Christmas Wishes Part 3

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.”

Charlie nods sagely. “I do miss her, but I miss you and Daddy when I’m gone too.”

“We do too, but that only makes it so much more fun when you come back.”

“I love CeeCee too. My mommy says she sounds like a funny lady.”

We giggle. “See? Sounds like your mom is happy that you’re having fun while you’re here.”

“OK.” Charlie puts her teddy bear under her arm. “Will you do special voices when you get to the part about the wolf?” She points to the book.

I relax against the bedhead. “I sure can.”

Chapter Five

Birds chirp from the tree outside my window, making me bolt out of bed. Shoot! Sunlight streams in; I’ve overslept. Damon’s side of the bed is empty, and I take a second to wonder why. It’s not like him to leave without waking me; most mornings we sit together over a cup of coffee that’s so strong it makes my eyes boing open. For a moment I wonder if he’s rethinking our relationship because of Joel’s sudden presence, then dismiss the ridiculous thought.

I curse as I pull clothes from the cupboard. My mind races with all the things we need to do for the chocolate festival, and the activities for the kids on Saturday. I also want to buy a few things for Charlie’s room, cute little girly things: pink sheets, a lamp, maybe some Barbie dolls.

I throw on a loose tee shirt, and pull up some jeans. CeeCee will be wondering where I am; I promised to get in early to make the gingerbread rabbits. In the bathroom I assess my reflection in the mirror: a mite pale, but a lot better than I looked last night. The thought of Joel’s letter sitting in my bag galvanizes me. I have to make an appointment with Mr Jefferson, a semi-retired lawyer, and the only one in Ashford to boot, for some legal advice.

A quick splash of cold water on my face is all I have time for. Make-up isn’t my thing anyway. Ripping open the letter from Joel, I read a whole bunch of legal gobbledegook. My shoulders slump. I’m not sure if it’s because this lawyer’s on Joel’s side, but it sounds as though I will have to pay. He must have planned it so he’d always have a way to get the money back.

***

CeeCee’s hollering away at someone as I walk through the back door of the Gingerbread Café. She’s slamming her hands on the bench and looks all ruffled.

I rush over. “Cee, are you OK? What is it?”

She puts a hand on her heart. “There you is. Glory be, I been so worried! I had to go on over to Damon and make sure you were OK. Rosaleen told me Joel was here last night!”

I look sharply at Rosaleen, who averts her eyes on account of getting caught gossiping. “You don’t miss a trick, do you?” I say to her, fighting the edge in my voice. I have no idea how she manages to discover every tidbit in this town, but she does, and then she spreads the gossip like a game of Chinese whispers.

“I better go.” She picks up a bag of cookies. “I hope everything works out and that…well, you know…” Her voice trails off as she nods to CeeCee and scurries away quick as a mouse. We watch her scrawny frame retreat before turning to each other.

“I nearly done had a heart attack when I heard that snake was here when you all alone! What’d he want? I couldn’t get a word outta Damon, his mouth shut so tight I worry it’d been superglued!” She’s so riled up she speaks in exclamation marks.

I take the envelope from my bag. “Let’s sit on the sofa.” I trudge to it, knowing CeeCee’s going to be worried. “He called yesterday, said he wanted to meet. Cut a long story short, he wants the money back I used to set up the café.”

“He what? That man as crooked as a dog’s hind leg! But he owes you a whole lot more than that! He lost your house and everythin’.” Sweat breaks out above her lip; she picks up a magazine and uses it like a fan.

“I know.” I pat her knee. “Don’t worry, please, Cee. I’m going to see about an appointment with Mr Jefferson, and figure out what to do.” I try my hardest to sound bright, as if I’m not concerned, and hope it fools her.

“I got a bad feeling about this, Lil. He ain’t gonna let up so easy, lawyer or no.”

“It’s fine, Cee. We’ll keep going like we always do. I’ll work out something. You want a gingerbread coffee?”

Her eyes are glassy and I realize she’s about to cry. “Cee, it’s OK. Really, don’t cry.”

“It just ain’t right. You worked your butt off to make this place into a business.”

