Rebecca Raisin - A Gingerbread Café Christmas - Christmas at the Gingerbread Café / Chocolate Dreams at the Gingerbread Cafe / Christmas Wedding at the Gingerbread Café

“What? Are you falling for this? He’s angling for sympathy, that’s all.”

“And why not, pray tell? He’s like a movie star, those fine chiseled cheekbones and that curly hair—don’t you just want to run your hands through it?”

Like an expert chef, CeeCee’s flinging the pastry all over the place, while her eyes don’t move from Damon.

“No, I don’t want to run my hands through his hair. I’m sure it’s all tangled. That only happens in books, Cee. Sounds like you’ve been reading one too many bodice rippers, if you ask me.” I was all talk. He truly did look sad, sitting there as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Get on over there, and make that boy smile. Go on, get.”

I’m one of those people who always feel guilty. If someone bangs into me, I apologize. If someone drives up the footpath and runs over my shoe, I say sorry I was in the way. And here I am, feeling guilty robbing this man of his customers, yet it’s going to cost me too, this whole competition. I sigh; I’m not made for war.

“Fine. I’ll go. And what should I say, do you think?”

A huge smile lights up CeeCee’s face, and I wonder if those two are in cahoots together. It sure wouldn’t surprise me. She pretends to be really interested in her pastry all of a sudden. “Take him a pecan pie. I’m going make another batch tomorrow, anyways.”

It’s all well and good joking about it, but what am I going to say to the man? I begin to wonder if it was the phone call that’s made him so morose.

While I’m wrapping the pie, CeeCee mutters to herself. I know she’s fixing to tell me something, so I take my time, and wait for her to mull it over.

“You know, this might sound crazy, but why don’t you two join forces?”

“Are you on about the matchmaking thing again?”

“No, no.” She shakes her head. “I mean, why not join forces with the Christmas rush? Instead of competing against each other — work together. You never know what might happen. You’ve been trying to find someone to help you cater for as long as I can remember. And lookie here, that fine thing might just be the man for the job.”

“And how’s that going to work? Have you been drinking the sherry when you’re baking those cakes?”

“Just a nip to fortify me,” she says, and laughs. “But I don’t see why you can’t work together. You know, you could run some cooking classes for him — there’s not much you don’t know about baking. He can supply you with those ingredients you ship in for your catering customers. He sells a whole lot of things you don’t, and vice versa. You can work together. You could expand catering to bigger customers in towns further out, if you had another pair of hands — hands like his.” She looks meaningfully at me.

“And when did this come to you? Don’t tell me you just thought about it.” My palms are sweaty, and I realize CeeCee might be right about venturing further out. If Damon can actually cook it might just be a possibility. On my own, I have no hope of catering for larger customers. And there aren’t too many folk interested in working for me, who can cook, and work under pressure, or who want to lose their weekends to do it, either. I’ve been hoping for some extra help, so I can take on more clients, but catering’s hard work. So far, all of the avenues I’ve tried to find staff have turned into a dead end.

CeeCee’s idea spins through my mind. If we worked together, I could surely double the catering side of things, and we’d use products we both sold. It could really work. I stop short; what am I thinking?

“You can thank me later,” CeeCee says. “Now get on over there and see what’s bothering him.”

I fossick through my handbag for my lip gloss, and slick it on.

“Well, I’ll be, make-up too?” CeeCee raises her eyebrows.

“A girl’s got pride, Cee. There’s no reason for me to go over there looking downright disheveled. It has nothing to do with him.”

“‘Course it don’t.” She hums the wedding march as I grab the pie and walk out of the door.

“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes heavenward.

“Cherry blossom?”

“Yeah?” I hold the door open.

“You forgetting your jacket again? Someone sure is distracted these days.”

I scoff, and walk back inside to the coat rack.

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