Chocolate Dreams at the Gingerbread Cafe

by Rebecca Raisin

  “So,” I say, hoping to distract CeeCee from asking for more details about the phone call. “Who’s doing what here?” I gaze down at the huge bowl of eggs and wonder how long it’s going to take us to drain them all.

  “I’m not one to beg off, Lil, but I picture how those eggs came to be and I can’t imagine myself puckerin’ up to blow the contents out. You get my drift?”

  “Cee! Now I’m picturing the chicken laying the egg. That’s just plain gross!” I look at her, bemused, and slightly queasy at the thought.

  “Mind, I washed ’em good. You’ll be OK.” Her lips wobble and a second later she doubles over; her big-bellied southern haw rings out, making it damn near impossible not to join in.

  For the first time ever the Gingerbread Café is flourishing. We’ve had extra money to invest in more supplies and let our creativity loose. Our window display is a show-stopper, crafted to look like a magical forest. We have trees made with fluffy green cotton candy and dark chocolate trunks. We’ve set up a bed of burnished hay made from toffee-like spun sugar where our chocolate bunnies nest. And tiny yellow chicks, made from fondant icing, are ‘hatching’ out of white chocolate eggs. The intricate display has drawn in kids and adults alike, the heady smell of molten chocolate has worked wonders on passers-by, who can’t help but wander in and see what we’re up to.

  Semi-composed from the thought of tasting raw egg yolk, I glance back at Cee, who’s moved away and is slapping her hand on the bench every time laughter gets the better of her. “Is this going to continue?” I say, arching my eyebrows. “Every time I put my lips on an egg?” I’m supposed to poke a hole in each end of the egg and blow down so the liquid spills out. Now she’s got me picturing the origins of the egg, and it’s kind of disgusting. CeeCee certainly has a way of lightening my mood, and I chortle along with her.

  I scrutinize the egg up close and she shrieks; her brown skin is almost purple from laughter; she’s gasping for breath and gripping her belly. “OK…OK, I’m nearly done.” She glances back at the eggs, and manages to hold in her merriment as tears stream from her eyes. “Glory be, I’m too old for this.”

  “Oh, yeah? If you don’t stop I’m going to make you suck eggs.”

  “Suck eggs! You meant to be blowing!” This starts us off again. “It’s a wonder we get any work done with this kinda carry on!” CeeCee manages, before her guffaw carries to the street where a few people walking past stop to gawp at us, with quizzical expressions.

  We manage to control ourselves enough to set to work. CeeCee fills up a saucepan with warm water and adds a dash of vinegar and a hefty squirt of red food coloring, ready to dye the eggshells.

  I pierce the first egg and glance over at Cee. She sputters into her hand and walks away, her shoulders shaking. “I can’t watch. I just can’t!”

  By the time she wanders back I’ve done five eggs. “Only ninety-five to go.” I wipe my forehead in exaggeration.

  CeeCee takes the empty shells, and gently drops them in the pot of scarlet water. She stirs softly so they dye evenly before taking them out to dry in an empty egg carton.

  We work quietly, and my mind drifts back to Joel. He hasn’t been back to Ashford since we split; it seems odd he’d come back now. I wonder if he’s going to try and make trouble for me, but most of all I worry about what Damon will make of it. Joel can be pigheaded — if he sets his mind to something he usually figures a way to get it. I can’t help feeling anxious he’s back and clearly with some kind of agenda.

  I curse under my breath as I break an egg. My jittery hands are no match for the delicate shell, and I end up holding a yolky mess.

  “Don’t think that’s how you’re goin’ to get out of doing them, Lil,” CeeCee jokes.

  “Got to admit it’s much faster,” I reply as I use paper towels to wipe away the goo. A breeze wafts in, making the pages of our magazines flutter on the tables. The glorious floral-scented spring air pulls people from their homes like magic after winter finally packed up and left for another year. It won’t be long before we’re inundated with customers who want to idle away the morning soaking up the soft sun from the comfort of an outside table. Earlier this morning CeeCee made a batch of buttermilk pies, which bake nice and slow in the oven. The occasional burst of vanilla essence floats outside, tempting people to stop in and ask how long they’ll be.

