A Gingerbread Café Christmas by Rebecca Raisin

Author:Rebecca Raisin [Raisin, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2013-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

After locking up the café, I jog to my beat-up truck out back. The icy wind takes my breath away, and I shiver, despite wearing a thick waterproof parka, and knitted scarf. The door of the truck creaks as I pull it open and jump up. Soon, I promise myself, I’ll buy a new truck. It whines as I reverse, but I thank my lucky stars it even started. I only live up the street a way, but with all our late nights, and early mornings, there’s no way I’m walking in a blizzard. Usually I have Damon for company on the sixty-second journey home, but he must have jogged home and picked up his car to ferry his parents around. As I wait for the truck to warm up, I idly wonder if he’s back from dropping them off yet.

Finally the old truck sputters to life, so I loop to the main street. The town is deserted with only the Christmas lights to keep me company. Pushing my foot on the brake, I stare into Walt’s furniture shop, which is directly across the road from the Gingerbread Café. It’s the only window bare of flashing lights and shiny tinsel, when it’s usually the opposite: the most decorated shop in town, with a life-size Santa inside, sitting on one of Walt’s handmade chairs.

But now, it looks bereft, no decorations, and empty of Walt’s one-of-a-kind furniture, and empty of the cheerful man and wife who’d usually be dashing around town at this time of year organizing the town’s celebrations. CeeCee goes regularly to visit them in Springfield, and always comes back a smaller version of herself, as if her sadness is somehow shrinking her.

Tearful, I push the accelerator down, and head slowly home along the slick wet street.

As I pull into my driveway the porch light bathes the house in a cheery glow. Damon must be back. Fairy lights shine through the lace curtains, flashing green and red like little pulses.

I don’t bother locking the truck, and head inside. Heat from the fire hits me as soon as I cross the threshold, and I race to stand in front of it, dropping my parka on a footstool, and unwinding my scarf as I go. In the corner of our small lounge sits a naked Christmas tree. The smell of the pine needles permeates the small room, and I gaze at it, picturing how it’ll look dressed in decorations. Being a festive-season fanatic, I’d normally have hung the ornaments a month ago in my excitement, but this year I want to wait for Charlie to do it. Her little cherub face will light up once she sees the gingerbread snowmen with bright silver button eyes and half-moon smiles that I baked and strung together to make a garland.

“Damon?”

“Glass of wine?” His voice carries out from the kitchen.

Carrying two glasses of red wine, he turns into the small room, and my breath hitches. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of gawking at him.

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