Chocolate Dreams at the Gingerbread Cafe

by Rebecca Raisin

  Chapter Three

  The wind wails softly as I step outside to empty the bucket and wash the mop. I go to put the cleaning equipment back in the small storage shed when I’m blinded by the headlights of a wide old car pulling in the car park. The engine rumbles like some kind of beast.

  I shield my eyes from the glare of the lights before the car crawls into a space, and the bright headlights shine on the fence instead. I don’t recognize the car, but can guess by the classic model it’s something belonging to Old Lou. Cars like this are spread all over his property dying a slow rusty death from being pummeled by the elements.

  The car shudders to a halt, and out steps Joel.

  My stride falters when I see his familiar lopsided smile. He’s dressed in low-slung denim jeans, and a tight black sweater. His dark hair is swept back, as always, making his olive skin and deep brown eyes the first thing a girl might notice. But all I see is the same expression on his face when he was close to making a sale at the car yard, and I steel myself.

  “Thought you might’ve got cold feet.” He saunters over to me, and pecks me on the cheek. Up close, I see dark circles under his eyes, and take a step back at the stale smell of cheap wine that cloaks him. “Figured I’d drop by and see you instead, and your…empire.” He waves a hand towards the café.

  “Let me lock this up.” I point to the storage shed. “Go on inside.” I’m surprised to feel absolutely nothing from seeing him again. I thought maybe there’d be some kind of wistful flutter of the memory of our love but instead, there’s just numbness. I guess the spell he had over me is long gone.

  He moves to hug me but I sidestep him. “Joel, I warned you about that. I’m with someone else now.”

  Putting a hand to his chest, he feigns surprise. “It was just a hello hug between old friends.”

  “Go on in,” I say more forcefully.

  “OK, don’t run away now.” He winks, and runs a hand through his hair.

  I ignore him, and turn back to the shed as I hear his heavy footfalls on the back steps.

  Taking a deep breath, I remind myself to give him ten minutes, and then send him on his way. Damon will be waiting for me. Longing races up my spine when I think of going home and showing him just how much he means to me.

  When I walk back into the café Joel’s standing by the cash register shaking the shrilling turkey. “What are you doing?” I ask, snatching it away from him.

  “Whoa, you sure are defensive these days, Lil. I was wondering what the hell it does, that’s all.”

  There’s no way I want him anywhere near Damon’s gift; silly as it sounds, it’s special to me, that goddamn turkey, and the memory it holds.

  I stuff the turkey back on his spot, and cross my arms over my chest. “So, what is it you had to discuss with me?”

  He rubs his hands together and surveys the kitchen. “Coffee first? Or maybe, a glass of something stronger?”

  “Everything’s switched off. And we don’t keep alcohol here.”

  He clucks his tongue, and slowly wanders around the café, picking up things as if he’s in a store. “I like what you’ve done with the place. It looks…cozy. No more stark white walls, and only a stick or two of furniture.”

  I itch to say it’d taken a good two years and a lot of hard work to be able to afford luxuries such as paint and the odd assortment of shabby-chic secondhand furniture we’d acquired slowly. But I bite my tongue. He’s stalling for time, and I don’t want to drag this visit out any longer than I have to.

  “Joel, I really have to go. So can we get down to it?”

  When he turns to me, I hold my breath; something in his eyes scares me. “You know I left here with only the clothes on my back. I didn’t ask for anything from you.”

  I return his glare. He can’t be serious. “That’s because there was nothing to take from me, Joel. Remember?”

  “Is it serious between you and Damon?”

  I rack my mind wondering who would have told him about Damon. Joel isn’t exactly popular in Ashford, and Old Lou never ventures into town. Even Rosaleen, the town know-it-all, wouldn’t stoop so low as to tell Joel anything.

  “It sure is.” I pick up my handbag, and fling the strap over my shoulder. “If that’s all you came to discuss then your question is answered. I hope you have a nice life.”