  “Cherry blossom…” CeeCee’s voice is soft with concentration “…can you pass me the blue dye?”

  “Sure, give me a sec.” I stand over the bin and shake the rest of the gooey egg off my hands. “Blue, and what comes next?”

  “That little bottle of sunshine right there.” She points to the yellow dye, her face lit up.

  I break another egg and this time my curse rings out.

  “Glory be, sugar plum, you sure do got butterfingers today. You want me to have a go?”

  “No. It’s OK, I’ll go slower.” Damn Joel. I’m worried. I don’t want him to cast a pall of ugliness over my new life. And what else can he be here for, except to make trouble?

  “Mmm hmm,” she says distractedly as she spoons an egg out of the pot and rests it next to the others in the carton. She stares straight at me and says, “What’s botherin’ you? You suddenly got the clumsies. It ain’t like you to make mistakes no matter how finicky the job is.”

  Moving to the sink to wash my hands, I laugh her off. “It’s nothing, Cee.”

  CeeCee doesn’t pry into it again and I’m grateful my back is turned so she doesn’t try to stare me down. I confess all when she does that and she knows it. We don’t usually keep secrets from each other. But for now, it’s better if she doesn’t know Joel’s back. She’d probably drive out to Old Lou’s and holler at him something fierce. There’s no love lost between those two. CeeCee is protective of me, like a mother hen, and for that reason, I won’t tell her about Joel just yet.

  Chapter Two

  I head outside to update the chalk board and to clear the tables of empty coffee cups.

  Bending down, I write about the buttermilk pies, and the chocolate-dipped strawberries, we made earlier. I turn as someone lightly taps me on the shoulder. I hear a little giggle as I feel a tap on the other shoulder. I spin the other way and look into the deep azure eyes of Charlie. She giggles again, a high chipmunk-like sound.

  “Tricked you.”

  I take her into my arms. Her gorgeous blonde curls tickle my nose as I bury my face in her hair. “Charlie bear, you’re here!”

  “Yep, for a whole week! Daddy said we’re going to paint eggs and do lots of fun stuff…”

  “We sure are.” I glance across the way at Damon, who stands to watch she’s crossed the street safely. I wave at him and point to the café as I take Charlie’s hand and lead her inside. Damon’s daughter, Charlotte, or Charlie as we call her, first came to Ashford just after Christmas. I kept my distance so she could enjoy her time with her daddy but it didn’t take long for her to toddle over the road and ask for a gingerbread man. Soon enough she was helping cut out the figures and stayed most days to bake alongside us, before leaving to go back to her mom, and return to school in New Orleans.

  It was decided Charlie would spend the Easter break with us because her mom was taking a trip to Vegas, and it’s not the kind of place suitable for a seven-year-old.

  “You know what else we’re going to do?” I ask as I set her up on a stool by the bench.

  “What?”

  “We’re going to have a chocolate festival! The whole town is getting involved, even your daddy, so we might need someone to be our taste tester…”

  She squeals and claps her hands. “I can!”

  I look solemnly at her. “OK, you’re our quality control. And do you know what else? If you’re really lucky, you might meet the Easter bunny!”

  She slaps her hands on her cheeks and says, “The real Easter bunny?”

  “Of course!”

  CeeCee and I cackled like witches when we found an adult bunny-rabbit dress-up online,
and even more so when they only had one in stock in pink and…in Damon’s size. It was our finest moment, presenting him the suit complete with ginormous rosy rabbit head with flippy-floppy ears. So we might have sung a nursery rhyme or two to convince him it was for the children…when in actual fact it was for our amusement.

  “I can’t wait!”

  “And then on Sunday we have the town egg hunt. It’s going to be great fun. You’ll have a basket to hold all the lovely eggs the Easter bunny hid.”

  “We might need a map.” Her little mouth puckers.

  I grin and bend down to hug her small frame. “A map might be a good idea. Now let me fix you a snack. CeeCee’ll be back soon, and she was going to ask you to help her bake some hot-cross-bun cake pops, but it’s a very tricky job. I wasn’t sure if you were up to the task…”

  “I am! I am! I love cake pops. CeeCee said I’m the best helper she’s ever had.”

