No, I don’t know her at all.
He half laughs when I don’t say a word and says as if by explanation, “Loves being involved.” He shrugs, and gives me an apologetic look.
Maybe she’s simply window shopping? Surely she wouldn’t go ahead and buy something without checking with us first. “I hope she doesn’t go to too much trouble,” I say, with an edge of concern in my voice.
“She loves that kind of thing, Lil. Once you get to know her you’ll see. She might seem…overbearing at times, but it’s more that she wants to be useful, rather than outright in charge.” He manages to blush, as though speaking this way of his wife is out of order. “But, it’s your wedding, Lil. And if by chance Olivia does tug the reins a little too hard, I hope you feel comfortable having a private word with me.”
It’s easy to see where Damon gets his personality from. George is friendly and warm, and him offering to step in is a comfort. He obviously knows his wife well. “Thanks, George. Maybe tonight once we get into the finer details of the wedding, Olivia will feel more involved.”
“I’d say so,” he says amiably. “Until then, I might pay a visit to Damon. Thanks for these.” He holds up a truffle. “I’ll see you tonight, ladies.”
A few hours later we’ve done the bulk of the mayor’s order, and decide to finish it off later. We’ve tidied up and are ready to move on to the next thing on our list. The most exciting thing we’ve ever baked, too.
“Nothing for it, let’s make that wedding cake o’yours.”
I let out a squeal. We’ve spent the last two months searching for the perfect cake design. We settled on a three-tier cake, elegant and striking. We had folders full of design ideas, and it was so hard to narrow it down. After all, we’re known for our cakes, and it has to be perfect.
“I’ll start on the sponges, Lil, if you want to mix the different flavored ganaches.”
I take the hand drawn design from the folder, and flip through the pieces of paper for the recipe we settled on. Reading through, I wonder if it’ll be as delicious as we imagine. “Hazelnut ganache for the top layer, dark chocolate and orange for the second, and vanilla bean for the third. What do you think? That’ll cater for all tastes?”
“Surely will. Ain’t no one gonna see a cake as pretty as this, neither.”
We set to work, excited to finally start the design we’ve been dreaming about for months. CeeCee’s mouth is a tight line, and I can’t stop my fluttery hands. She’s concentrating hard, yet I can’t seem to focus. I keep going back to the drawing, if we pull this cake off it’s going to be the most elegant piece of artwork we’ve ever baked. And all for my wedding day. Just the thought is enough to send my heart racing. I picture Damon standing behind me as we cut the cake in front of our friends and family, and I’m giddy with love.
“It’s spectacular!” The wedding cake sits safely in the display fridge, after we took out three lots of shelves to fit it inside.
“I ain’t never seen a cake like it.”
The first tier is round, full of snowflakes like a snow dome, which spill down the silver cake, settling at the base. It’s like a silvery snowstorm come to life. With steady hands, we studded edible diamonds around each tier, and with a sprinkle of glitter it glimmers like an invitation to another world. Each layer has different flavored sponges, with mouth-poppingly luscious ganaches spread thickly through.
“I’m going to take the truffles out of that fridge, Lil. So we’re not opening and closing the fridge all the time.”
“It’s not like it’ll melt though, Cee.” I laugh.
“I know, but the less we disturb it, the better. I don’t want those snowflakes falling off. I ain’t too keen on making those ever again. My eyesight ain’t what it used to be, you know.”
“OK, Cee. That was some finicky work, all right.” Of course we chose to make snowflakes from palm size, right down to the size of a penny. As they became smaller we needed so many more to decorate the tier. After a while though your fingers freeze up on account of having to keep your hands stiff for so long.
“Saying that, though, I don’t reckon I’ve ever liked creating something as much as I have this. And that’s saying somethin’.”
I amble behind CeeCee and rest my chin on her shoulder. “You think we should make wedding cakes now?”
“As long as I don’t have to cut out itty-bitty snowflakes all day, I think I’d like that. Can you imagine what we’d come up with?”
I imagine the café stacked with cakes for weddings, birthdays, family celebrations. And it could be yet another financial back-up for us if the catering side of things falters. “I think we should give it a try.” If I got to spend a day lovingly making someone else’s dream wedding cake, it’d be a damn fine day to me.
At the end of a long day, I sit by the display window and watch the last of the late evening shoppers exit from the shops across the road so the owners can close up. It’s dark out, and CeeCee’s gone home, insisting dinner tonight is only for family.
With the café all toasty warm, and Jingle Bells playing merrily in the background, I get my second wind, and continue on with the mayor’s order. We’ve only got the yule log and CeeCee’s lemonade pie left to make and then we can deliver it early tomorrow.
Yule log is one of my favorite Christmas recipes. Making the cake resemble a log, with all the grooves and gouges, dusted white with snow, is a Christmas tradition in our family. My grandma used to make it every year when I was little. I loved watching her roll the sponge, and cover it with thick butter-cream icing, before running a fork down the length for her grooves. In that soft way of hers she’d share stories about her childhood, while I listened, rapt, occasionally dipping a finger into the chocolate icing.
When I make yule log, I’m transported back to her orderly kitchen, and it warms my heart as though we’re still connected. If you share that kind of love, it can always be brought back to life when you bake. It’s almost as if she’s standing right behind me, smiling.
Glancing at the time, I realize everyone will arrive for dinner soon. Instead of making the base of the yule log, I take some gum paste from the fridge. I set to work, massaging it, to make it pliable to make acorns. They dry rock hard, and aren’t the nicest to eat, but they finish off the woodsy look.
“Hey.” Damon sidles up behind me and kisses the back of my neck, sending goose bumps down my body.
“Hey…” I say, turning to his soft smile.
“It’s freezing in here.” In my trip down memory lane, I hadn’t noticed the fire is down to embers. I set the acorn leaves aside.
“Take a break. Put your feet up.” He leads me to the sofa, and starts fussing with the fire to spark it up before joining me.
He surveys me. “Lil, you look a little…peaked. Are you OK?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
