Christmas At The Café

Chapter Three

The next morning, I get to the shop earlier than usual. I’m planning on baking some gingersnap-pear cheesecakes, after a friend of CeeCee’s dropped us in a pile of fresh pears. The scent of the ripe fruit hits me as soon as I open the back door, aromatic and sweeter than any perfume.

Thinking I may as well open the shop since I’m here anyway, I catch sight of Damon. His door is open and there’s a flood of customers on his stoop. I peer over, and, lo and behold, he’s got a chalkboard facing my way.

It reads: Why did the turkey cross the road? Because the other side is better!

Of all the dirty tricks. I edge away from the window, and try to calm myself. We sold nearly half our turkeys yesterday, but at half price, so there’ll be almost no profit, but at least I won’t be stuck with them. I thought surely that’d be the end of it, and he’d learn his lesson. I guess not.

I set to work peeling pears and try to think up a new strategy. It’s finicky work, but cooking always calms me. That’s probably why I run a business that makes next to no money.

An hour later, the fruit’s peeled and sliced. I finely grate fresh ginger and mix it through the sliced pears, setting it aside so the flavors combine. I smirk when I realize I have the perfect payback for Mr Smarty Pants across the way.

“Where you at?” CeeCee waddles in from out back.

“Where am I? Cee, it isn’t exactly big in here, you know.”

“Now don’t you be backchatting me. You won’t believe what I just heard.” She plonks her bag on a table, and unwinds her scarf, getting tangled on account of the fact she’s wearing her mittens. She’s out of breath and in a tizzy.

“What?”

“He’s starting those cooking classes, and tonight he’s making gingersnap-pear cheesecake!”

I gasp.

“That ain’t all. They get to take whatever they bake home with them.”

“How did he know we’re baking that today?”

“He must have seen Billy come in with all those pears, or else someone told him.”

“Who did we tell we planned on gingersnap-pear cheesecake?”

“We only told Reverend Joe, and Billy’s mamma.”

Yesterday we had a multitude of customers that came in to shoot the breeze. Anyone could have heard. We’re going to have to watch everything we say in future.

CeeCee narrows her eyes. “I bet it was Billy’s mamma. And she’ll probably start taking their pears over to him.”

“Is there any point even making it now?” Eyeing the amount of fruit I’ve spent so much time preparing, I sigh. “Be a shame to waste it.”

CeeCee surveys the work I’ve done. “I have a hankering for it after all that talk yesterday. We make it, and then if they don’t sell we halve the price by lunchtime. Maybe no one’s booked in to his classes—you ever think of that?”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s not like most of them don’t know how to make cheesecake, anyway. Did you see his sign?”

CeeCee shuffles over to the window, muttering and cursing, though she doesn’t hold with cursing, usually. “I don’t believe it. He’s trying to start a war with us! What we gonna do?”

I turn on the CD player and the gospel choir begin with Silent Night. The lights in the window flash green, red, and a luminescent white. The angel atop the tree seems to smile benevolently down on me. Steeling myself, I say, “We’re going to appeal to their Christmas spirit.”

CeeCee looks at me as if I’ve lost my marbles. “Here you go.” I reach under the counter and produce a Santa hat and a bell I found in our box of old decorations.

“And what you expect me to do with this?” She widens her eyes, and jingles the bell.

“You, Mrs Claus, are going to drum up business by walking the length of the street, handing out candy canes, and some kind of coupon. Buy one, get one free. Or Buy one, pay it forward, and they can donate a free item to the church. What do you think?”

A grin replaces her consternation. “I didn’t think you had it in you. How’s about I walk on his side of the street?”

I know we should be feeling worried on account of giving so much away, but we’re like schoolkids, and I’m having more fun than I care to admit. “Sounds like you know what you’re doing, Mrs Claus.”

CeeCee laughs, her big-bellied southern haw, and goes to our Santa display. “I’m just gonna borrow the fat man’s jacket here for a minute—lucky we the same size.” She wraps the dusty red jacket around herself and giggles, and tries to fit the hat over her thick black curls. “You gonna owe me a hair set, sugar plum. This hat sure gonna flatten my wave.”

