Page 45 of The Gingerbread Cafe
‘And the guinea pigs are happy,’ said Amber as she lined up tall latte mugs along the counter.
They milled around, munching on biscuits and grabbing themselves lattes, Amber taking photos for the new Instagram profile she’d set up just for the café. She’d apparently picked up some winning tips from a social media whiz called Lexie, who’d bounced into the café one day with her blonde pixie cut andsunflower jumpsuit, grabbing a cuppa with her sister Sky. The advice was working wonders.
‘You know, I can’t wait until the autumn,’ Bea confessed. ‘Can we have pumpkin-spiced hot chocolate and gingerbread shaped like squirrels and autumn leaves?’
‘Blackberries, apples, cavolo nero.’ Gordon counted off autumn produce on his fingers.
Jane and Jayne pulled faces as they hammered up nails for the new blackboard. ‘You can keep your cabbage-spiced gingerbread, Gords, if it’s all the same.’
‘And anyway, you’ve missed out a whole bunch of seasons,’ said Jane, balancing on a chair with a nail between her teeth. ‘What are we doing about resurrecting this wintery February Fair?’ she lisped.
Gretel plonked herself down next to Zekia, who was having a lively chat with Phoebe about flavours for a warming autumn rum. ‘Do you know what? Now I’ve made a reasonably respectable batch of gingerbread, and I’ve seen what the café can look like with the help of you lovely people, I feel like we might just have a shot.’
‘Amazing! I’ll grab the official brainstorming pad,’ said Amber, making a dive for it. ‘Let’s get some ideas on paper.’
The residents who remembered the days of the fair, before it had fizzled out for reasons no one could pinpoint, shouted out the things they had loved about it.Warming winter soups. Friendly market stalls. Hot chocolate.The newer residents added their own ideas, likeart trailsandbaking competitions. And just as Gordon got a friendly swipe around the head from Eve for suggesting a range of games frompin the tail on the Whimpletobash the swingy bobbed rat, Gretel heard a key turn in the café’s front door. There was only one other person with a key. And there was only one person who made Amber duck andsit behind the wide expanse that was Gordon, grabbing his flat cap to hide her conspicuous red hair.
The bell tinkled and the door opened, a small, white-blossomed tree appearing in the doorway in a scene not unlike Norway Spruce-Gate from the Christmas before last. Except this time Gretel was ready for him, and Lukas’s head popping gingerly around the side of the spindly branches rather than barging in spike-first told her he was treading more carefully too.
‘Did anyone order a winter-flowering cherry tree to replace that sorry plastic thing with the deathtrap lights?’ Lukas asked, with a grin.
‘No.’ Gretel sniffed, trying not to look impressed but knowing that her face was giving her away. Her insides were doing a Maypole dance at the sight of him, and the gorgeous potted tree was melting her heart.
He took a small step inside, reminding her of his tentative steps towards her on the night of that first and as yet only kiss.
‘Wow.’ He took a deep inhale. ‘Somebody’s been doing some gingerbread baking and I don’t smell burning. Do I get to try?’
‘Don’t worry, chef, I saved you one,’ said Zekia, whipping a biscuit from the small mountain on Phoebe’s plate.
‘Knew I could count on you, Zee,’ Lukas replied.
Well, check him out, on nickname terms with her new gang already.
And as everyone moved around to accommodate him, other than Amber who’d fled out the back way at the first chance, it looked as though he was in to stay, at least for that evening. There was nothing like getting your feet under the coffee table. After that, who knew? He’d have to continue those tentative steps and Gretel would see how far she trusted him to tread.
For now, they had a winter fair to plan. Because as pretty as blossom was, its presence was fleeting. Gretel knew it was areminder that life could be short and when petals fell, it was OK to begin again.
Chapter 37
Lukas’s next tentative step was not quite as cautious as Gretel had imagined. And as embarrassing as it was, she really had spent the rest of the week bouncing around the café like a love-sick puppy in a daffodil apron imagining his next advance.
Not that she was incapable of making advances of her own, of course. But in the great game of dating chess, if Lukas was a Knight, she was curious as to what his next mysterious move might be. Could it get any stranger than the night of the cherry picker kiss?
As she was about to close up the café that Friday teatime, Lukas poked his head around the front door and made his opening gambit. ‘Spooning on the River. Fancy it?’
Gretel stopped mid-step, her bunch of café keys swinging in her hand. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Tonight, if you’re free. I could pick you up around seven?’ His eyes were twinkling.
‘For spooning. By the river? Like …’ She attempted to contort her body into a spoon shape like people did when they were snuggling on a bed. But then realising she was just sticking her bum out and pulling a confused face, she cringed and straightened herself. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’ By the friendly smirk on his face, she was definitely getting the wrong end of the spoon.
‘It’s a restaurant in a nearby village. Marcus Spooning’s place. Remember I told you it had just been awarded its second Michelin star? Well, he’s throwing a private banquet and as an old culinary school mate, I’m invited. Want to be my plus one?’
‘Me?’ She scratched her head.
‘Yeah, Gordon the Grocer goes to darts on a Friday and Zekia keeps insisting she’s happily married, so …’ He gave her a playful wink. ‘Of course you, silly. You’re top of my list.’
‘For Michelin-starred food when I’m happy with hot chocolate and a biscuit?’
