Christmas Wedding at the Gingerbread Café (The Gingerbread Cafe - Book 3) (A Gingerbread Cafe story)

by Rebecca Raisin

  Missy says, “He can bake in there a little while longer.” She goes all misty-eyed. We don’t say a word, but I’m guessing we’re each thinking the very same thing: that Missy’s going to be a wonderful mother and sometimes the best things happen to those who deserve them most.

  Missy wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater and turns to me and says, “Don’t think we’ve forgotten, Lil. What made you skip across the way like you’re training for a bobsled team?”

  “If only I had a Spandex one-piece.” I muse. “Well, someone—” I put my hands on my hips and stare directly at Missy “—said I should try and wear make-up so I’d get used to it before the wedding. This someone also said it was colorstay! When it quite clearly wasn’t!”

  Missy leans her head against the sofa and giggles. “I gave you the wrong bag! Didn’t you think it was odd the lipsticks were way too bright for you?”

  I make my mouth a tight line.

  The girls laugh into their hands. “And let me guess, your poor old fiancé had it spread right across his handsome face too?”

  I cross my arms and nod, trying my best not to sputter with embarrassment.

  The girls burst out laughing, as I color the perfect shade of Pink Passion myself.

  CeeCee cocks her head and says, “I think we can imagine the rest o’ that scenario. Pray tell, how’d the two o’ you ride in the same truck to work and not notice each other’s faces?”

  I grimace. “We were so late…so we hurried to the truck and launched ourselves in cracking heads as we did. I drove with one eye closed, as pain kind of numbed one side of my face. Damon had one of those beanie things on with the side straps, and I just didn’t see. The windscreen demister didn’t work so Damon was frantically wiping at the screen… Golly, I need a new truck, and a new make-up expert…” I flash Missy a grin. “When I pulled into the street there were a bunch of ladies waiting on Damon’s stoop, so I slowed and he jumped out.”

  “It could’ve been worse,” Sarah says. “Could’ve happened when your future in-laws were here.”

  I gasp at the thought. “True. That would have been a nightmare! Speaking of which, they dropped in already.”

  Missy leans forward on her seat. “I thought they weren’t due for a week yet?”

  I throw my palms up. “They wanted to surprise us.”

  “Well, that’s the sweetest thing I’ve heard,” Missy says. “I bet they were excited to finally meet you.” She fluffs her curls, and gives me a huge smile. Missy’s one of those people that sees the good in everyone, and everything, so telling her I’m slightly uneasy about a few things Olivia said will only make her want to fix it.

  “It was certainly interesting,” I say.

  Sarah cocks her head. “Interesting, Lil? That’s like saying someone’s shoes look comfortable when what you really mean is ugly. What happened?”

  In deference to Damon, I don’t feel right telling them what Olivia said. “Oh, you know, it was just so unexpected. And late, and I wasn’t prepared. George, Damon’s dad, fell asleep, and Olivia…I think she was probably jet-lagged herself. They’re coming here for dinner tonight, they can meet my parents, and—”

  “Lil,” Sarah says gently, “you’re wringing your hands so hard they’re going to fall off.”

  I unclasp them and smile. “Weddings, huh? At Christmas. Do you think it’s selfish having it at this time of year?”

  “Why do you say that?” Sarah probes, a frown appearing between her smoky kohl-rimmed eyes. “You love Christmas. And it’s your anniversary, after all.”

  “It’s just I guess it didn’t occur to me that our guests might have preferred to spend Christmas Eve with their families rather than attend our wedding. I mean, I know you girls wouldn’t think that, but are other people thinking that?”

  Sarah scoffs. “That’s crazy, Lil. It’s one more reason to celebrate.” Sarah’s an introvert among us more feisty personalities — she’s the kind of girl you can tell your secrets to and know she’s like a vault. A quirky, whimsical soul who I count as one of my closest friends after CeeCee.

  I play with the handle of my mug. “I hope so.”

  “Put it out of your mind,” Missy says. “There’s no place we’d rather be than watching you two lovebirds get married. And I’m sure everyone agrees.”

  “Stop fussing, Lil,” CeeCee says.

  “Well, OK.” Their coffee cups are empty. I stand and pick them up. “How about some hot chocolate?”

