Chocolate Dreams at the Gingerbread Cafe (10 page)

“CeeCee, you can't do it. That money is for your retirement.” I know Curtis, Cee's husband, left her a modest amount of money when he passed. Money he'd saved for exactly that reason, so she would have a nest egg and wouldn't need to work if she chose not to.

Her face tenses. “Do what?”

I tilt my head. “I've just been to the bank, Cee.”

She clucks her tongue. “Mother o' Mary, no one can have any secrets in this town. They had no right telling you that!” Her face darkens. “It's my money, and it ain't up to you how I spend it.”

“But, Cee…”

She holds a hand up. “No, Lil. I don't need that money. And that snake was never goin' to leave you alone. He's gone now. The loan's paid off and all done right. Mr Jefferson made it so. Joel won't bother you again, and of that I can be certain.”

“Is that what you talked about the day he turned up over the road?”

She waves a hand. “Can't remember.”

I gulp back tears. “So you paid him already?”

“I surely did. Couldn't get there quick enough.”

“I'll go to the bank. I can pay some of it back right now, Cee. Then I'll…”

She shakes her head. “I don't need it, Lil. It wasn't a loan.
It was a gift
. Because that's what friends do. When Curtis died I figured my whole life was finished. I couldn't jump over that grief, Lil. But then you came along. Dragged me outta that house, and into the café. Made up some pretense about needin' help, when you surely didn't. Even made me take a wage when you were so broke you couldn't pay attention! Well, things like that I ain't never gonna forget. So now we even.”

She shuffles to a table and sits heavily, motioning for me to join her.

“But, Cee…”

“Hush. It ain't important. You ever wonder why people trying to help you, Lil?”

I go to respond but she holds a hand up.

“Because you always helpin' people first. You got a good heart, Lil, and it's even better cause you don't know it. You just think that's how things should be. So take it when it comes back to you.”

I'm lost for words, wondering how she could be so generous. I'm going to have to plot some clever way for her to take the money back as soon as I get it.

“I'm going to go visit Janey today. You be all right here without me?” Her mask of composure cracks for a moment, as I see such pain in her eyes.

I quickly reassure her. “I'll be fine. I think it'll be quiet after such a big weekend.”

“OK, maybe I'll call Walt, and see what he needs.”

I nod, knowing Walt will be happy to have CeeCee's effervescent presence around at such a sad time. And as they say, laughter is the best medicine. “Why don't you stay a while with Janey? I can get someone to help me here. Don't think there's anything more important than that right now.”

“You sure, Lil?”

“More than sure.”

“There's a change on the wind, ain't there?”

I know exactly what she means: things seem so different from how they were just a few days back. “Seems like it, Cee. I feel blazing happiness one minute, then so sad the next.”

“Sugar plum, I know, but you gotta enjoy every moment with that fine-looking thing… Time goes so fast, Lil. So fast…” She breaks off, her eyes glazing over, as she stares across the road. Damon's sitting on the bench out front of his shop reading a newspaper. CeeCee looks sharply back to me, then over at Damon again. She jumps up suddenly and claps a hand over her heart. “I seen it! I seen it!” she says, her hands shaking.

I glance quickly at Damon, but can't see anything unusual. “What, Cee?”

“A baby! You gonna have a baby!” She scrunches her eyes closed.

I roll my eyes dramatically. “Oh, Cee! We're not even at that stage yet!”

Her eyes snap open. “It's the second sight! Was I wrong about you and Damon?” she screeches.

“No, ma'am.” I grin back. Butterflies swarm in my belly at the thought of having children, but I don't say anything. I just smile, and shrug. “We'll see.”

“It's gonna be a little boy, oh, he as cute as a button,” she says. “We better hurry up and get you married. I had this idea for your wedding cake…”

I watch CeeCee scramble from the table, her eyes bright with excitement. I rub my belly once, just in case she's right.