“Sure, I’ll organize Missy to fix your hair up pretty for Christmas.” I laugh.

“I look a sight!” she says, grinning at her reflection in the window. “Right, go print me some coupons, and I’ll set to work.”

Leaving Mrs Claus out front, I rush back to my shoebox-size office and hastily type some coupons. Everyone in town loves a bargain, and if they are seen doing something for the church, even better.

Let’s see him try and outmaneuver me on this. I have the added bonus of being a local born and bred, and our town is more reserved with new folk.

With a sly grin on my face, I jog back out to the front, yelling, “That fool won’t know what hit him,” only to run straight into the damn fool.

“Who are you talking about?” Damon asks, rubbing his chin where my head has just connected.

“Ouch! Who creeps up like that? If you want me to feel the earth move, that isn’t the way to go about it,” I say, sure I’m going to be sporting a big lump on my head any minute now.

“Which fool are you talking about?”

I make a show of wincing, while I try and think of an answer. CeeCee’s no help, standing there as a half-dressed Santa, her lips quivering as she tries to hold in laughter. I know she’s going to lose it, and then the whole sorry story will come tumbling out of her mouth.

“Excuse me, mister, who said you could come in here and spy on us?”

His forehead creases, and that same sexy smile creeps back on his face. “Who said I was spying?”

“That smile might work on other girls, but it sure doesn’t work on me. I said you’re spying. Now get on out of here. Shoo.” I wave my hand towards the door.

“Shoo? Not until you tell me who the fool is.”

“You’re as dumb as a bucket of rocks if you think I’m telling you anything.”

“I see.” He scratches his chin, which has a red mark from our collision. “I think you’re cooking up another plan to steal my customers.”

“Of all the…I think you’re forgetting who was here first. You’re stealing my customers—let’s be clear on that.” I try hard not to poke my tongue out at him. He brings out the worst in me, this newcomer. He’s wearing those same tight jeans, and under his open jacket he’s wearing another of those checker shirts, but has yet another button undone. I can see right down to his belly button and I happen to notice he’s got quite the six-pack going on. The girls round here are going to swoon over him.

He edges backwards, his brown eyes sparkling with mirth. “Well, my family has lived here since before there was electricity, don’t you know? And wouldn’t the town folk love to know you’re not giving me the same warm welcome that they are?”

CeeCee bustles over. “Oh, yeah? And who’s your family, then? Ain’t no one mentioned your people to me.”

“My people, as you say, are the Guthries, born and bred right here in Ashford for as long as anyone can remember.”

CeeCee and I inhale sharply. The Guthries are the oldest and richest family in our town. So rich, they don’t live here any more. They follow the sun and never struggle through a winter unless they’re skiing. They owned a fleet of cargo ships, and train lines, and had their fingers in all sorts of pies when it came to transport. A few years back they sold their businesses, raking in a fortune. They still own by and large a heap of properties around town, and are well-respected, church-going folk. Not that we ever see them in Ashford, any more.

It’s all I can do not to cry. There’s no way I can beat him if he’s backed by that kind of money.

“Why you even bothering to work, then?” CeeCee asks. “We know most o’ the Guthries don’t do much ‘cept sit on their porches and get fat off good ‘ol American food, since they got no need for employment. They’ve got people to do their bidding.”

“They’re my family, but I make my own way.” He crosses his arms and puffs out his chest like a prize cock. His jaw juts out, making me think there’s more to the story than he’s letting on.

“You the rotten apple?” CeeCee asks, tilting her head. I hope to God he is, then my shop might just have a chance.

“I don’t like handouts, that’s all.”

CeeCee makes a show of clearing her throat. “Good to hear. Now we got cakes to make, but I guess you know all about that.”

He ducks his head. “Well, all right. I was just coming to invite you over to my cooking class tonight. Free of charge.”

My fighting spirit returns, and I paste on a smile. “Thanks all the same, but we’ve got so many orders to assemble. Yesterday was one of our busiest days ever, you see.”