  He laughs, a low, mean sound. “I do have a question for you, Lil. How much does the café make these days? I’ve seen flyers all over the place advertising your so-called chocolate festival. Word is you’ve got yourself a nice little earner…”

  The malice in his voice leaves me cold. “That’s none of your concern now, Joel.”

  “No?” He steps behind the register and presses the button to spring it open. When I see his face drop, I hide my smile. The takings are safely tucked away in the freezer in an empty box of frozen peas. CeeCee and I figure no one would look there, not that there’s much crime around Ashford anyway.

  “What, Joel, do you need a loan or something?” I try to keep the disdain from my voice. “You think you can walk in here and act like some kind of evil cameo from a Batman movie and I’m just going to stand here and take it? You really need a trench coat or some gloopy black eyeliner to be believable.”

  He slams the cash register shut. “I’ll cut to the chase, then, silly Lily.” His voice is hard, and his eyes no longer hold the close-the-deal look; they’re icy with anger. “When I left you for the glamorous Rita, I’ll admit it was for her sizeable assets.” He holds his hands out in front of his chest.

  I scoff. “Oh, please. As if I care.”

  “It wasn’t just the double-D cups that had me hooked. It was also her healthy bank balance. Anyhow, that’s all finished. And it pains me more than you know to say she didn’t set me up like she promised. So what do I do? You gotta spend money to make money, right? Speculate to accumulate?”

  I purse my lips; he’s a walking cliché. What did I ever see in him? “What is it you want, Joel?”

  “Well, I got to thinking where can I get some money fast to start another car yard… Any idea?”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “No idea.”

  “And then I thought…actually, yes! The quaint little Gingerbread Café, a veritable money spinner of late. I got to remembering how this café came about. Do you remember, Lil?”

  My throat tightens, and I blink back tears. There’s no way I’m giving him the pleasure of seeing me cry. “What are you saying, Joel?” It’s all I can do not to hiss the words.

  “I set you up, Lil. I paid for all of this…stuff.” He turns, his arms outstretched. “As I recall I loaned you twenty grand to get this place started. That oven is mine, that fridge; hmm, I think I paid for that dishwasher too.”

  “You lost everything we had, Joel. Everything. I managed to hang onto the café by sheer hard work. I don’t owe you a cent.” I hear the tremor in my voice and hate myself for it. It’s true Joel gave me the money to set up the kitchen in the café, but I didn’t consider it a loan, since I supported him financially most of my adult life before moving on to start the Gingerbread Café.

  He sneers, and I resist the urge to slap the look from his face. “It was just bad timing, Lil. The whole global financial crisis thing. We both lost things we loved. But the money I loaned you wasn’t mine — it was…family money, you could say.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me, Joel. This is low even for you.” I shake my head, wondering how a man I once loved could be as cold and as calculating as this. Family money. I want to rage at him. Before he died, Harry, Joel’s father, was a loan shark, who cost a lot of people their homes with his exorbitant rates. I should have known better that any money from him would come with strings attached.

  “But I need to make a fresh start. And far as I see, this is the only way I can do it. You’ve got a Guthrie now…very clever, Lil. You won’t want for anything again, will you?” I scowl at him for all I’m worth.

  Damon’s family is from old money. T
he Guthries made their fortune from transport: they owned a fleet of cargo ships and train lines back in their heyday, but have since sold their empire, and now live off the profits. Some place more hoity-toity than Ashford, but they’re good people, and are well respected in this town on the rare occasions they visit. Damon works off his own bat, doesn’t take handouts from them. He’s got his pride, unlike Joel here.

  “I would never borrow a dime off Damon or his family! Now, get out! You’ll get nothing from me.” Fury makes my hands shake and my voice rise an octave.

  “Maybe it’s time to sell this place, then?” He walks to the back door then stops and turns, pulling an envelope from his back pocket. “Here, some light reading for you. I’ve already been to a lawyer, and, as you’ll see, you owe me. Twenty large, Lil. Plus interest. It’s been three years you’ve sat on my money.” He throws the envelope on the bench and slams the door behind him.

