Page 15 of The Gingerbread Cafe
Amber shrugged. ‘Then you have to make the café such a success he’d be an idiot to sell it.’
Gretel exhaled and slumped onto a stool, the weight of it all suddenly too much. ‘I wondered. Although if I put my heart and soul into trying to make it work and he sells up anyway, am I just setting myself up for more sorrow?’
‘So buy him out.’
Gretel winced. ‘I’ve got no money, and I’d never get a business mortgage or whatever.’ It sounded far too grown-up. She’d been just about staying alive by selling glass creations in her online shop and savings had never been a thing.
‘What’s the other option. Hiding away and not trying?’
Gretel scratched her head. That strategy had always worked for her before.
‘It’s better to have loved and lost.’ Amber sucked in her breath and gave Gretel’s arm another quick squeeze. ‘Soz. I forgot about your mum, and now Nell. Maybe it’s not so easy to feel that way when you’ve actually lost stuff.’
Gretel silently added Rosa to the trinity. Maybe one day it wouldn’t be so hard to talk about her.
Chapter 14
The day whizzed by, Gretel and Amber doing their best with crowd control and keeping complaints to a minimum. The café was busy and Gretel wasn’t sure she’d ever feelin control, but for once, she wasn’t dangerously sinking. That in itself felt huge.
They scurried around behind the counter, trying to get on top of things after another snaking queue of people had been served and seated. Gretel stirred the next batch of hot chocolate with one hand and cleaned the worktop with the other. Amber refilled the glass cloches with fresh gingerbread.
As a certain flashy business card dug into Gretel’s side through the material of her pocket, something began playing on her mind.
‘Do you know Francesca Whimple?’
‘No!’ Amber barked, almost dropping the lid of a cloche. ‘I mean, yes, obviously. I live in Lower Paddleton. Everyone’s heard of her. But I don’tknowher.’
As Gretel contemplated whether to ask more, the jukebox blasted through the awkwardness with a song about thorns in the hay. Amber glared across the room. ‘Is that thing for real? Nobody ever even touches it.’
‘It does that. Sometimes I feel like it knows too much.’
Amber eyed the jukebox suspiciously and went to stack the dishwasher.
‘So what do you know about Miss Whimple?’ Gretel knew she should arm herself with knowledge, because the swingy bobbed woman would surely be back. She pulled the black and gold business card from her pocket and saw Amber shudder.
‘FW,’ she muttered, thrusting a dirty coffee cup into the washer. ‘Should stand for Fuckwit. The Whimples own half of Lower Paddleton. They buy up stunning old commercial buildings and rent them to soulless chains.’ Amber’s jaw tightened. ‘They’ve ruined the place.’
Gretel gulped. ‘She’s keen to buy the café. What if Lukas agrees?’
‘Yeah, he might. They go way back, so …’ Amber stopped herself and coughed. ‘I mean, so people say.’
Way back.She’d had no idea. She felt herself deflating. ‘Miss Whimple tried telling me that if she bought the café, she’d keep it exactly the same. I just found out that was a lie.’
Amber spat out a laugh, her crockery clanging becoming more frantic. ‘If Fuckwit wolfs it up, it’ll be spat out into something soulless, with cheap coffee served in polystyrene. And she likes to get her own way. Once she gets her hands on one place, the Whimple effect is contagious. Have you spoken to the other shop owners on the street? Is she bothering them too?’
Gretel felt herself tense. ‘No. I don’t know them.’
‘We should …’
‘No.’ Gretel hoped her quiet voice sounded firm enough. She wasn’t sure she could cope with even more people in her life. She flicked off the flame under the hot chocolate and shoved her hands into her apron pocket. She wished Angel Gabriel was in there to keep them warm and steady. ‘Anyway, maybe I’m not the best person for any of this. Most days, all I can create around here is a flat white disaster. I’m not even good with people.’ She looked out across the room of bobbing faces, which often still made her want to hide in the loo.
Amber pulled a face. ‘What doesgood with peopleactually mean? Is that even a thing? Like you’ve got to be some kind of shepherd rounding up the hungry sheep? You’re nice. That’s all it takes to be good with people; just be yourself.’
‘Oh.’ Gretel doubted it could be that easy. Or maybe Amber was wise for her years. ‘How old are you?’
Amber paused for a moment. ‘Eighteen, obviously.’ She pushed the dishwasher door shut, gave Gretel a quick smile and scuffed off in her black DMs to clear more plates.
Gretel wasn’t sure what theobviouslybit meant, but however old Amber was, she seemed pretty switched on. And good with people too, even if her no-frills approach was the opposite of Nell’s nurturing. Gretel watched Amber as she moved around the café, gathering and organising so unobtrusively that people barely noticed. Gretel hoped she would soon settle into her own style of hostessing too.