  “I was wondering how long we’d have to wait,” Sarah jokes. I’ve never seen a girl so addicted to chocolate as she is. And she’s as skinny as a beanpole, the lucky thing. “I should’ve known you had a hankering.” I smile and head to the stove.

  I take a small pot down and pour in some milk. While that begins to boil, I break off chunks of dark chocolate and stir them in. It’s like a big warm hug, the smell of the molten chocolate melting as it combines with the creamy milk. Once it’s mixed through I pour it into four glass mugs and throw some marshmallows on top.

  “Let me help.” Sarah dashes over and takes two of the mugs, sipping hers as she goes. “Lil, gosh, that’s good.”

  I laugh my thanks. We’re quiet for a moment as we savor the rich taste, bitter and sweet at the same time from the quality of the dark chocolate, sweetened by the gooey marshmallows.

  Missy rubs her hands together. “How’s about we do that make-up trial soon? Now Olivia’s here we can invite her too.”

  “Hmm,” I say. “Let’s just keep it us girls for now.”

  Missy raises an eyebrow. “OK. You just say when and we’ll make a night of it, just us. I’m about to get a lot more time on my hands.”

  “With a baby comin’?” CeeCee says in mock consternation.

  Missy hoots with laughter. “No, I mean, with the salon. My new girl, Becca, starts today, so I’m going to hand things over to her and go rest my swollen…everything.”

  “I can’t believe it,” I say. “It’s going to be so weird not having you just a few steps away.”

  Missy’s eyes shine with tears. “Oh, golly, here I go again.” She plucks a tissue from the box. “You know, I can’t wait until this urge to cry over every itty-bitty thing goes away.”

  “Hush now,” CeeCee says. “Missy, you know where we are. It ain’t like we’re going anywhere. You still gonna visit us every day. I know I ain’t going to be able to function without some cuddles from that little bundle o’ joy you about to bring into the world.”

  Missy gives us a warm smile. “Thanks, Cee. I’m really looking forward to the whole motherhood thing. I’m scared, and excited and nervous. But mostly just plain grateful. There’s times though when I worry about the salon. You know? That’s been my baby for as long as I can remember.”

  “It’s going to be in good hands,” Sarah says and looks to me and CeeCee. “I met Becca yesterday. She’s going to fit right in here. With one look at grumpy ol’ Marjorie she had her figured out. They were firm friends by the time she left. She’s going to treat that salon like it’s her own.”

  Marjorie is Ashford’s answer to the Grinch. She despises Christmas. Hates any form of celebration. Calls us all materialistic and brain-washed by consumerism. She sure is hard to fathom when you first meet her. “Geez, Missy, if she can handle Marjorie she can handle anyone!” I say. I go to the display fridge and take out some dark chocolate fruit mince truffles, and a handful of Missy’s favorite, gingerbread and white chocolate.

  Sarah gives me a thumbs up while Missy takes a deep breath and continues: “I know. I should be thanking my lucky stars I even managed to find a hairdresser that’d come live in Ashford. For a while there I thought I might have to close up for the duration. And Becca is sweet as sugar. I don’t know why I feel as though I’m never gonna see anyone again. Anyway, listen to me! We’re supposed to be organizing your wedding!”

  “Missy,” I say, “you’re bound to feel that way. Your life is about to change for the better. And like Cee says, we mi
ght even see more of you now that you’re a free woman. Have baby will travel.”

  More composed, Missy nods. “You’re right. I’ll probably have my own sofa here at the café, with my own fluffy blanket. Cee can use that baby carrier thingy-majiggy and wander around with him tied to her chest, singing lullabies, while I catch up on my beauty sleep.”

  “That sounds mighty fine to me,” CeeCee says. “Ain’t nothing like rocking a baby to sleep, especially at Christmas. I’m gonna teach him a bunch of carols before he’s even old enough to smile.”

  CeeCee is always babysitting for locals. She’s affectionately known as a baby whisperer. Exhausted mothers often stop by the café and beg CeeCee to tell help get their infants to sleep. She laughs her southern haw, and takes the squawking bundle into her arms. We order the exhausted women to rest up, they’ll amble to the recliner with a steaming cup of hot chocolate in hand. Drink it quickly and doze, safe in the knowledge Cee’ll have their babies snoozing in no time.