“I see. Not much money in half-price poultry, is there?”

“Well, you know how it is,” I say. “We’re full of Christmas cheer this time of year.” CeeCee rings the bell maniacally. I nod to her, grinning. “And we like to look after folk around here.”

“I’ll say.” He uncrosses his arms and leans over to me and whispers, “Bet my cheesecake is better than yours.”

I reel, as if poked. “We’ll see about that.”

He walks away, cool as a cucumber, and tips a finger to his head as though he’s wearing a hat. We watch him cross the street; he jogs, and jumps when he reaches the pavement. I can honestly say I’ve never seen a man’s butt look so good in jeans before. They’re so tight, every muscle is evident as his body pushes against the faded denim. It’s like watching magic happen. I take a deep appreciative breath in.

“He sure ain’t ugly, is he?” CeeCee says wistfully.

“No, ma’am.”

He turns abruptly and catches us staring, jaws agape. I promptly close my mouth and busy myself at the counter.

“Well, I’ll be,” CeeCee says, shaking herself back to the present. “How did we not know he’s a Guthrie?”

“I don’t know. What do you think? That they’ll bail him out as long as it takes to close us down?”

CeeCee drags her gaze from the window. “Sugar plum, I don’t rightly know. He doesn’t seem like that, though. He seems sweet as cherry pie.”

“Here we go. You’re getting all misty-eyed.”

CeeCee glances at me, and I can tell she’s debating whether to say what’s on her mind.

“Just say it, Cee. What are you cooking in that mind of yours?”

“Hmm. I just got a feeling.”

I groan. CeeCee thinks she’s got second sight, sometimes. Second sight, only when it comes to me and whichever man she’s trying to set me up with.

She shakes her head, and says, “I know, I know, but this time it’s different. There’s somethin’ special about him. I saw the way he looked at you. Like electricity or somethin’. I could see sparks flying between you. It was like lightning. Like—”

“Like a thunderstorm,” I interrupt. “Like a great big brooding cloud of despair. That’s what you saw.”

“Mark my words. He’s different. He gonna pull you outta this funk.”

Ignoring CeeCee, I walk to the bench. The pears have infused with the ginger. I toy with the ingredients for the cheesecake, fidgety all of a sudden.

“You think so too?” she asks hopefully.

“I think you’re crazy, Cee. And Joel, what about Joel?” I’m hoping if I say it like a prayer, he’ll come back. Joel would see straight through Damon’s ploys. Yeah, so Damon may be flirting with me, but that’s so I loosen up and let him ruin my business. Joel would know what to do about this situation. My heart lurches at the thought of spending Christmas Day alone. No Joel to open presents with. No Joel full stop. In fact, no family here at all this year.

My folks discovered cruising when they retired and are sailing around New Zealand, of all places. Damned if I know where they heard about it. My siblings got out of our small town as quick as they could after school was done. My brother lives in New York City, and leads some glamorous life, full of socialites, and parties. He’s so far gone in that world, he doesn’t make time for family any more. My parents pretend that they’re happy for him, but it breaks my heart their own son doesn’t visit. And my sister, Betty, has gone on to Michigan with her husband and had about a hundred babies.

“You thinking of Joel, again?” CeeCee demands. “Girl, when you gonna stop mooning over him? He just don’t deserve that kinda attention. He up and divorced you, Lil…” Her voice softens. “I think it’s time you realized that’s about as finished as a marriage gets.”

I didn’t even see it coming. Thought it was a phase — maybe some married men get itchy feet. As devastating as it was, I’d give him another chance, once he knew the grass wasn’t greener elsewhere. But instead, he served me divorce papers. Something I never wanted to see. My heart broke into about a million pieces that day.

I think back to our marriage, and the promises we made. When he stared into my eyes, and recited wedding vows, I believed him. When I said, ‘Till death do us part’ I truly meant it. How can one person have that kind of hold of your heart, and not feel the same any more? Marriage should be for ever — at least, that’s what I was raised to believe. When you stumble, you work through it, together. But Joel, he’s not on the same page as me, not yet.