Loved
Chocolate Dreams at the Gingerbread Café
and missed out on the first scrumptious novella? Turn the page for an exclusive extract from Rebecca Raisin's
Christmas at the Gingerbread Café
…

Chapter One

Amazing Grace
blares out from the speakers above me, and I cry, not delicate, pretty tears, but great big heaves that will puff up my eyes, like a blowfish. That song touches me, always has, always will. With one hand jammed well and truly up the turkey's behind I sing those mellifluous words as if I'm preaching to a choir. Careful, so my tears don't swamp the damn bird, I grab another handful of aromatic stuffing. My secret recipe: a mix of pork sausage, pecans, cranberries and crumbled corn bread. Punchy flavors that will seep into the flesh and make your heart sing. The song reaches its crescendo, and my tears turn into a fully-fledged blubber-fest. The doorbell jangles and I realize I can't wipe my face with my messy hands. Frantic, I try and compose myself as best I can.

“Jesus Mother o' Mary, ain't no customers comin' in here with this kinda carry-on! It's been two years since that damn fool left you. When you gonna move on, my sweet cherry blossom?”

CeeCee. My only employee at the Gingerbread Café, a big, round, southern black woman, who tells it like it is. Older than me by a couple of decades, more like a second mother than anything. Bless her heart.

“Oh, yeah?” I retort. “How are you expecting me to move on? I still love the man.”

“He ain't no man. A man wouldn't never cheat on his wife. He's a boy, playing at being a man.”

“You're right there.” Still, it's been two lonely years, and I ache for him. There's no accounting for what the heart feels. I'm heading towards the pointy end of my twenties. By now, I should be raising babies like all the other girls in town, not baking gingerbread families in lieu of the real thing.

I'm distracted from my heartbreak by CeeCee cackling like a witch. She puts her hands on her hips, which are hidden by the dense parka she wears, and doubles over. While she's hooting and hollering, I stare, unsure of what's so damn amusing. “Are you finished?” I ask, arching my eyebrows.

This starts her off again, and she's leg slapping, cawing, the whole shebang.

“It's just…” She looks at me, and wipes her weeping eyes. “You look a sight. Your hand shoved so far up the rear of that turkey, like you looking for the meaning of life, your boohooing, this sad old music. Golly.”

“This is your music, CeeCee. Your gospel CD.”

She colors. “I knew that. It's truly beautiful, beautiful, it is.”

“Thought you might say that.” I grin back. CeeCee's church is the most important thing in her life, aside from her family, and me.

“Where we up to?” she says, taking off her parka, which is dusted white from snow. Carefully, she shakes the flakes into the sink before hanging her jacket on the coat rack by the fire.

“I'm stuffing these birds, and hoping to God someone's going to buy them. Where's the rush? Two and a bit weeks before Christmas we're usually run off our feet.”

CeeCee wraps an apron around her plump frame. “It'll happen, Lil. Maybe everyone's just starting a little later this year, is all.” She shrugs, and goes to the sink to wash her hands.

“I don't remember it ever being this quiet. No catering booked at all over the holidays, aside from the few Christmas parties we've already done. Don't you think that's strange?”

“So, we push the café more, maybe write up the chalkboard with the fact you're selling turkeys already stuffed.” This provokes another gale of laughter.

“This is going to be you in a minute—” I indicate to the bird “—so I don't see what's so darn amusing.”

“Give me that bowl, then.”

We put the stuffing mix between us and hum along to Christmas music while we work. We decorated the café almost a month ago now. Winter has set in. The grey skies are a backdrop for our flashing Christmas lights that adorn the windows. Outside, snow drifts down coating the window panes and it's so cozy I want to snuggle by the fire and watch the world go by. Glimmering red and green baubles hang from the ceiling, and spin like disco balls each time a customer blows in. A real tree holds up the corner; the smell from the needles, earth and pine, seeps out beneath the shiny decorations.

In pride of place, sitting squarely in the bay window, is our gingerbread house. It's four feet high, with red and white candy-cane pillars holding up the thatched roof. There's a wide chimney, decorated with green and red jelly beans, ready for Santa to climb down. And the white chocolate front door has a wreath made from spun sugar. In the garden, marshmallow snowmen gaze cheerfully out from under their hats. If you look inside the star-shaped window, you can see a gingerbread family sitting beside a Christmas tree. The local children come in droves to ogle it, and CeeCee is always quick to invite them in for a cup of cocoa, out of the cold.