  I hope CeeCee will have the chance to hold a child of mine. And that she’ll be around when they are old enough to bake alongside her. I don’t think there’s anything nicer than picturing that day. Almost as if I can see a little blond-haired girl standing on a step so she can reach the bench, listening patiently to Cee as she shows her how to mold fondant, or roll out pastry.

  “I saw your mamma the other day,” Sarah says, pulling me from my daydream. “That holiday definitely agreed with her. She’s looking as happy as I’ve ever seen her.”

  She’s been flitting around town since she came home, showing anyone who’ll look her holiday photo album. “Did you see the pictures?”

  “We all saw the pictures!” Missy says.

  I shake my head, laughing, grateful she didn’t invite everyone to the family slide-show night. Mamma learned the art of taking a ‘selfie’, which was adorable for the first few hundred shots. “You know she’s gone and invited my cousin Jeremiah to the wedding?” The girls attended my first wedding, and know all about the disaster that is my cousin.

  They dissolve into laughter again.

  “You girls finished?” I arch my brow, and try to keep the smile from my voice.

  Missy gushes, “Oh, he’s just misunderstood! His hair grew back grey, after all…”

  I gasp. “Mamma told you too?”

  She shakes her head no. “Rosaleen. And…it seems, well, I don’t know how to put it—”

  “No! Please don’t tell me Mamma invited Rosaleen?”

  Missy pulls a face and says, “She’s very excited. And so are her daughters…”

  CeeCee clears her throat. “While we’re at it…the three Mary-Jos were asking about bringin’ their boyfriends.” She shakes her head, as she’s always ruffled by the outrageously flirty teenagers. “Seem too young for boyfriends if y’all ask me.”

  I curse under my breath. Mamma’s gone and invited people left, right and center, without checking with me. With the extras that Olivia wants to invite, our intimate affair is going to be a circus. At this rate Guillaume is going to throw his tea towel down and cancel.

  “Shoot. With that news, I better get to makin’ more gingerbread wedding favors,” CeeCee says, and lifts her bulk out of the chair. She turns back and says to Sarah, “Is that man-mountain o’ yours gonna be here for the wedding?”

  Sarah and I look at each other and laugh. Seems CeeCee is all set with giving our significant others a nickname, and sticking with it.

  “He sure is,” Sarah says. “Actually…he’s not planning on going anywhere after that.”

  “What?” I ask. “He’s moving here for good?”

  She nods, her smile lighting up her doll-like features. “Yep. We figured it was about time. I mean, Ridge’s practically living here anyway. But he’s selling his apartment in New York, and moving in with me.”

  We screech our support and take turns hugging Sarah. She met Ridge a few months back after he came to do a story on a chocolate festival the town of Ashford hosted at Easter time. It didn’t take long for love to blossom with the pair of them, and before we knew it Ridge was here almost every weekend after quitting his job at The New York Herald newspaper and doing freelance work instead.

  Sarah says, “It’s the weirdest feeling making room on my bookshelves for him. Is that odd? I mean, aren’t I supposed to move half the clothes in the closet, or free up some room in the bathroom cabinet?”

  “I think it’s completely normal,” I say. “I’m sure there are plenty of people who are quite fussy about who they share their shelves with.”

  After another fit of laughter, Sarah stands and shrugs her coat on.

  CeeCee groans and says, “Let’s make more o’ those gingerbread wedding favors then, Lil.”

  “Be sure and send any mistakes my way. I’m craving gingerbread men so bad I’m worried I’m going to have a gingerbread baby,” Missy says. Sarah clasps Missy’s hands, pulling her bulk out of the sofa. “Let’s go, gingerbread mom. I’ve got a customer, by the looks.”

  We hug our goodbyes and promise to catch up again later.

  A few hours later I’m busy clearing tables when CeeCee wanders from the office, holding a piece of paper. “Lil, these orders have just come in on that gizmo.” I suppress a smile at her reference to our antiquated fax machine. “We better get a move on — the mayor’s gone ahead and ordered a bunch o’ cakes for his staff Christmas party.” Her finger works its way down the list as she mumbles, “Black forest meringue, yule log, boozy fruitcake, chocolate-fudge cheesecake, and—” she chuckles “—lemonade pie. I knew he loved that pie. He done ordered it every week since I baked it for him a few months back.”