  I listen to the low rumble of the car as it leaves the car park before I let the tears flow. Sitting at a table, I cradle my head in my hands and blubber until I can’t see straight. I’ve never been a pretty crier, and this time isn’t any different. Loud choking sobs make me hiccough, and sputter, but I let it all out. Even just the threat of having to sell the Gingerbread Café is enough to make me dizzy with worry. He couldn’t have picked a worse time to drop this on me; there’s still so much to organize for the festival, and now this will hang over me like a black cloud.

  Regret sits heavy in my heart about keeping Joel’s visit from CeeCee. She’ll be fit to kill when she knows I met him without telling her. And Damon? What will he think about the mess I’m in? I sit there for an age, thinking of all the things I should have said.

  The moon shines bright in the dark night. I walk to the window and stare up at it. I think of telling CeeCee and know her retort would be, “There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell you losing the Gingerbread Café, not on account of that damn fool, anyways.”

  Chapter Four

  My old truck whines as I pull into the driveway; another thing I was all set on replacing this year, but I guess that may not happen now. I jump down from the cab, and head up the porch. Light from inside peeks out through the thick lace curtains. I take a deep breath and brace myself to tell Damon.

  Inside, I throw my bag and keys on the buffet, and head towards the kitchen.

  Damon’s there, his back towards me, a tea towel slung over his shoulder as he stirs something that smells tangy, in a pot.

  “Hey,” I say, edging towards him.

  He turns to me as he pulls the tea towel from his shoulder and tosses it on the bench. His smile disappears when he glances at my face, which is probably puffy and ruddy, and all sorts of ugly.

  “Hey, you.” He takes me in his arms, and I want to kick myself when the tears start again. This time they fall silently without the great big chest heaves. He doesn’t ask anything, just holds me tight. I close my eyes, and thank God I have a man who loves me right.

  I tilt my head and show him my face. “Lil.” He wipes my tears away, and leans down to kiss me softly on the lips.

  He exhales slowly and squeezes me tight once more, before stepping back, and pouring a glass of red wine. “You need to unwind. Take this—” he hands me the glass “— and go soak in the tub. It’s all ready for you. How about I finish up in here, and come talk to you while you relax?”

  I take a sip of wine, and feel myself go heavy with relief. “Sounds great.” I kiss his cheek. “Where’s Charlie bear?”

  “She’s asleep. She spent the rest of the afternoon up in the treehouse with the kids next door.” His face softens, and I know he’s thinking of the lifestyle here for his little girl. He wants her to be able to roam free and explore safely, the way kids in small towns can. A place where they make their own fun, like we did at their age, before computers and technology took over.

  “She must be exhausted. Did she have some dinner?”

  “Home-made fish fingers.” He grins as he sees my eyes light up. “And I made some for us too.”

  “You’re never too old for fish fingers. What’s in the pot?” I motion to the burgundy syrup he’s stirring.

  “Plum sauce — thought I’d try the recipe out before the festival. It’s to go with the deep-fried Camembert dish.”

  “My mouth’s watering. I hope you’re making some Camembert to go with my fish fingers…”

  “Surely am. Taste this first.” He holds the spoon to my lips; the sauce is sweet, and tart at the same time.

  “It’s good,” I say.

  He drops the spoon in the pot, and kisses the taste from my mouth.

  His voice is husky. “You better get in the bath before you drive me to distraction.”

  Heat flushes my face as I shuffle to the bathroom, listening to the sound of Charlie’s soft snores as I walk past her bedroom.

  Moments later, he’s there, perched on the white-tiled ledge of the bath watching me submerge myself under the soft water. I push my wet hair back, take a deep breath and tell him all about Joel, and what he wants.

  He leans his head against the wall, and stares up at the ceiling. I can tell he’s angry at Joel by the way he clenches his jaw. Feeling mighty silly to be in such a predicament, I push the bubbles around the bath so I don’t have to see his expression.

  “Do you think you’ll have to pay him?”

