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Christmas At The Gingerbread Café
Rebecca Raisin
‘Christmas at the Gingerbread Café is a lovely, cheery festive read, a good old-fashioned feel-good romance’ – Books with BunnyThe icing on her Christmas cake!Christmas is the season the Gingerbread Café in Ashford, Connecticut was made for…but owner Lily couldn’t be feeling less merry if she tried. She’s spent another year dreaming of being whisked away on a sleigh-ride for two, but she’s facing festive season alone – again. And, just to give her another reason to feel anything other than candy-cane perky, a new shop across the road has opened… Not only is it selling baked goods, but the owner, with his seriously charming smile, has every girl in town swooning.But Lily isn’t about to let her business crumble — the Gingerbread Café is the heart of the community, and she’s going to fight for it! This could be the Christmas that maybe, just maybe, all her dreams – even the someone-to-decorate-the-Christmas-tree-with ones – really do come true!Finalist for the RWA Ella Award 2014Don't miss any books in The Gingerbread Café series:Book 1 – Christmas at the Gingerbread CaféBook 2 – Chocolate Dreams at the Gingerbread CaféBook 3 – Christmas Wedding at the Gingerbread CaféThe Bookshop on the CornerSecrets at Maple Syrup FarmCheck out Rebecca Raisin’s newest series: The Little Paris CollectionBook 1 – The Little Bookshop on the SeineBook 2 – The Little Antique Shop Under the Eiffel TowerBook 3 – The Little Perfume Shop Off the Champs-ElyséesPraise for Rebecca Raisin‘If you are looking for a Christmassy romance then don’t look any further.’ – Bookbabblers‘Raisin not only excels in creating a festive mood … but also portrays a lovely winter wonderland setting, where things are covered in snow’ – Sam Still Reading‘This is a short and incredibly sweet novella that explores a very endearing and unexpected romance. It is definitely one that will make you laugh and warm your heart’ – Louisa’s Reviews‘If you love Christmas, romance and HEA then you will love this sweet novella.’ – Clue Review
The icing on her Christmas cake!
Christmas is the season the Gingerbread Café was made for…but owner Lily couldn’t be feeling less merry if she tried. She’s spent another year dreaming of being whisked away on a sleigh-ride for two, but she’s facing festive season alone – again. And, just to give her another reason to feel anything other than candy-cane perky, a new shop across the road has opened… Not only is it selling baked goods, but the owner, with his seriously charming smile, has every girl in town swooning.
But Lily isn’t about to let her business crumble — the Gingerbread Café is the heart of the community, and she’s going to fight for it! This could be the Christmas that maybe, just maybe, all her dreams – even the someone-to-decorate-the-Christmas-tree-with ones – really do come true!
Christmas at the Gingerbread Café
Rebecca Raisin
Copyright (#ulink_49899b35-49cb-53f3-81ad-5ab023150b7d)
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2013
Copyright © Rebecca Raisin 2013
Rebecca Raisin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © June 2013 ISBN: 9781472073785
Version date: 2018-06-20
REBECCA RAISIN is a true bibliophile. This love of books morphed into the desire to write them. She’s been widely published in various short-story anthologies, and in fiction magazines, and is now focusing on writing romance. The only downfall about writing about gorgeous men who have brains as well as brawn is falling in love with them — just as well they’re fictional. Rebecca aims to write characters you can see yourself being friends with. People with big hearts who care about relationships, and, most importantly, believe in true, once-in-a-lifetime love.
Thank you seems too simple a sentiment for the amount of support and encouragement that I’ve received from my writer friends. They are an inspiration to me, and my first port of call to celebrate or commiserate, and I feel blessed to have them in my life. I read their work, and am in awe of their talent.
Thank you Lisa Swallow, for everything. None of this would have happened without you. There’s nothing better than knowing you’re an email away to laugh, shout, or discuss hot guys with – purely for research! You’re the best. And your success spurs me on.
Julie Davies, I feel like I’ve known you forever. But maybe that’s the sign of an extraordinary writer. Feeling as though you’re connected because their words have touched you.
Thank you to the Carina UK team. Victoria, you’ve been amazing, and I felt immediately like we were on the same wavelength. I look forward to working with you on the next book!
EWG- The Word Cult; Laura, Jake, Lisa, Alyssa and Deb, I love you guys.
To Clare and Liz from Dymocks Ellenbrook – You are the sweetest girls, ever.
Ashley, thanks for coming home and not mentioning it when the house looks like it’s been burgled, and you have to make dinner because writing has taken precedence.
And Mum, you’re the best proof-reader I know, and very cheap (free) you drop everything and set to work. I love you. Rachel, all I have to do is ask, until our pesky twin ESP kicks in, and you’re there, thank you.