CeeCee breaks my train of thought. “You OK, Lil? You look like you seen a ghost.”

Pensive, I try and shake the memories away. “You’re right, Cee. No time for mooning over what I can’t change.” I force a bright look on my face, and remember the challenge at hand. “So, you still going to be Mrs Claus, or what?”

CeeCee picks up a basket and stuffs it full of candy canes. “Surely am. Gimme those coupons, and let me go drum up some sales.”

Chapter Four

That afternoon we’re rushed off our feet. The folk in town are vying to pay it forward to the church so the reverend will look kindly upon them. They’ve got good hearts, and I hope, what with all the discounts, I’m still making some money. Everyone who comes in appreciates the gospel Christmas music. CeeCee hams it up in her soprano voice, and pitches and warbles to the customers, who join merrily in.

We sell our last Lane cake; the white iced fruit cakes are a Christmas tradition in Alabama, where CeeCee is from. She’s got most of the town folk hooked on her southern food. Most of our gingersnap-pear cheesecakes are snapped up too. Dusting my hands on my apron as the final customer carries his box of goods out, I raise my eyebrows at CeeCee. She’s gulping down iced-tea as if she’s been stuck in the desert.

“I sure didn’t expect such a flurry all at once.”

She puts her empty glass down, and says, “I don’t think I ever been that parched. Glory be, that was busier than I ever seen it before.”

Glancing over the street, I see Damon. He’s on his haunches scrawling something on his chalkboard. Guilt gnaws at me, as I see his shop is empty, and has been each time I had a minute to look his way. He’s spent the morning sitting on a stool by the window reading the paper, or talking on his cell.

“What’s he doin’?” CeeCee wonders.

“Probably advertising his cooking classes. They just aren’t going to work. Folk ‘round here can cook, anyway.”

CeeCee grunts. “Yeah, but that’s what folks said about you opening a shop to sell home-made food. They all said who was gonna buy from you when they been taught how to bake since they was knee-high to a grasshopper? But they did, they surely did. Maybe he ain’t cooking home-made food. Maybe he’s fixing to teach them something fancy. You see all those grown-up kids coming back from whatever big city they livin’ in. They don’t want their mamma’s traditional meals — they want all that fancy stuff, like sushi or some such.”

“But he’s making our cheesecake. While it’s mighty tasty, it isn’t exactly fancy.”

“Probably just to get them in. Show them he’s one of us. Then he’ll start on with all that seaweed, and raw fish.” She screws up her face. “It’s just disgusting.”

Damon stands up, and dusts his hands on the seat of his jeans. He looks over his shoulder at us, and waves. He has big hands Big, but graceful, as I imagine a piano player would have.

I’m lost for a moment thinking of whether his hands would be soft or rough and calloused from cooking, when CeeCee yelps. “Free! He’s doing it free!”

I look at the blackboard.

“FREE cooking class. Baked food, made with LOVE. Take home what you make.”

Damon does a mock salute and strolls back inside his shop.

“Pray tell, what’s all that made with love about?” CeeCee asks, her forehead furrowing.

“You still think he’s special now?”

“He’s just playing a game with you.” She takes off her Santa jacket and hat, both damp from the weather. Her hair lies flat on the top of her head; she runs a hand through it, musing. “Come by the fire.” CeeCee says as I throw another log on, and watch it slowly take. We sit on the small sofa that faces the street.

CeeCee continues, “You like a daughter to me, you know that. So I’m going to speak to you like your mamma would. Look at that man.” She points to Damon standing at the window, hands crossed over his chest, facing towards us.

“What?”

“I can tell a person’s heart by their smile. And his smile goes all the way up to his eyes. Joel’s smile stopped right under his nose. You see what I’m saying?”

“You’re saying Joel looked down his nose at people?”

“Damn straight, I am.”

