Chocolate Dreams at the Gingerbread Cafe (6 page)

“Sounds like a horse gallopin' to the finish line!”

I laugh with CeeCee as I survey the bench; we've spilt chocolate all over it and it dries quickly in all sorts of obscure dribbles.

“Here comes the messy part.” I rip off a layer of baking paper, and spread it on the clean end of the bench. We laugh as we upend the molds and watch the excess chocolate fall out like lava, leaving only the thin shell. Charlie immediately dips her finger into turned-out chocolate.

“They look perfect already,” CeeCee says, admiring the even, half shells before she puts them in the fridge to set.

We get through three more batches of chocolate eggs, some tiny ovals, some huge as gridiron balls, before we decide to take a break, and sample some of our creations. Charlie hugs us before tottering back to Damon's shop. Not before taking a handful of treats as she leaves.

“I'll make us a couple o' gingerbread milkshakes to go with our chocolate — what do you say?”

I groan in mock protest. “I can see this little fad adding a few inches to my hips.”

CeeCee harrumphs as she mixes up our drinks. “You too skinny anyways.”

“Pfft. You would say that even if I was as big as a barn.”

CeeCee dips the milkshake glasses into honey, then coats the rim with gingerbread crumbs before filling them up. She mooches over and hands me a glass, and we flop to the sofa. I take a big gulp, and close my eyes at the sheer deliciousness of it. The ice cream makes the drink thick, it's spicy from the ginger, and sweet from the gooey treacle mixed through.

CeeCee smacks her lips together and says, “Glory be, that about as good as a cuddle from yo' mamma.”

Chapter Six

“That's the prettiest thing I ever seen.” CeeCee tilts her head, and stands back to get a better look at the window display. We've added the newly decorated eggs, including one of Charlie's, which looks as if she's scrawled white hieroglyphics on the dark chocolate shell. We added a chocolate honeycomb wall and little bees made from licorice adorn it.

The display looks like a fancy barnyard, with the spun sugar glinting under the small down lights, and all the cute little animals we made out of chocolate or fondant peering up at us. Easter eggs of every shape and color look downright mouth-watering littered throughout the magical setting.

“Let's go check it from the street.” CeeCee grabs my arm, and pulls me into the bright day.

“Would you look at that?” I say. “Walt's shop is closed again — that's the third time in a week or so. Why do you suppose that is?”

CeeCee crosses her arms and follows my gaze. “I don't rightly know.”

“You think sales are slow?”

She turns back to our Easter display, and says, “Could be.”

Walt's shop is dark. His display window is filled with colorful one-off pieces of furniture he lovingly hand-crafts. He uses wood recycled from old boats, their assorted paints faded and chipped, and mismatched to produce the most beautiful eclectic pieces you've ever seen. He says his furniture tells a story. The wood he uses has sailed around the world and seen more life than most of us ever will. My heart aches thinking Walt and Janey might be suffering financially.

“Maybe we should make him a box of goodies tomorrow, Cee. There's nothing one of your famous pies can't fix.”

She nods. “That surely will help.”

I know firsthand how hard it is to stay afloat in such a small town. We've seen plenty of businesses come and go but Walt and Janey's furniture shop is one of the oldest. They've been here forever. Walt is the event organizer for Ashford. He arranges the Christmas carols every year, and all the festivals and gatherings we have throughout the seasons. It strikes me how odd it is he hasn't been more involved in the chocolate festival. And CeeCee's uncharacteristically quiet about it all; she's Janey's best friend, and surely knows what's going on. Though, it could be a pride thing — I'm sure if it's a financial problem they don't want everyone knowing.

“Once I get this Joel mess sorted out, why don't we look at buying a few more of his tables for out front here?” I motion to the pavement, where we have a motley mix of wooden tables, and mix-matched chairs.

“You a good girl, Lil. I think that'd be nice.”

We stare at Walt's store for a while longer. I realize I haven't seen Janey in town over the last week or so. Usually Janey comes in to shoot the breeze and sit with CeeCee while they talk about their church and their grandbabies.

“Did you play bridge with Janey this week?” I ask CeeCee.

