nuance of him, the way he walks, the sound of his voice, right down to the little muscle that runs up his forearm.
He smiles his big old warm smile that makes me melt like marshmallow in a fire.
“Red wine, OK?” I nod and take the proffered glass. I take a huge swig before catching myself. Delicacy isn’t my thing.
He embraces me, and nuzzles into my neck. The heat from the fire and his breath on my skin is almost enough to make me swoon. “You taste like icing sugar,” he says.
“I try my best.”
“So,” he says, “aren’t they great?” Before I can respond he continues speaking in a rush. “Dad loved your window display, and Cee’s eggnog. He’s looking forward to meeting your parents, and having dinner. And Mother said she’s all set to help out with the smaller details of the wedding, which will free you up for the café.”
“I’m not so—”
“She sang your praises the whole drive out to Abe’s place. And don’t worry, I’ll do dinner the day after tomorrow. I know you’ve got a few orders due. It’ll be nice to cook for my parents. You forget how much they mean to you sometimes. Seeing them again has made me realize how important family is. And it’ll be great for Charlie to spend some time with them too, when she gets here.”
“Y-yes, it’ll be great for Charlie…” I manage to stammer, my heart sinking while Damon looks as bright as I’ve ever seen him.
When I wake this next morning, I’m alone. I touch Damon’s half of the bed; the sheets are cold. Rolling out of bed, I find my robe and wrap it around me. The house is warm; he’s stoked up the fire before he left.
Walking through the small hallway to the kitchen the air is rich with the scent of roasted coffee beans. I must have slept through his fancy coffee machine as it gargled its way into life this morning. It usually vibrates, and churns so forcefully, it’s almost as if the ground is shifting.
There’s a note by the kettle, where Damon knows I go each morning to make my much easier instant coffee.
Lil,
I left to have breakfast with my parents, I didn’t want to wake you, you were completely zonked.
Damon. xxx
I laugh in spite of myself. Zonked is a nice way of saying my mouth was probably hanging open, my hair a tangled mess. But I wonder why he didn’t wake me regardless. Maybe he wanted time alone with his parents? Half relieved, I dress quickly and head out front.
The truck takes for ever to start. I sit there with my breath fogging up the windscreen; eventually it sputters to life, and I reverse slowly on the icy driveway.
The main street is dark as I chug along, and head around the back of the café to park. A strip of light peeps out under the back door of the café. CeeCee. I hurry inside.
“There you are, sugar plum.” She pours a cup of thick golden syrup into a bowl, and mixes it through the other ingredients.
“Gingerbread?” I ask.
“Gingerbread cakes,” she replies. “With lemon sugar icing, and candied fruit.”
“Let me help.” I wash my hands and don my apron. CeeCee’s laid the bench with the ingredients to make candied fruit, so I begin by chopping cherries in half and taking the pith out.
“I take it you didn’t sleep on it like I told you?” She sizes me up over the rim of her glasses.
I continue with the cherries, trying to be delicate so I don’t squash their flesh. “I slept fine.”
She harrumphs. “Glory be, those bags under your eyes are so big I could carry my shopping home in ’em!”
I give her a rueful smile. “That so? I guess Olivia gave me a lot to think about, that’s all.”
She clucks her tongue. “Like what?”
“Like what if Damon’s only staying here because of me?”
“Child! O’ course he is! That man loves you! But he was set on staying here from the moment he opened that shop door. Don’t you go obsessing over every little thing ’cause you getting the fever…” She purses her lips.
“What fever?”
“Mmm hmm, you getting the wedding fever. Don’t think I don’t know!” She waggles her finger at me.
Taking a pot from the hook above the stove, I mix sugar, honey and water and bring it to the boil. “What the heck is wedding fever supposed to mean?”
“You getting the jitters.” She puts her big brown palm up. “Don’t you start backchatting me neither. I know what you gonna say, so don’t. You need to take some deep breaths and trust in the love you have for each other. Weddings…they send everyone a little cuckoo.”
I laugh, picturing myself mopping my brow struck by some so-called wedding fever. “You’re right, Cee. It’s just…she made these off-the-cuff comments like Damon hates small towns, and stuff that’s the complete opposite to what he said to me, you know, so one of us is wrong about Damon…”
“Who’s been with Damon almost every day for the last year?”
“Me.”
“Then you ain’t the one who’s wrong.”
I shrug. “Maybe.” I take an orange from the bowl, and peel it; the citrus scent is almost like a tincture.
“Hurry along with that fruit now. I’m going to bake these gingerbread cakes, and you still need to boil that batch in sugar syrup before we can dry it out in the oven.”
I cut the orange peel into small slivers, and add it to the pot, along with some lemon rind, and some pineapple skin. Once the batch is boiled, absorbing the sweetness of the sugar syrup, we’ll dry the slivers in the oven. Then we’ll dust them with sugar crystals to sit atop the gingerbread cakes, a little shimmery goodness that’ll make them sparkle under the fridge lights.
The gingerbread cakes cool on the bench; the scent of spicy ginger makes my mouth water. We’ve moved on to making cake pops. They’ve proved to be popular among the locals, adults and children alike. CeeCee’s all set on decorating the chocolate pops with red sanding sugar and tiny snowflakes she’s made from white chocolate. There’s nothing sweeter than spending an age trying to get the cake pops to look uniform, and then customers pop the dainty mouthful in and, just like that, they’re gone. The perfect bite-sized treat.
“So have you got your Christmas shopping sorted, Lil?”
I