“We’ve both worked our butts off. Don’t you worry. I’m not going to give in without a fight.” I kiss her soft, plump cheek. “Put your feet up for a bit. I’ll bring you a coffee and a piece of pie.”

“OK, just for a minute, then.” She keeps up a one-way conversation, muttering to herself, and shaking her fists.

***

Once the shock wears off, CeeCee’s back to her bustling, busy self. I try and put Joel out of my mind as we get to work. It’s hard, though, when I picture his sneering face, and think of how cunning he is.

We line the wicker baskets by the front door with greaseproof paper, and fill them with freshly baked hot-cross buns. Within minutes we have customers three deep as the smell travels out to the street.

“I knew that was a good idea!” CeeCee says, pointing to the baskets. “It’s like bees to a honeypot.” And I have to agree. The café is more appealing with all the touches we’ve added recently. Damon built a bookshelf on the wall closest to the fireplace. We filled it with cookbooks, and paperbacks, and hunted out gingerbread coloring-in books for kids.

CeeCee found the wicker baskets at a church fête, and we used all our knowledge of DIY to mount them on the wall. We must have looked a sight that day, two women with nails hanging out of our mouths, drills in hand, as we tried to attach them to the wall. So they hang a little crookedly, but with the amount of nails we used they certainly won’t fall down. Over the Christmas break we painted the walls a dark chocolate color and hung gingerbread-man bunting and fairy lights along the edge of the cornice. It’s chintzy and sweet, and I’m proud of what we’ve accomplished.

The customers trickle away once the hot-cross buns are sold so we stop to catch our breath and plan the rest of the day. I make a quick call to Mr Jefferson, who tells me to fax over the letter from Joel’s lawyer and that he’ll call me as soon as he’s done some investigating into it.

Joining CeeCee on the old sofa by the bookshelves, I take a minute to watch the world go by outside the Gingerbread Café. I could easily grab a book off the shelf and while the day away reading, and gawping out of the window after each chapter.

“I faxed the documents to Mr Jefferson,” I say idly, noticing Damon’s shop is filled with customers. He sells a range of small goods, and does cooking classes once a week, which all manner of local women get themselves glammed up for. Seems once Damon moved to town girls from eighteen to eighty suddenly forgot how to cook.

I watch him wander around the shop, speaking to customers, and get the same tingly feeling I always do when I lay eyes on him. Even when he wears those ridiculous checker shirts he loves so much. They are growing on me, I guess, especially when he leaves one too many buttons open, exposing his chest. I blink the sleepy desire away, and try and look at though I’m not lost in some kind of fantasy world.

CeeCee sighs loudly. “I feel better knowing that he’s gonna help. He’ll see you right. Guess there’s no chance Joel will just up and disappear, is there?”

“You never can tell,” I say, wishing it were true.

CeeCee uncrosses her arms. “If I sit here any longer I’ll fall asleep. Let’s bake something new.”

I stretch, yawning. “Like what?”

“Let’s make some dark chocolate crème brulées. Then that’s one less thing to do for the festival.”

“That’s if we don’t eat them all,” I say, following her back to the kitchen. I can almost taste the rich creamy dessert with its caramelized sugar topping, just by picturing it.

***

With the crème brulées made, and only two or three missing, as temptation got the better of us, we spend the rest of the morning serving customers and planning our range. Trying to organize what can be made ahead, and what needs to be done as late as possible.

CeeCee’s busy concocting a huge slab of macadamia and white chocolate fudge — I can’t even look at it after the amount we’ve eaten today.

A lanky man strolls through the doors, looking almost as if he’s lost something. He takes in the walls, the ceiling, as if he’s a repairman.

“Can I help you?” I ask. He’s not from around here — that much I know.

He strides to the counter. “Name’s Dennis. I heard this place was for sale. Joel told me to come and meet with you — he was a bit sketchy on the details…”

Anger clouds my mind, and I can’t help but glare at the damn fool in front of me, whether he’s innocent or not. What in the hell kind of game is Joel playing sending someone out like some kind of tire-kicker to look over the place?

“This place most certainly is not for sale!” I yell, indignant.

His eyes widen. “But Joel said…”

CeeCee storms over. “You go back and tell that nasty piece of work this kinda carry-on ain’t gonna wash with us! Go on, get.” She shoos him away. He takes one look at her and spins on his heel.