“Nope. I got word from Rosaleen it were off because we had odd numbers. Happens all the time. We'll see if Walt turns up tomorrow.” CeeCee bustles back inside before I can respond.

***

Later that day, we decide to shut the café a tad earlier than usual. All these early starts and late evenings have taken a toll. The street has gone sleepy with so few people about. Everyone is conserving their energy for the weekend festivities; well, I hope so, at any rate.

“Sugar plum, you try and put the thought of Mr Jefferson's verdict out of your pretty little head. Go on and enjoy the night with that fine-looking thing, and worry about it in the a.m.”

I couldn't seem to get hold of Mr Jefferson on the phone all day. The niggly feeling he's going to have bad news for me hasn't been far from my mind. “I'll be fine, Cee. Bet you he's found a way to fix it, and will call with the good news tomorrow. Why don't you take a few bunnies home? Not sure we taste-tested them enough.”

She haws, loud and high, and pats her handbag. “Already done. I never tried the white chocolate rabbits — can't go selling the merchandise if I haven't tasted it for myself.”

I pat my bag. “I've got a helping of caramel-filled eggs. You never can tell when you'll get a sugar craving.”

“It's a wonder we ain't bigger!” She guffaws, and pats her rounded belly. “Wait a minute! You the only skinny one — that just ain't fair!”

I scoff. CeeCee's got a real thing about calling me skinny, when in actual fact I've got proper country-girl curves, which are only getting bigger with all the chocolate I've been eating.

I shut off the lights and we head out of the front door into the balmy air. Damon's shop is still open, and I wave to him as CeeCee and I stroll up the street. “You gonna walk?” I ask. CeeCee usually hitches a ride with Sarah when she closes her book store. “Yeah, sugar, after all that chocolate today, I think I might need to make it a regular thing. Plus we're early. You go on ahead. I'll see you tomorrow.” She pecks me on the cheek.

“I'll pop in and tell Sarah you're walking home.” CeeCee lives a bit further out on the other side of town from me, a good twenty-minute walk.

“You tell her I need another selection of those bodice rippers you keep teasing me over,” CeeCee says.

Laughing, I nod and walk into the tiny bookshop.

As usual Sarah is propped up behind the cash register, her head in a book, jeans-clad legs crossed and perched on a stool. “Hey, Lil.” She dog-ears the page of her book, and closes it.

I smile in greeting as she stretches and shakes away the dozy look on her face. “Cee's going to walk today on account of how much chocolate we've consumed.”

Her tinkling laughter rings out. She's tiny, and looks like a doll with her smooth black bobbed hair, and perfectly cut bangs that hang just above her eyebrows.

“You know, the smell of melted chocolate travels all the way over here. I planned on coming over but I got to reading…”

I run a hand over the cover of the old hardback book. “That good?”

“A classic…”

Plunging my hand into the depths of my handbag, I grovel around for the box of caramel eggs and offer them to Sarah. “Here's something to keep your energy up.”

She laughs, and takes the eggs, unwrapping one and popping it into her mouth. “Gosh…wow.”

“Keep going, plenty more where they came from.” I walk around the small shop looking for cookbooks. The small space has an otherworldly feel about it. It's dusty and dingy with books piled on top of each other or double stacked on shelves. Old books mixed with new, a veritable treasure trove of wonder. Sarah knows instinctively where everything is, but it's fun to mosey your way around and find something hidden, a gem for yourself.

“So you all organized for the festival?” Sarah asks.

All the coordinating was done weeks ago. All that's left to do is the fun part. “I think so. We've made most of the eggs, and the truffles, now we're making the medley of cakes, and fudges, and slices…”

“Stop! You're making me salivate… How can you stand to cook like that without gorging on it all day?”

“We do gorge! Trust me, we do. It kind of goes on all day till I can't fit another thing in. Maybe I should have opened a salad shop…” I pinch my love handles.

Sarah scoffs. “Lucky for us, you didn't. Can't see us getting a town full of shoppers for a potato salad festival, can you?”

I grin and say, “Well, what about a Caesar salad festival?”

She clicks her fingers. “A coleslaw festival!”

I giggle at the thought.

