Page 33 of The Gingerbread Cafe
‘So why?’ she asked. She was glad to have marshmallows to distract herself with too.
‘If I’m honest, I was enjoying myself way more than I was ready for. It spooked me. Especially at Christmastime.’
‘What bothers you so much about Christmas?’ she asked softly.
‘None of this excuses my behaviour. You deserved better. But … a few things.’ His forehead furrowed as though he wasn’t sure where to start. ‘The most recent being my ex-wife, Mirabelle. She walked out on me three Christmases ago. Didn’t I say Christmas was like a pressure cooker?’ He let out a small laugh that didn’t sound jolly. ‘But my distaste for the festive season was already deeply scratched in before my wife opted to trade me in for the accomplishedEduardo. If only life was that simple.’
Gretel leaned across the table and squeezed his arm, before feeling self-conscious and pulling it back. She cleared her throat. ‘Eduardo.Why did you say his name like that?’
‘Because really it’s Edward Pickering, but when you own three high-end restaurants,Eduardo Picanteapparently sounds better.’
They looked at each other and laughed.
‘Does his fake name suit him?’ she giggled, thankful for the lightened mood. ‘Does he look like anEduardo?’ She pulled her fingers outwards from her lips in a pinching motion, like she was tracing the shape of a long, waxy moustache. ‘A trueEduardoshould surely sport dramatically twiddly facial hair?’
‘He looks more like a Homer Simpson than anything – he has a chef’s gut and approximately three strands of hair. But it seems my ex-wife opted for deep pockets in the end. I should have listened to Auntie Nell on that one.’ He gave an apologetic look to the sky.
‘Well, I hope none of his restaurants have a Michelin star,’ said Gretel.
‘Actually, one does. Which is a joke, really. Even you deserve a Michelin star more than that guy. Cooking comes from the heart, so surely it helps if you have one. In fact, so many things lately are making me wonder if all of that really means anything. It’s just all so … argh, I don’t know.’ He took a long gulp of hot chocolate.
‘Wow, do you want to talk about it? Because I thought running a restaurant and getting one of those shiny Michelin stars was your dream?’
Chapter 28
‘Getting a Michelin star was my dream. I mean, it is.’ Lukas sighed and turned to ruffle Angel Gabriel’s fur. The ferret squeaked happily and jumped from his own chair at the café table onto Lukas’s lap. ‘So many of my old gang from culinary school are smashing it. Marcus Spooning’s restaurant has just been awarded its second star, lucky bugger. But … oh, I don’t know. Do you ever feel like you’re trying to fit into someone else’s shoes and no matter how hard you try, they just won’t fit?’
Gretel raised her eyebrows as she craned her head in the direction of Lukas’s strange rubber chef’s clogs.
‘Very funny. They’re extremely practical in the kitchen if you prefer not to slip over and face plant the floor. You should get a pair.’
‘Didn’t you just say trying to squeeze yourself into the wrong shoes was a bad thing?’ She gave him a small smile. ‘And yes, I’m beginning to see that no matter how lovely someone else’s shoes are, we need to navigate the path in our own.’ She looked around them at the café which had always filled her heart with joy. ‘I’m never going to be Nell, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find success in my own small way. Whose shoes are you struggling to fit into?’
He expelled a slow stream of air. ‘Long story.’ Then suddenly he stood, taking care to cradle Angel Gabriel safely against him as he moved across the café. After a slight hesitation whichGretel guessed came from his obsessive desire for cleanliness, he deposited the ferret gently down on one of the blankets which was scrunched up in the lap of an armchair.
‘I’ll clean it,’ Gretel reassured him.
She was surprised to see Lukas grab a basket of spare glass crafting tools and make his way to her demonstration table. She’d wanted to suggest he try it, but she’d feared he would brush her off.
‘Can I?’ he asked. When she nodded, he put the tools down, his brow furrowing for a moment as he took in the set-up on the table. ‘So I … decide on a design and draw a template?’
‘Mmm hmm.’ She couldn’t help feeling pleased at the uncertainty in his voice.
‘As though I was making a template to cut pastry.’ He seemed to be giving himself a pep talk now.
‘That’s right.’ She stayed where she was as he sketched, not wanting to interrupt his flow.
‘Your question about trying to fit into the wrong shoes,’ Lukas continued, almost absent-mindedly. ‘A dad who never achieved his culinary dreams and made everyone’s life a misery because of it probably didn’t set me on the right path.’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘Now I’m confused about the direction of my own career too. At La Carotte Rôtie I feel like my creativity is stifled. The owner wants things a certain way and maybe that doesn’t feel right for me any more. I’m making food that ties in with their name and ethos, rather than my own. And now I’m not wining and dining in pretentious circles with a certain ex-wife’s unrealistic expectations weighing down on me, maybe I’m mellowing.’
Wow, she’d been seeing the mellow version? Yet his story sounded difficult.
‘Anyway, enough of that.’ He seemed to remember himself. ‘What next, teacher?’ He held up his simple sketch.
Gretel blinked. ‘Is it The Gingerbread Café?’
He nodded, like he hadn’t been expecting it either. ‘This place.’ His gaze landed on her for a few beats longer than usual. She felt a rush of heat. ‘It’s reminding me that Nell and this café were why my love for baking began. It was Nell and her gingerbread recipes that ignited that fire in me. Baking with her was so rustic, so homely.’
Summoning the inner tutor who’d made her first nervous appearance that evening, Gretel moved to his side. Such lovely words. He deserved her help. ‘Next, you choose your glass.’ It felt strange, telling him what to do. Yet sensing his uncertainty re-emerge as he peered into the box of offcuts, something inside her rose up, rallying to support him. She felt her shoulders straighten. ‘Don’t feel jittery. The glass will sense your fear.’ Had she just given him a cheeky wink? Well, now she was blushing.