I opened up the Gingerbread Café a few years back, but the town of Ashford is only a blip on the map of Connecticut, so I run a catering business to make ends meet. We cater for any party, large or small, and open the café during the week to sell freshly made cakes, pies, and whatever CeeCee's got a hankering for. But we specialize in anything ginger. Gingerbread men, cookies, beverages, you name it, we've made it. You can't get any more comforting than a concoction of golden syrup, butter, and ginger baking in the oven in the shape of little bobble-headed people. The smell alone will transport you back to childhood.

CeeCee's the best pie maker I've ever known. They sell out as quickly as we can make them. But pies alone won't keep me afloat.

“So, you hear anything about that fine-looking thing, from over the road?” CeeCee asks.

“What fine thing?”

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Damon, his name is. The one opening up the new shop, remember? You know who I mean. We went over there to peek just the other day.”

“I haven't heard boo about him. And who cares, anyhow?”

“You sure as hell wouldn't be bent over dead poultry, leaking from those big blue eyes of yours, if he was snuggled in your bed at night.”

I gasp and pretend to be outraged. “CeeCee! Maybe you could keep him warm—you ever think of that?”

“Oh, my. If I was your age, I'd be over there lickety-split. But I ain't and he might be just the distraction you need.”

“Pfft. The only distraction I need is for that cash register to start opening and closing on account of it filling with cold hard cash.”

“You could fix up those blond curls of yours, maybe paint your nails. You ain't got time to dilly-dally. Once the girls in town catch on, he's gonna be snapped right up,” says CeeCee, clicking her fingers.

“They can have him. I still love Joel.”

CeeCee shakes her head and mumbles to herself. “That's about the dumbest thing I ever heard. You know he's moved on.”

I certainly do. There's no one in this small town of ours that doesn't know. He sure as hell made a mockery of me. Childhood sweethearts, until twenty-three months, four days and, oh, five hours ago. He's made a mistake, and he'll come back, I just know it. Money's what caused it, or lack thereof. He's gone, hightailed it out of town with some redheaded bimbo originally from Kentucky. She's got more money than Donald Trump, and that's why if you ask me. We lost our house after his car yard went belly up, and I nearly lost my business.

“Lookie here,” CeeCee says. “I think we're about to get our first customer.”

The doorbell jangles, and in comes Walt, who sells furniture across the way.

“Morning, ladies.” He takes off his almost-threadbare earmuff hat. I've never seen Walt without the damn thing, but he won't hear a word about it. It's his lucky hat, he says. Folks round here have all sorts of quirks like that.

“Hey, Walt,” I say. “Sure is snowing out there.”

“That it is. Mulled-wine weather if you ask me.”

CeeCee washes her hands, and dries them on her apron. “We don't have none of that, but I can fix you a steaming mug of gingerbread coffee, Walt. Surely will warm those hands o' yours. How'd you like that?”

“Sounds mighty nice,” he says, edging closer to the fire. The logs crackle and spit, casting an orange glow over Walt's ruddy face.

Chapter Two

CeeCee mixes molasses, ginger, and cinnamon and a dash of baking soda. She sets it aside while she pours freshly brewed coffee into a mug. “You want cream and sugar, Walt?”

“Why not?” Walt says amiably.

CeeCee adds the molasses mix to the coffee, and dollops fresh cream on top, sprinkling a dash of ground cloves to add a bit of spice. “Mmm hmm, that's about the best-looking coffee I ever seen. I'm going to have to make me one now.”

“So, I guess I'm stuffing these birds by myself?” I say, smiling.

“You got that right.” She winks at me, and walks to the counter handing Walt the mug. He nods his thanks and drinks deeply, smacking his lips together after each gulp.

“What can I get for you?” CeeCee asks.

“Janey sent me in for a ham, and a turkey, not too big but not too little, neither.” He rubs his belly for emphasis.

“Sure thing,” CeeCee says. “How's about one with Lil's special stuffing? Janey won't need to do a thing, 'cept put it in the oven, and baste it a few times.”

“Yeah? Then maybe we'll have a peaceful Christmas morning.”