a terrible spy.’ He laughs some more.

  ‘I know.’ I dab my mouth with the cloth, then hold it in my lap, laughing too. ‘It’s just … he asked me to get an idea. Said it would help you and him if he knew he was going to win on Sunday. He said you needed an excuse to sell to him and this would make it easier, to save face.’

  ‘Did he now?’ The laughter has subsided. ‘Look,’ he leans over the counter towards me and suddenly my insides leap around. This time I look straight at him, and can’t turn away. ‘I’m going to do everything I can to make sure I don’t have to sell to Heinrich. I owe it to, well, everyone. My father, my son. My father built this place up with my grandfather. Everyone came here for the Christmas markets. Every year they looked forward to the Christmas baking competition. And when my father and Heinrich’s rowed and went their separate ways, well, for a while, no one could touch us. Until I went away to work with one of the biggest bakers in Europe. Learn new skills.’

  He tops up our hot chocolate. It smells just like it did in the market the other day. Then he walks back into the little kitchen and returns with a bottle. Asbach brandy. He holds it up and raises an eyebrow, as if asking permission to add it. Well, why not? I’ve blown it here. I might as well relax and enjoy myself. He adds a splash to mine and then to his. It makes me smile. I can’t imagine Heinrich adding a splash of brandy to his hot chocolate, but maybe that’s why Heinrich’s making a go of things and William is taking a less structured path.

  ‘You like it?’ He nods to the hot chocolate.

  It fills me with a delicious warmth as it slides down my throat and into my stomach. ‘Very much.’

  ‘I make the hot chocolate here and take it over to be sold in the square. It’s my father’s recipe. Never changed. Reminds me of my childhood.’

  ‘Gingerbread does that for me.’

  We sip in silence.

  ‘Why did your father and Heinrich’s father fall out in the first place?’

  He shrugs. ‘I think it was a difficult time, for both families. Heinrich’s family had just lost their son, Maurice, and I think the business took the brunt of their distress. Heinrich’s father wanted to make things more competitive and cost-effective. My father wanted to keep the soul of the shop and the baking. They fought
over it and then Heinrich’s father moved to the New Town. But the competition between the two of them just got fiercer and fiercer every year. The markets got better and better. More and more people came. The old man in the big castle loved the markets so much he left a legacy for the best Christmas bake and the battle lines were drawn. His family have to choose a winner every year. And every year my father won. But then, when we thought nothing could touch us, I went to Cologne. It was the year before my mother died …’ For a moment, we are both lost in worlds that belong to another lifetime. Me with my grandmother, him clearly with his mother. ‘So, I came back,’ he snaps out of it, ‘married, had a child and threw myself into the business. Sadly, it wasn’t a happy mix.’

  I wonder whether I should ask any more, but he goes on: ‘Somehow Heinrich and his family have won the competition every year since then, creating bigger and better installations. My father fell into a decline.’ He takes a deep breath. I notice he’s busying himself making another batch of lebkuchen and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. It seems to be his safe place. A bit like mine, I think. He lets out a big sigh and rolls out the dough. ‘And then Marta, my wife, gave me an ultimatum. I had to choose between her and this place.’ He pounds the dough. ‘And with that, she left. I shouldn’t have hesitated. I should have just gone with her.’ He stops pummelling the dough. ‘Overworked,’ he says, and I’m not sure if he’s talking about the dough or himself. He scoops it up and puts it into the bin.

  He leans against the counter. ‘But you still have hope – you’re here to be with Heinrich!’ He’s teasing me. He scrapes off his hands and starts again.

  ‘I was married,’ I blurt out. ‘I do know what it’s like to lose hope … your dreams. Everything. Well, nearly everything. But I still had my son.’

  There is a moment of understanding between us.

  ‘But now you’re looking for love on the internet and here with Heinrich. And have you found it? Are you and Heinrich in love?’