Christmas At The Gingerbread Café. Rebecca Raisin
on me I suddenly feel under the spotlight. I race back inside the shop, my hands shaking as if I’ve got the DTs.
“You gonna catch your death going outside like that!” CeeCee says. “Go warm up by the fire. Look at you, so white I’m gonna call you Casper.”
I’m so worked up, I haven’t realized I’m covered in snowflakes. My teeth chatter, as if they’re holding a one-way conversation. I rush towards the grate, my hands outstretched to the flames.
“So? What’d he say?” CeeCee frowns, and massages her temples.
I rub my hands together, and turn my back to the fire. “You’re not going to believe it. He’s going to start cooking classes!”
CeeCee’s face relaxes and she laughs. “That boy know he good-lookin’.”
“Do you think it’ll affect us?”
“Not likely, but who knows? I think we need to have some kinda sale up in here.”
We look towards the window and gaze across. His shop is filled with customers. “Would you look at that?” I point to a small itty-bitty woman. “Rosaleen’s over there, and in her church clothes.” I knew this would get to CeeCee.
“I don’t believe it. Church clothes on a Wednesday.”
Before I know it, CeeCee is out front. “Hey, Rosaleen, shouldn’t you be supporting members of your congregation?” she hollers over.
Rosaleen looks at us, her face pinched. “He is a part of our congregation. I already asked him.”
CeeCee shakes her head and tuts, before walking back inside. “Dressed up like that, trying to impress him, at her age, no less.” She harrumphs. “Right, sugar plum. What we gonna discount? Most o’ those folk so tight they squeak. If we offer cut-price goods, they’ll be back over here with their tail between their legs.”
“Good idea. I’ll get the blackboard, and we can write it up and face it directly towards his shop.”
We giggle like schoolgirls, and I smile. We’ll win, I know it. We have to. There aren’t enough customers in this town for both of us.
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.
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