  “I don’t see why I’d have to. The only worry I have is that it was from his father’s bank account. At the time he gave me a bunch of reasons for that…we were married, we shared everything. I lost more than twenty thousand when he made all those bad business deals. As far as I’m concerned that money is mine, always was. I supported him financially for most of our marriage, because I was so naïve, and then he lost it all. Except the café, and that’s only because of how hard I fought to keep it.”

  I take a huge gulp of wine, which spills from the side of my mouth. Goddamn it, just once I’d like to feel like one of those sophisticated women, who wear gloop and drink wine in the bath looking as glamorous as a movie star — but, no, I manage to muck it up.

  “If it comes to it I don’t have enough to pay him even if I wanted to.” I shudder, even thinking about the remote possibility of having to sell the Gingerbread Café.

  “I can give you the money.”

  “No, no way.”

  Damon frowns. But I don’t want anyone to bail me out. That’s what got me into the mess in the first place. Easier if I pretend it’s no big deal in front of Damon and CeeCee until I plan exactly how to extricate myself from Joel’s clutches.

  He sighs softly. “You can call it a loan if that makes you feel better.”

  “Thanks, but I need to sort this out myself. Once and for all.”

  “I forgot — feisty Lil.” He leans forward to kiss me. I grab the scruff of his shirt and pull him in the water fully clothed. He yelps, and then gives in, lying atop me, just at the right angle for serious smooching.

  “Feisty, did you say?” I challenge him.

  “Feisty and beautiful,” he murmurs. I kiss the words from his lips, and pull at the buttons of his drenched jeans.

  ***

  Tidying the last of the dinner dishes away, I hear the patter of little feet behind me. Charlie’s blond hair’s a tangled mess from sleep and she clutches an old teddy, so worn out it’s mostly gray in color.

  “Hey, kiddo, you OK?” I ask gently.

  She lifts a hand to shield her eyes from the light.

  “I woke up and forgot where I was.” Her bottom lip trembles slightly — I think of how hard it must be for her, this new life, without her parents together under the same roof.

  Careful not to overstep my mark, I motion to the family room. “Why don’t you go on in to your daddy, and I’ll make you a nice cup of hot cocoa?”

  She looks over her shoulder, then shakes her head. “Can you read me a story?”

  I wipe my hands on the tea towel, and nod. “I sure can. Let’s tell your daddy I’m
going to tuck you in.”

  “OK.”

  We hold hands, and my heart swells. She truly is the most beautiful little girl — I wonder how Damon can stand to be parted from her when she leaves.

  “Charlie.” He sits up as we enter the dimly lit room. The TV flashes in the darkness. “Did you have a bad dream?”

  “No.” She falls into his arms. He lifts a hand and pushes the soft curls from her face. “It’s the room. I woke up, and got a little bit confused…”

  He closes his eyes and kisses the crown of her head. “How about I get you a night light tomorrow? That might help.”

  She nods her head. Their sleepy embrace is about the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.

  “Lil’s gonna read me a book.”

  I make a mental note to buy some pretty things for Charlie’s room so it feels as if she belongs here, and not so much as if she’s a guest in our lives.

  “That sounds mighty nice,” Damon says. “Sleep tight, I’ll kiss you goodnight when I come past.” He tilts his head almost imperceptibly and gives me a look as if to check I’m happy to be the one to put her back to bed. I smile, and nod.

  Back in the small room, I switch on the bedside lamp and tuck her in snug.

  “Lil?”

  I select a book from the small pile stacked on the shelf. “Mmm?”

  “If I say I love you, that doesn’t mean I don’t love my mommy, right? I mean…she won’t be hurt, will she?”

  I perch on the edge of the bed and weigh up how to answer. “You know…no one can replace the love you have for your mom or dad. By saying you care for other people as well as them just means you’ve got a big heart—” I tap her chest “—with enough love in there for everyone. I think your mom would be happy to know that you feel safe and loved here. That’s all that would matter to her.”

  “So she won’t mind?”

  I flash her a smile. “Seems to me she’d be pretty proud of you. And you can tell her how much you miss her while you’re here, because I’m sure she’s missing you.”