Page 1 of The Gingerbread Cafe
Prologue
Eleven months earlier
Gretel Rosenhart’s world was as fragile as a snow globe. That was the thought that swept into Nell’s head as she moved towards her with a mug of cinnamon hot chocolate. She placed it down gently on the wooden café table where Gretel was working.Don’t disturb her peace. It was the approach Nell took when the young woman was crafting with glass. And, in fact, always. Had that been the right thing to do over the years? The poor soul had surely been through enough turbulence.
Gretel looked up and smiled; a beautiful smile that didn’t always reach her forest-green eyes. ‘Thank you.’ She put down the iridescent glass fairy she’d been working on and tucked a few tendrils of hair back inside her knitted Christmas hat.
Nell’s heart felt as warm as the chocolate as she watched Gretel blowing the vegan mini marshmallows on her drink for the simple pleasure of watching them bob. She’d always done it, ever since she was a little girl visiting The Gingerbread Café with her mother. Nell looked upwards and blinked a few times. Getting sad wouldn’t change things.
‘You didn’t need to bring me extra gingerbread people,’ Gretel admonished softly. ‘You spoil me.’
‘No one else to spoil.’ Nell took a deep breath and wiped her hands on her candy-striped apron. ‘Anyway, you’ve been here all day making those Christmas decorations. You must be hungry.’
Gretel shrugged and gave a little smile. ‘Nowhere else to be.’
She was always so matter-of-fact about it. Never doleful. And she seemed happy enough in her safe little world of glass trinkets, didn’t she? Nell gave her a delicate touch on the shoulder and retreated behind the counter, its string of festive lights flickering like they weren’t quite sure.
It was probably just as well Gretel had been here all day, Nell thought, as she pinched one of her favourite gingery lebkuchen biscuits from under a cloche and began munching. There’d been hardly any other customers. But trade would pick up soon; it was nearly Christmas, after all.
Not that a person could tell, in this place. Nell’s eyes bounced from the holly wreaths in the windows to the winter-spiced candles which glimmered from every table. The novelty of keeping The Gingerbread Café festive all year long had worked a treat in years gone by. The crowds they used to get. But now …
No. This was no time to change things. She sank backwards onto a stool, her bones audibly creaking. Every part of her body was feeling its age. And now it was more than age: she was ill, and she wasn’t getting better. At first she’d kept it a secret because she didn’t want anyone to worry. Then when the worst was confirmed, Nell had been determined to live normally for as long as possible – and that meant keeping the café going, too. Most folk would have retired years ago, never mind messing about with new business ideas. She’d have to leave all that creativity to the youngsters. Talking of which, Nell checked her watch and smiled. Not long now.
‘Would you look at her!’
Nell shook herself back to the present. Gretel was standing near the doorway, holding her Christmas fairy up to thespotlight and spinning gently with it, its rainbow colours dancing. She’d taken off her knitted hat and her milky blonde hair tumbled around her pale face and down the back of her blue snowflake pinafore dress. In that moment, caught in the ray of light, she was the very essence of a Christmas angel.
Caught? Or was she well and truly stuck? Nell swallowed down the lump in her throat. If she was honest, that’s why Gretel was always here.
The poor woman was stuck in Christmas.
And who could blame her, after all that had come before? But perhaps it was time to move on; at least for one of them.
The bell above the café door tinkled, and the quivering tip of a Norway spruce emerged, exactly as ordered. Always a real tree for Christmas. It was being carried by her only nephew, Lukas. Nell gave a wry smile as his handsome face appeared, even though his expression was distinctly narky. She knew he’d rather stick pine needles in his steely grey eyes than embrace the joy of Christmas, but here he was, just the same. He was a good lad under the chef’s whites and huffy persona. And he hadn’talwayshated Christmas.
‘Damn this thing.’ Lukas sighed. ‘Bloody Christmas. What a load of faff.’ He gave the tree an angry shove, its bushy branches sticking in the doorway.
Gretel pulled a face at his words. Then hearing Lukas’s final heave, she spun to face the door just as the tree unwedged itself and came hurtling towards her. As she contorted her body in an attempt to avoid being speared, her arms flew forwards.
‘Oh no!’ The cry left Nell’s panicked throat as the iridescent fairy flew through the air from Gretel’s hand, catching the light and shimmering all colours of the spectrum as it spiralled.
Lukas looked up as he saw the glass object hurtling towards him. He could have ducked to save himself from it, but insteadhe shot his arm upwards and caught the fairy, steadying the tree with his other.
Nell heard Gretel stifle a sob as Lukas saved her prized creation from being smashed to glass confetti.
The flash of gratitude quickly passed.
Gretel cleared her throat and met his eye. ‘People should be more careful.’
Nell blinked. Gretel would usually shrink away rather than speak out.
‘Says the woman dancing around in doorways waving shards of glass,’ retorted Lukas.
‘She’s not …’ Gretel exhaled. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’ She thrust out her hand for the fairy.
Lukas held Gretel’s gaze for a moment. When he moved his hand slowly towards hers and Gretel reached to close the gap, their fingers touched. Just lightly. A less keen eye may have missed it, but Nell hadn’t spent a lifetime tending to fragile hearts with sweet drinks and gingerbread not to spot the slight blush of two faces.
But before either could dwell on it, the old-fashioned jukebox chimed in with a gratuitous rendition of ‘Underneath the Tree’. Nell had always suspected that machine of tomfoolery. Gretel shook herself down and retrieved her delicate creation, with a hostilethanks.Lukas cleared his throat and returned to battling with the spruce, a little flustered.