  “She’s right.” I pour Charlie a glass of milk. “Now, how about you go look in that fridge over there, and see what you want to eat?” Her eyes light up as she sees the variety of chocolate lining the shelves.

  “They’re all so pretty. Can I have the gingerbread-man one?” She points to an egg wrapped in the special foil. I kiss the top of her head before taking it out for her. “Good choice,” I say.

  ***

  Cee returns not long after and yelps when she sees Charlie helping me ice a chocolate crepe cake.

  “Oh, my sweet little angel! Come here and give me a great big hug!” Charlie slips off the stool and races into her arms. CeeCee adores the little girl and seems to have adopted her as another grandbaby.

  Once we’re all settled down, CeeCee tells Charlie what they need to make hot-cross-bun cake pops.

  “They gonna be a little taste explosion,” CeeCee tells her. “You pop the square of fruity cake in your mouth, and bam, it’s a mini hot-cross bun on a stick! With a nice coating of chocolate, mind.”

  “Just like a hot-cross bun?”

  “The very same with the white cross and everythin’.”

  Charlie looks serious as she helps CeeCee pull out the ingredients they’ll need.

  ***

  The Gingerbread Café resembles a chocolate shop by the time CeeCee and I finish the day’s work. Square ganache-filled truffles shine from their perch in the glass display fridge. We’ve made a range of flavors, from simple dark chocolate to the more time-consuming white chocolate with Earl-Grey-tea-infused ganache. For those, we candied the delicate tea leaves and used tweezers to prop them on top of the small squares of perfection. There are caramel pecan truffles with honeyed pecans on top, because we figured some people would appreciate some more extravagant flavors.

  We drag ourselves away from the fridge and tidy up as the soft sunlight begins to fade. The street empties as town folk make their way home at the end of the day. Charlie wandered off home with one of the older kids who live next door to us to watch movies but more likely take a nap after a busy day baking.

  “I’m going to go ahead and bring the tables inside,” I say to CeeCee. Outside the air has cooled, and I hug my cardigan tight. Flowers bloom from our pots, bright red roses so vivid I can’t help but stare at them, enjoying the way they sway slightly in the breeze, almost as if they’re waving. I fold a small wooden table, and go to lift it when Damon appears.

  “Let me take care of that,” he says, lifting it as if it weighs nothing.

  He hoists it over his shoulder and navigates the doorway, careful not to knock it into the newly painted walls. In his wake, his aftershave and the mix of scents that perpetually envelop him drifts to where I stand. The usual Damon smell of coffee beans, and something spicy with a hint of cinnamon; he’s downright edible, and it makes my pulse quicken.

  When he returns for another table, he glances at me and stops. “What is it?” Concern etches his face. “You look so pale, Lil.” He rubs his strong hands up and down my arms.

  “Just enjoying the view,” I say, giving him the once-over, but my voice sounds strange, even to me.

  He pulls me to him, and holds me tight. Resting my face against his chest, I hear the steady thrum of his heart. It’s comforting and in some cheesy way I imagine it beats just for me. I know I need to confide in him about Joel. Damon’s not one to tell me what to do, but I owe it to him to explain so he knows it’s about closure once and for all and nothing more.

  He clasps my face, rains kisses on my forehead, the tip of my nose, and then ever so softly on my lips. I close my eyes, and kiss him back, harder with more urgency. We pull apart and I gaze up at him; his eyes are lit with a question. He tilts his head, like a sign to start talking.

  “It’s Joel,” I say. “He’s back and he wants to see me. Says he’s got something to discuss.” Damon’s hands fall to the crook of my back, and I shuffle closer to him. Arching slightly to see each other, we rest thigh to thigh, hip to hip, connected.

  I continue: “I don’t want you to think it’s anything more than it is. I feel absolutely nothing for him except pity, if you can even call it that.”

  He searches my face before replying. “What do you think he feels for you, though, Lil?”

  “Whatever it is it’ll only be a passing thing. He’s at a stopgap right now, and that’s got something to do with it. But I won’t go if it makes you second-guess us.” I gesture to the small space between our hearts.