My extended family: Aunty Norma, Uncle Alex & Toni, Aunty Jen, Uncle Ronald, Jason & Liesel, Emma, Marg & Kim, Lisa Raisin, Tracy, Cathy, Sam, Tone, Joss, Jules, Jo bear, and Roz ( I’m claiming you) – thanks for all your Facebook messages, and ‘likes’ and ‘shares’ and your constant support. Pretty lucky to have my own cheer squad.
Lastly, William and Jaxson – You’re the reason I’m following my dreams. You guys have taught me so much about life, and love, and what truly counts. I love you, my precious (zombie) boys.
For Julie Davies
Contents
Cover (#ucefcf0f8-c1b2-5cfe-86f8-25e3d8e01e5c)
Blurb (#u55755bf8-05e3-56b7-92b1-3088af4dd48e)
Title Page (#ud09b9472-9a25-5f5f-8347-c982acbbb989)
Copyright (#u8481ffae-6561-5786-8991-be79c35e9ac0)
Author Bio (#u7a11209e-43ba-5b22-8b75-f57b7c803daf)
Acknowledgements (#u0ebae884-7028-5d1e-a920-d781ff757fea)
Dedication (#u5567ef5e-66d9-5f77-b1bb-6579dde4554f)
Chapter One (#u7636fa88-429d-5f0b-afe8-3c0170d962ad)
Chapter Two (#ua716822d-2a99-5167-872d-0141488eea11)
Chapter Three (#u792b52e0-ce81-52bc-a0e9-7a34164e7d45)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_d6f82896-dd3f-51c6-8cb2-f0eb3464600a)
Amazing Grace blares out from the speakers above me, and I cry, not delicate, pretty tears, but great big heaves that will puff up my eyes, like a blowfish. That song touches me, always has, always will. With one hand jammed well and truly up the turkey’s behind I sing those mellifluous words as if I’m preaching to a choir. Careful, so my tears don’t swamp the damn bird, I grab another handful of aromatic stuffing. My secret recipe: a mix of pork sausage, pecans, cranberries and crumbled corn bread. Punchy flavors that will seep into the flesh and make your heart sing. The song reaches its crescendo, and my tears turn into a fully-fledged blubber-fest. The doorbell jangles and I realize I can’t wipe my face with my messy hands. Frantic, I try and compose myself as best I can.
“Jesus Mother o’ Mary, ain’t no customers comin’ in here with this kinda carry-on! It’s been two years since that damn fool left you. When you gonna move on, my sweet cherry blossom?”
CeeCee. My only employee at the Gingerbread Café, a big, round, southern black woman, who tells it like it is. Older than me by a couple of decades, more like a second mother than anything. Bless her heart.
“Oh, yeah?” I retort. “How are you expecting me to move on? I still love the man.”
“He ain’t no man. A man wouldn’t never cheat on his wife. He’s a boy, playing at being a man.”
“You’re right there.” Still, it’s been two lonely years, and I ache for him. There’s no accounting for what the heart feels. I’m heading towards the pointy end of my twenties. By now, I should be raising babies like all the other girls in town, not baking gingerbread families in lieu of the real thing.
I’m distracted from my heartbreak by CeeCee cackling like a witch. She puts her hands on her hips, which are hidden by the dense parka she wears, and doubles over. While she’s hooting and hollering, I stare, unsure of what’s so damn amusing. “Are you finished?” I ask, arching my eyebrows.
This starts her off again, and she’s leg slapping, cawing, the whole shebang.
“It’s just…” She looks at me, and wipes her weeping eyes. “You look a sight. Your hand shoved so far up the rear of that turkey, like you looking for the meaning of life, your boohooing, this sad old music. Golly.”
“This is your music, CeeCee. Your gospel CD.”
She colors. “I knew that. It’s truly beautiful, beautiful, it is.”
“Thought you might say that.” I grin back. CeeCee’s church is the most important thing in her life, aside from her family, and me.
“Where we up to?” she says, taking off her parka, which is dusted white from snow. Carefully, she shakes the flakes into the sink before hanging her jacket on the coat rack by the fire.
“I’m stuffing these birds, and hoping to God someone’s going to buy them. Where’s the rush? Two and a bit weeks before Christmas we’re usually run off our feet.”
CeeCee wraps an apron around her plump frame. “It’ll happen, Lil. Maybe everyone’s just starting a little later this year, is all.” She shrugs, and goes to the sink to wash her hands.
“I don’t remember it ever being this quiet. No catering booked at all over the holidays, aside from the few Christmas parties we’ve already done. Don’t you think that’s strange?”
“So, we push the café more, maybe write up the chalkboard with the fact you’re selling turkeys already stuffed.” This provokes another gale of laughter.
“This is going to be you in a minute—” I indicate to the bird “—so I don’t see what’s so darn amusing.”
“Give me that bowl, then.”
