Christmas At The Café. Rebecca Raisin

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СКАЧАТЬ a veritable money spinner of late. I got to remembering how this café came about. Do you remember, Lil?”

      My throat tightens, and I blink back tears. There’s no way I’m giving him the pleasure of seeing me cry. “What are you saying, Joel?” It’s all I can do not to hiss the words.

      “I set you up, Lil. I paid for all of this…stuff.” He turns, his arms outstretched. “As I recall I loaned you twenty grand to get this place started. That oven is mine, that fridge; hmm, I think I paid for that dishwasher too.”

      “You lost everything we had, Joel. Everything. I managed to hang onto the café by sheer hard work. I don’t owe you a cent.” I hear the tremor in my voice and hate myself for it. It’s true Joel gave me the money to set up the kitchen in the café, but I didn’t consider it a loan, since I supported him financially most of my adult life before moving on to start the Gingerbread Café.

      He sneers, and I resist the urge to slap the look from his face. “It was just bad timing, Lil. The whole global financial crisis thing. We both lost things we loved. But the money I loaned you wasn’t mine — it was…family money, you could say.”

      “You’ve got to be kidding me, Joel. This is low even for you.” I shake my head, wondering how a man I once loved could be as cold and as calculating as this. Family money. I want to rage at him. Before he died, Harry, Joel’s father, was a loan shark, who cost a lot of people their homes with his exorbitant rates. I should have known better that any money from him would come with strings attached.

      “But I need to make a fresh start. And far as I see, this is the only way I can do it. You’ve got a Guthrie now…very clever, Lil. You won’t want for anything again, will you?” I scowl at him for all I’m worth.

      Damon’s family is from old money. The Guthries made their fortune from transport: they owned a fleet of cargo ships and train lines back in their heyday, but have since sold their empire, and now live off the profits. Some place more hoity-toity than Ashford, but they’re good people, and are well respected in this town on the rare occasions they visit. Damon works off his own bat, doesn’t take handouts from them. He’s got his pride, unlike Joel here.

      “I would never borrow a dime off Damon or his family! Now, get out! You’ll get nothing from me.” Fury makes my hands shake and my voice rise an octave.

      “Maybe it’s time to sell this place, then?” He walks to the back door then stops and turns, pulling an envelope from his back pocket. “Here, some light reading for you. I’ve already been to a lawyer, and, as you’ll see, you owe me. Twenty large, Lil. Plus interest. It’s been three years you’ve sat on my money.” He throws the envelope on the bench and slams the door behind him.

      I listen to the low rumble of the car as it leaves the car park before I let the tears flow. Sitting at a table, I cradle my head in my hands and blubber until I can’t see straight. I’ve never been a pretty crier, and this time isn’t any different. Loud choking sobs make me hiccough, and sputter, but I let it all out. Even just the threat of having to sell the Gingerbread Café is enough to make me dizzy with worry. He couldn’t have picked a worse time to drop this on me; there’s still so much to organize for the festival, and now this will hang over me like a black cloud.

      Regret sits heavy in my heart about keeping Joel’s visit from CeeCee. She’ll be fit to kill when she knows I met him without telling her. And Damon? What will he think about the mess I’m in? I sit there for an age, thinking of all the things I should have said.

      The moon shines bright in the dark night. I walk to the window and stare up at it. I think of telling CeeCee and know her retort would be, “There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell you losing the Gingerbread Café, not on account of that damn fool, anyways.”

       Chapter Four

      My old truck whines as I pull into the driveway; another thing I was all set on replacing this year, but I guess that may not happen now. I jump down from the cab, and head up the porch. Light from inside peeks out through the thick lace curtains. I take a deep breath and brace myself to tell Damon.

      Inside, I throw my bag and keys on the buffet, and head towards the kitchen.

      Damon’s there, his back towards me, a tea towel slung over his shoulder as he stirs something that smells tangy, in a pot.

      “Hey,” I say, edging towards him.

      He turns to me as he pulls the tea towel from his shoulder and tosses it on the bench. His smile disappears when he glances at my face, which is probably puffy and ruddy, and all sorts of ugly.

      “Hey, you.” He takes me in his arms, and I want to kick myself when the tears start again. This time they fall silently without the great big chest heaves. He doesn’t ask anything, just holds me tight. I close my eyes, and thank God I have a man who loves me right.

      I tilt my head and show him my face. “Lil.” He wipes my tears away, and leans down to kiss me softly on the lips.

      He exhales slowly and squeezes me tight once more, before stepping back, and pouring a glass of red wine. “You need to unwind. Take this—” he hands me the glass “— and go soak in the tub. It’s all ready for you. How about I finish up in here, and come talk to you while you relax?”

      I take a sip of wine, and feel myself go heavy with relief. “Sounds great.” I kiss his cheek. “Where’s Charlie bear?”

      “She’s asleep. She spent the rest of the afternoon up in the treehouse with the kids next door.” His face softens, and I know he’s thinking of the lifestyle here for his little girl. He wants her to be able to roam free and explore safely, the way kids in small towns can. A place where they make their own fun, like we did at their age, before computers and technology took over.

      “She must be exhausted. Did she have some dinner?”

      “Home-made fish fingers.” He grins as he sees my eyes light up. “And I made some for us too.”

      “You’re never too old for fish fingers. What’s in the pot?” I motion to the burgundy syrup he’s stirring.

      “Plum sauce — thought I’d try the recipe out before the festival. It’s to go with the deep-fried Camembert dish.”

      “My mouth’s watering. I hope you’re making some Camembert to go with my fish fingers…”

      “Surely am. Taste this first.” He holds the spoon to my lips; the sauce is sweet, and tart at the same time.

      “It’s good,” I say.

      He drops the spoon in the pot, and kisses the taste from my mouth.

      His voice is husky. “You better get in the bath before you drive me to distraction.”

      Heat flushes my face as I shuffle to the bathroom, listening to the sound of Charlie’s soft snores as I walk past her bedroom.

      Moments later, he’s there, perched on the white-tiled ledge of the bath watching me submerge myself under the soft water. I push my wet hair back, take a deep breath and tell him all about Joel, and what he wants.

      He leans his head against the wall, and СКАЧАТЬ