  Damon lets out a gruff sigh. “Nothing’ll make me second-guess us, Lil. If you feel you need to do this, you go on and do it. I trust you, Lil, I know you. And that’s all that matters to me. Plus we don’t call you feisty Lil for nothing. I know you can look after yourself.”

  I slap him playfully across the arm. “Who calls me feisty Lil?”

  He shrugs. “You know…everyone.”

  I grin up at him. “They do not!”

  “OK, they don’t.” His face softens with laughter.

  “Well, I’m glad you trust me, and I just know it’ll be easier to see him face to face and sort this out once and for all.”

  “If he hurts you in any way, you know I’ll kill him, right?” Damon says, his voice light, but I can still make out the serious undertone.

  “You’ll have to get in line behind Cee. Who I haven’t told, by the way,” I add quickly.

  He runs a hand through my hair, tucking it behind my ear. He’s so gentle in everything he does; I get to wondering how I’m so lucky. “You think that’s wise?” he asks. “I happen to know from experience it doesn’t take long for news to spread around town.”

  I blush, thinking back to Christmas Eve when Damon and I first kissed. No way we could keep it to ourselves when we embraced passionately in front of the town hall where almost all of the residents of Ashford stood, waiting for the carols to begin. I blame Damon for that public display of affection. He’s got a way of making me forget where I am and what the hell I’m doing.

  “Lil?”

  I blink away the memory of kissing him in the snow. “I’ll tell her tomorrow, when he’s gone. CeeCee’s liable to hunt out Curtis’s old shotgun if she knows he’s here.”

  “How’s her aim?” he jokes, embracing me once more.

  ***

  Back inside, I banish the thought of the impending visit with Joel as CeeCee and I do the usual clean-up. She stacks the magazines and resets the tables, and I give the kitchen a mop.

  “Sugar?”

  “Mmm?”

  “I had an idea ’bout the chocolate festival. We sure gonna be busy serving folks, and all we’ve got organized for the l’il ones is painting those eggs. Why don’t we do some more activities for them so their parents can enjoy the day while we occupy the kids in here? You know, maybe some face painting or some such…”

  “Great idea, Cee! We can do all sorts of things. I was going to make gingerbread Easter bunnies — they can decorate them with tubes of icing. And what about egg-and-spoon races? And egg rolling? This’ll be so much fun for Charlie!” I put the mop back in the buck
et and swish it around.

  “Right,” CeeCee says, blustering over with a bout of enthusiasm. “We better make a list. We’ve only got a few days to prepare.”

  “I’ll ask the Mary-Jos to bring their face-painting kits. They’re like children themselves — I know they’ll have a great time.” Nothing has changed with the three Mary-Jos, cousins, who look the same, talk the same, and hang around Damon’s shop, fluttering their eyelashes at him in the cutest case of puppy love going around. They’re sweet teenagers, just bored in Ashford.

  They delighted in making posters for the chocolate festival, I think mainly so they could drive to the bigger towns and gawk at the teenage boys as they handed them out.

  “Surely they’ll jump at the chance to do something other than look pretty,” CeeCee mutters. “Let’s start on those gingerbread bunnies.”

  Glancing at the clock, I see it’s almost six. I don’t want to get out to Old Lou’s too late and have Damon’s mind racing at where I am. My stomach flips having to lie again to CeeCee. “Let’s leave it for today. I’ll come in early tomorrow and make a start. How does that sound?”

  She yawns and pads over the wet floor, careful not to slip. “You right, I got all excited on account of those kids comin’ here. Let’s start tomorrow, and you see ’bout asking the Mary-Jos if they can drag themselves away from Damon’s stoop to help out on Saturday.”

  I nod and fumble with my apron strings.

  “We done?” She surveys the café; everything except the mop bucket is as it should be.

  “Looks like it. Head on home, and I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t forget your scarf.” This time of the evening there’s a chill in the air.

  “Shoot, then I got to cross over your nice clean floor again. No matter, I’ll get it tomorrow. You go see that fine-looking thing now, you hear? Don’t fuss around here no more.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I hug her tight and promise myself I’ll tell her all about Joel tomorrow.