She turns to me. “This ain’t gonna stop, Lil, till he gets his way.”

“I’ll call Mr Jefferson back. But I’m not going to let him bully me into paying, Cee. I’m just not.”

We’re distracted as Charlie runs through the door out of breath. “Daddy said you were making Easter eggs today!” I glance at CeeCee, who in a tacit wave of her hand knows instinctively not to discuss what just happened in front of Charlie. We lock eyes for a moment longer; I can tell CeeCee’s still reeling from Joel’s latest attempt to intimidate me. I mouth the words, “It’s fine.”

CeeCee purses her lips, and pulls the little girl into her arms. “Wanna help us make some eggs?”

Her cornflower-blue eyes widen in excitement. “Yes please! Daddy bought me an apron and everything.” She opens up her pink backpack and pulls out a brown apron.

“Would you look at that?” Cee says. “It’s got gingerbread men all over it. Your daddy sure knows how to buy gifts all right.” We giggle, thinking of the shrilling turkey and the manic bunny. CeeCee helps Charlie fix the strings of the apron, and sets her up on a stool.

“So, Lil’s gonna temper the chocolate,” CeeCee says, “which is a fancy way of saying she’s going to melt it. Now give me a minute here to read this recipe.” She plonks her glasses on the bridge of her nose, while she reads. “Oh, this is gonna be fun! Says here, we can pipe in white chocolate first to make little patterns in the molds, like dots or squiggles, then, once that sets, we coat with the dark chocolate. They gonna look pretty as a picture.”

I heft up a big bag of dark chocolate buttons, and cut it open. The rich scent of cacao hits me, and it takes all my might not to grab a handful and start eating, no matter that my overfull belly screams in protest.

“Lil needs to set up a saucepan with an inch or two of water and wait for it to simmer. Then she gonna fill a big metal bowl with the dark chocolate buttons atop, so it acts like a bain-marie.”

Charlie crinkles her nose. “What’s that?”

“Kinda like a bath with a bowl on top.” Charlie looks a mite confused at Cee’s description, but shrugs her shoulders and watches our every move. Following CeeCee’s instructions, we wait for the water to heat.

“Ready?” I say to them as I add the chocolate buttons to the bowl.

Charlie ogles it as if it’s something magical. “I’ve never seen so much chocolate,” she whispers, awestruck.

CeeCee cackles. “That bag almost as big as you!”

I stir the molten chocolate, making sure to hold the bowl so it doesn’t drop into the water underneath.

“That smells like heaven itself,” CeeCee says. “I’m gonna melt a tiny bit of white chocolate so we can pipe it into the molds. You can decorate the eggs however you want, Charlie.”

She drags her gaze from the gooey pot of chocolate and claps her hands. “Really? I’m going to do love hearts!”

“Sounds perfect.” I smile.

We work quickly. I check the temperature — it’s almost at the right heat. CeeCee’s done in no time and sets up the piping bags and molds on the bench. She wipes the oval-shaped molds out with a paper towel, which will help make the chocolate eggs glossy when they’re set.

With oven mitts on, I take the bowl of lusciously liquefied chocolate off the saucepan and put it between us on the bench. CeeCee’s used piping bags to swirl thin strands of white chocolate in the molds, which have set. Charlie tries her best to make hearts but they look more like scribbles. She sticks her tongue between her lips as she concentrates.

“You’re doing a great job, sugar.”

She beams. “Now what?”

CeeCee says, “OK, we give it a minute to set, then we lightly brush in the dark chocolate, a real thin layer, and when that’s dry we fill the molds up with chocolate and tap so there ain’t no air bubbles.”

Charlie takes a brush and watches us before attempting her own eggs.

“Real thin, mind.” CeeCee stands behind her and holds the mold so she can brush the first layer over the hearts. “Now you ready for the fun part?”

Charlie puts the brush to her mouth and paints her lips with it. “I can’t help it!” she says when she notices us staring at her mouth, which is coated brown as if she’s wearing lipstick. CeeCee hoots. “You keep that brush just for your eggs now.”

We spoon in the chocolate to completely fill the molds and then tap the sides.

“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.