I laugh at CeeCee’s sincerity. She’s trying to hypnotize me into agreeing with her. I shake my head. “Well, if he’s giving out free classes, I might just stay open all night, and sell whatever I have left. I’ll start a batch of butterscotch pies, and hope no one knows it’s me who baked them.”

CeeCee taps her nose with her finger, implying a secret. “They’ll know it were you. But you go right on ahead. I’m just gonna sit here awhile and warm my old bones up.”

“You do that. I might as well tell everyone our new closing time.”

CeeCee’s cackle follows me out of the door as I go to write on the chalkboard.

The wind has picked up. I shrug into my jacket, and fumble for the chalk in my pocket.

“You can’t let up, can you?” I spin to look up at Damon, a mite scary, leaning over me while I’m squatting at the board.

“Not all of us have family money to fall back on, you know.”

“That right?”

“Sure is.”

“You don’t hardly know a thing about me.”

“I can say the same for you.” I stand and gaze into his eyes. I try to look fierce, but it reminds me of staring competitions we had back in high school. We stared at each other until someone blinked, and they lost the game. I purse my lips, trying to keep my laughter in check but it barrels out of me, in a very unladylike way.

His eyes crinkle. “This funny to you?”

“A little. It’s just, it reminded me…”

Damon’s phone rings, a loud, startling tone. He checks the screen, and rushes off, head hunched as he answers it.

“Well, I’ll be. Can’t miss a phone call. Typical city slicker,” I grumble.

By the time I finish the sign, complete with whorls of tinsel colored in chalk, CeeCee has cleaned the kitchen from the day’s labors and has started making pastry. “So much for warming those old bones. You don’t trust me to make the pies, I see.”

“Sugar plum, you got enough going on, lest someone say, your pies ain’t made with love.”

I sidle up and hug her. I’d be lost without CeeCee in my life. “You’re tired. We can leave the pies until tomorrow.”

“It’s OK, sugar. I’d rather be here with you than at home on my lonesome.”

“You’re too good to me.” With CeeCee being so sweet, and me being reminded of all the things we’ve both lost, I well up again. I turn away from her and try and dry my eyes with the back of my hand but she knows me better than that.

“Don’t you go getting all sentimental on me.” I lose it completely when I see tears pool in her eyes. Again, I curse myself for being such a dramatic crier. I’m so sensitive sometimes it kills me.

CeeCee and her husband, Curtis, moved from Alabama to Ashford when their kids were just babies. Curtis worked on the railroads for most of his life, and that’s how they wound up here. He spent his time to-ing and fro-ing on the train lines, with Ashford as their base. Train lines that the Guthries used to own. They swapped one small town for another. And then their kids, all grown up, moved out of town, like so many, gone to find better jobs in big cities. CeeCee lost Curtis to cancer, one winter, not three years back. When I think of her all alone in that old house of hers, I crumble.

“I know what you’re thinking, but I’m fine, truly I am. I’ve got my church, and my friends. The kids are coming up for Christmas Day, and I’ll see my grandbabies. That’s all I want. I’m happy on my own. What about you? You wanna come over and spend the day with us? You know you part of the family.”

I wipe my eyes, and take a deep breath. “Aw, no. I don’t want to intrude, and I know what you’re going to say, so don’t bother. You cuddle those grandbabies of yours. I’m going to sloth on the couch all day, and watch a bunch of soppy Christmas movies. I won’t even get out of my PJs. It’ll be nice not to have to get up and rush in here.”

CeeCee clucks her tongue. “What about dinner? You can at least come over and let me feed you.”

“We’ll see.” As much as I love CeeCee, I don’t want her thinking she has to entertain me. She’ll have her own kids there, and her grandbabies who she loves more than anything. A day by myself doesn’t sound so awful. I plan on crying along to cheesy flicks on TV and eating ice cream straight from the tub.

“Would you look at that?” CeeCee says, pointing to across the road.

Damon’s back on the stool by the shop window looking dejected. He’s bent over, cradling his head in his hands.

“That poor man,” CeeCee says. “Breaks your heart just looking at him.”

I bite my lip, and ponder. Is he just playing a game here, or what?