Rebecca Raisin - Christmas At The Café

“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?”