  CeeCee’s famous for her southern pies. She makes them from scratch and when they sit cooling on the bench, their scent wafting down the street, you can almost count the seconds until we’re inundated with customers. I’ve watched CeeCee make a million pies, followed her recipes to a T, mixed the ingredients with love in my mind, but they never taste as good. I don’t know what her secret is, but they put the comfort into comfort food, all right.

  “So.” Cee puts the list on the bench. “Where should we start?”

  I run through the order and say, “With the boozy fruitcakes. They’ll take the longest to bake.”

  “You soaked the fruit already?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I soaked a batch yesterday, good and proper with lashings of brandy, and some sugar syrup. I thought we’d make mini fruitcakes for the café, but we’ll do that later now, and use this for the mayor’s order instead.”

  “OK.”

  I wander to the stereo and press play. The café fills with the sound of Christmas carols. It’s dark out despite it being the middle of the day. Outside people hurry from one shop to another searching for Christmas gifts, or buying groceries for their festivities. Snow rests on the dark wooden window panes almost like a framing for the cheery shoppers as they dash about on the cold day.

  “I thought we could make some of those gingerbread in a jar gifts, too, Cee.”

  Last year we filled a bunch of mason jars with the dry ingredients for gingerbread men, and printed out the tiny recipes cards to go with it. We attached them with red and green festive ribbons, and a gingerbread man cookie cutter. They were fun and easy Christmas gifts, and all people had to do was add the wet ingredients and bake.

  “Easily done, Lil,” she chortles. “Ain’t like we short of supplies for gingerbread.” She bends down and unearths a box from under the bench and rifles through it. “We’ve got a bunch of cookie cutters here, and most o’ them are Christmas themed. We sure can make those gingerbread jars again. Kids loved buying those last year for their folks.”

  I lean over and look into the box of still-wrapped cookie cutters. “Let’s get this order done, and then we can make some, and put them in the window.”

  We pull out silver bowls, and I take the fruit mix from the fridge. The pungent smell of alcohol hits me as soon as I peel back the plastic wrap.

&nbs
p; “Glory be, how much brandy did you put in there?” CeeCee hollers. She makes a huge show of covering her face with her hands.

  “Enough.” I smirk. “And a splash of rum for good measure.” While CeeCee finds the remainder of ingredients the recipe calls for, I grease square loaf pans with butter, then turn on the mixer and beat sugar and butter, slowly adding the eggs, once again being drawn into the world inside the arms of the beater, hypnotized by the transformation and the way certain ingredients combine.

  CeeCee whisks the flour and spices that she’ll add to my bowl so we have one huge batch to add the alcohol-infused fruit to.

  “The fruit is ripe with brandy, Cee.” I lift a fat cherry aloft; it’s plump from absorbing the alcohol. It seems festive — the red and green cherries and golden raisins shine out from the bowl. CeeCee nods and smiles at the small gem-like cherry in my fingers.

  “Let’s ice them white and mold some holly and ruby-red berries out of fondant.” I throw the cherry back in the bowl.

  “They’ll look mighty Christmassy, Lil,” she says, stirring while she gazes dreamily over my shoulder to the busy street outside.

  We work in silence, humming along to Silent Night as the singer croons softly out of the speakers above us. There’s something so healing about baking. I know CeeCee feels it too. Life just seems to make sense when you can plunge your hands into a bowl of brandied fruit, and chat away to your best friend about the most trivial things.

  Once we’ve put the loaf pans in the oven, I scour the mayor’s order to work out what’s next.

  The doorbell jingles, and in walks Damon’s dad, George. He’s dressed impeccably in a suit and wears a tie. “Good morning, ladies.”

  He’s so much like Damon in the way he walks, and the tone of his voice. “You’re a little early for dinner,” I say, smiling.

  He takes off his leather gloves and leans against the bench. “I’m blaming you. Since I came in here the other night I’ve had a hankering for gingerbread. I figured while Olivia was otherwise occupied I may as well satisfy my craving.”