We put the stuffing mix between us and hum along to Christmas music while we work. We decorated the café almost a month ago now. Winter has set in. The grey skies are a backdrop for our flashing Christmas lights that adorn the windows. Outside, snow drifts down coating the window panes and it’s so cozy I want to snuggle by the fire and watch the world go by. Glimmering red and green baubles hang from the ceiling, and spin like disco balls each time a customer blows in. A real tree holds up the corner; the smell from the needles, earth and pine, seeps out beneath the shiny decorations.
In pride of place, sitting squarely in the bay window, is our gingerbread house. It’s four feet high, with red and white candy-cane pillars holding up the thatched roof. There’s a wide chimney, decorated with green and red jelly beans, ready for Santa to climb down. And the white chocolate front door has a wreath made from spun sugar. In the garden, marshmallow snowmen gaze cheerfully out from under their hats. If you look inside the star-shaped window, you can see a gingerbread family sitting beside a Christmas tree. The local children come in droves to ogle it, and CeeCee is always quick to invite them in for a cup of cocoa, out of the cold.
I opened up the Gingerbread Café a few years back, but the town of Ashford is only a blip on the map of Connecticut, so I run a catering business to make ends meet. We cater for any party, large or small, and open the café during the week to sell freshly made cakes, pies, and whatever CeeCee’s got a hankering for. But we specialize in anything ginger. Gingerbread men, cookies, beverages, you name it, we’ve made it. You can’t get any more comforting than a concoction of golden syrup, butter, and ginger baking in the oven in the shape of little bobble-headed people. The smell alone will transport you back to childhood.
CeeCee’s the best pie maker I’ve ever known. They sell out as quickly as we can make them. But pies alone won’t keep me afloat.
“So, you hear anything about that fine-looking thing, from over the road?” CeeCee asks.
“What fine thing?”
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Damon, his name is. The one opening up the new shop, remember? You know who I mean. We went over there to peek just the other day.”
“I haven’t heard boo about him. And who cares, anyhow?”
“You sure as hell wouldn’t be bent over dead poultry, leaking from those big blue eyes of yours, if he was snuggled in your bed at night.”
I gasp and pretend to be outraged. “CeeCee! Maybe you could keep him warm—you ever think of that?”
“Oh, my. If I was your age, I’d be over there lickety-split. But I ain’t and he might be just the distraction you need.”
“Pfft. The only distraction I need is for that cash register to start opening and closing on account of it filling with cold hard cash.”
“You could fix up those blond curls of yours, maybe paint your nails. You ain’t got time to dilly-dally. Once the girls in town catch on, he’s gonna be snapped right up,” says CeeCee, clicking her fingers.
“They can have him. I still love Joel.”
CeeCee shakes her head and mumbles to herself. “That’s about the dumbest thing I ever heard. You know he’s moved on.”
I certainly do. There’s no one in this small town of ours that doesn’t know. He sure as hell made a mockery of me. Childhood sweethearts, until twenty-three months, four days and, oh, five hours ago. He’s made a mistake, and he’ll come back, I just know it. Money’s what caused it, or lack thereof. He’s gone, hightailed it out of town with some redheaded bimbo originally from Kentucky. She’s got more money than Donald Trump, and that’s why if you ask me. We lost our house after his car yard went belly up, and I nearly lost my business.
“Lookie here,” CeeCee says. “I think we’re about to get our first customer.”
The doorbell jangles, and in comes Walt, who sells furniture across the way.
“Morning, ladies.” He takes off his almost-threadbare earmuff hat. I’ve never seen Walt without the damn thing, but he won’t hear a word about it. It’s his lucky hat, he says. Folks round here have all sorts of quirks like that.
“Hey, Walt,” I say. “Sure is snowing out there.”
“That it is. Mulled-wine weather if you ask me.”
CeeCee washes her hands, and dries them on her apron. “We don’t have none of that, but I can fix you a steaming mug of gingerbread coffee, Walt. Surely will warm those hands o’ yours. How’d you like that?”
“Sounds mighty nice,” he says, edging closer to the fire. The logs crackle and spit, casting an orange glow over Walt’s ruddy face.
Chapter Two (#ulink_d3ce18a4-1a6a-5f45-bb16-161bd6b1eb81)
CeeCee mixes molasses, ginger, and cinnamon and a dash of baking soda. She sets it aside while she pours freshly brewed coffee into a mug. “You want cream and sugar, Walt?”
“Why not?” Walt says amiably.
CeeCee adds the molasses mix to the coffee, and dollops fresh cream on top, sprinkling a dash of ground cloves to add a bit of spice. “Mmm hmm, that’s about the best-looking coffee I ever seen. I’m going to have to make me one now.”
“So, I guess I’m stuffing these birds by myself?” I say, smiling.