Her expression turns mock serious. “Are you telling me there's not going to be a three-bean salad festival?”

I drop my bottom lip and shake my head sadly. “Not for a few weeks anyway.”

“Ha ha, I'll hold you to that!” She leans under the counter and pulls some thin white books from a box. “I got these in especially for CeeCee. She sure can get through them at a rate of knots.”

I smile, thinking of CeeCee reading so many romance books a week, then talking about the characters as though they're real. She's got me hooked on them, after talking up so many buff men, and glamorous women. Though there's not much chance I'll ever be like the heroines, with their perfectly made up faces, and their sky-high confidence.

I poke around the box of books and find an old French dessert cookbook. As I flick through the pages my belly rumbles loud enough for Sarah to hear. “You can't be hungry and run a café. That just doesn't make sense.” She laughs.

“I think it's living on a diet of sugar that's doing it.”

“Take that book, Lil. I got it in for you.”

“Thank you. I can see us trying some of these recipes out tomorrow. Soon enough we're going to need another pair of hands. We sure are getting busier these days.”

“You've worked hard for it. And I don't know if it's just the advertising we've done for the festival, but Ashford sure seems busier these last few weeks.”

The talk of customers reminds me of Walt, and I suddenly feel guilty talking about business improving when his shop sits closed next door.

“You know why Walt and Janey aren't open?”

“No.” She frowns. “It's not like them, though, is it?”

I shake my head. “CeeCee says she doesn't know either, but I kind of felt like she did. Maybe I'm reading too much into it. I'm beginning to sound like Rosaleen!”

Sarah puts a palm to her face. “Speaking of which, I heard about Joel.”

“Rosaleen, already?”

Sarah smiles ruefully. “You got it. What are you going to do?”

“I've faxed Mr Jefferson the letter from Joel's lawyer, so I'm hoping he has some magical potion that'll make it all disappear.”

“I'm sure he will. And shout out if you need anything.”

I gather up CeeCee's books, and go to pay but Sarah waves me off. “I'll swap books for chocolate,” she says, grinning.

“Deal! Mosey on over when you need a fix.”

We hug, before I head outside into the fading sunlight. I take in the surroundings, the little town I love so much, with its old federation-style buildings, and the neat shops, and clean sidewalks. Aesthetically nothing much has changed here over time, other than a few cosmetic make-overs; a building gets a flick of paint, or some bright flowers sing out from new terracotta pots, but all in all Ashford stays the same.

Chapter Seven

I'm languishing in the tub when Damon gets home. It seems to be my go-to place in times of stress. There's something about feeling weightless and submerging yourself that makes all your worries ebb away momentarily. He wanders in, his lazy, sexy smile not failing to make my pulse race.

“You some kind of mermaid or what?” he says, trailing a hand in the water.

“I think so.” I grip the edge of the bath and pull myself over the edge to kiss him hello.

“Charlie's out with the kids next door again. She loves it here.” He sits on the tiled ledge.

“Did she talk to you about how she feels guilty loving people as well as her mom?”

He smiles. “She did, and she told me what you said, which was pretty sweet. I think she feels better now. I rang Dianne, and told her to speak to Charlie, to put her mind at ease. It's one thing I'm grateful for, that there's no animosity between me and Dianne any more. She's happy with her new life, and I am more than happy with mine. Makes it easier to put Charlie's needs first.”

I arch my eyebrow. “So you're happy, you say?” My heart races when I watch his expression as his gaze travels up the length of my naked body.

“Hmm, I'd say right now I'm…distracted. What's say we go take a lie-down before dinner?” Before I can answer he's holding my hands and pulling me out of the bath.

I smirk as I say, “Oh, I'm not tired.”

His voice is gruff with desire. “That right? Well, you won't be sleeping.” He carries me to the bedroom, as if we're some kind of honeymooning couple.

***

Still smiling from Damon's so-called lie-down, I change into old sweats. They're too large, and are stained from cooking, or more likely from eating, but as comforting as a safety blanket.

In the kitchen, Damon's at the table, his hands clasped together, looking out of the window as though he's mesmerized by the sinking sun. Two glasses of white wine sit waiting, condensation running off the cool glasses.