Page 7 of The Gingerbread Cafe
‘The festive period got quite busy, actually.’ Which he’d have known if he’d bothered to show Nell his support, other than his starring role when hecarried a Christmas tree, like he was the inimitable Baby fromDirty Dancing. But she didn’t dare say that. She tried her best cross face instead.
Lukas held his hands up. ‘Look, I didn’t mean to make you feel defensive. You obviously have yourstuff. I’m just saying that a year-round sleigh-belling Santa fest is a stupidarsed business plan. And it’s most people’s idea of hell.’
What did he mean bystuff? Was he poking fun at her when he didn’t know the half of it? Well, he could bugger off.
‘Actually, no. It’s not most people’s idea of hell. Most people love Christmas and knitted stockings and fairy lights.’ She could feel herself beginning to shake, but he’d hit a nerve. ‘They adorelittle gingerbread people and cosying up with a hot chocolate and the smell of nutmeg and spice.’ She knew she should end it there, but she was on a dangerous roll. ‘It’s only people who carry around theirstufflike a big old grumpy sack who can’t find a smile for the most wonderful time of the year.’ By the time she’d finished, she was positively trembling. It was the most she’d said to anyone in weeks. Or maybe months.
‘Wow. OK.’ Lukas turned away from her and crossed his arms on the table. ‘You’re right – Christmas is not my bag. I hate it. So I guess we all have ourstuff.’
There he was with thestuffagain. Gretel felt her hackles rising.
‘Anyway, even if I could embrace this ridiculous festive merry-go-round, I’m far too busy running an extremely popular kitchen at La Carotte Rôtie, on the outskirts of the village. We’re hoping for a Michelin star next year so I’m busy doingrealcooking. I haven’t got time to be icing pink toenails on gingerbread people.’
Gretel was glad he was talking to the table with his condescending speech, because if she could see his silly grey eyeballs, she might just poke them out. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Confrontation was not her thing, but right then she felt like she was speaking up for Nell. And she’d flipping loved that woman, even if certain others couldn’t find it in themselves to care.
‘And is a twinkly Michelin star the only thing shining on your tree? Because I thought the star belonged to the restaurant, not the chef, and as far as I know that Rotten Carrot place belongs to some French guy. Maybe your Auntie Nell wanted you to create a legacy of your own. Like she did.’
He turned to look at her slowly, as though the cogs in his brain needed extra time to compute what she was saying. She needed time to process her own words too. Where was all of thiscoming from? The words were almost pouring out of her when she normally barely dared to speak.
‘The translation isroast, notrotten.’ He spoke to her like he was addressing a child, although in fairness, that happened a lot. It came with the territory when you were a Santa superfan. ‘And if you must know, I do plan on having my own restaurant in the future. When we sell this place, I’ll be well on my merry way.’
It surprised Gretel to sense herself deflating. At the beginning of this painful meeting she’d been willing to let the café go. Dealing with all those customers would be terrifying, and she didn’t have the first clue how to run the place. Yet all this standing up for Nell was making her feel a sudden determination to honour her late friend’s wishes. How could she give up on Nell and Christmas without a fight?
‘Couldn’t we try and reopen for a short while? For Nell?’ Gretel’s voice was so quiet she couldn’t be sure she’d even said that out loud.
Lukas’s quizzical look suggested she had. ‘You want me to try running a year-round yule-athon with a Christmas lover who hates me?’ He glanced towards the street as a group of hopeful shoppers stuck their cold noses to the window.
‘It looks like we’d get some trade, at least at this time of year. People need this place.’ Her more than most. ‘And Nell worked too hard on it to go out without one final fling.’
Lukas gave a long exhale. ‘I accept that opening for Christmas might assist in funding this guy’s hourly rate.’ He waved a hand at Mr Birdwhistle. ‘And it might help one old girl to rest in festive peace.’ He flicked his eyes skywards.
‘Sooooo … we’re doing it?’ Gretel asked, almost too scared to breathe in case she blew her chance.
He looked at her, eyes narrowed, as though making his final assessment. ‘No, notwe. I work ridiculous hours at The Rotten Carrot, remember? But if you’re so desperate to prove yourfestive point, then I won’t object to you opening up and getting on with it. I assume you can bake gingerbread and you know your way around a milk frother?’
Oh. Well, none of the above. She couldn’t bake a potato unless it came with microwave instructions, and as for those complicated frothing gadgets …
‘Erm … no? But I guess I could learn. I mean, how hard can it be? Did Nell leave us cookbooks and things? Instruction manuals? I know how to set up the tables …’ On second thoughts, this was petrifying.
Lukas was rolling his eyes now and she almost couldn’t blame him.
‘Don’t chefs work funny shifts? Surely you could pop in and help?’ Lukas was a scary old Scrooge-face, but she couldn’t go this alone. Even Father Christmas didn’t fly solo.
‘Oh, you mean that unpaid snatch of time in the middle of the day when I try and catch up on sleep so I’m lessgrumpy?’
‘Hmm. Most interesting. So what do you get when you cross a Christmas lover and a Christmas hater?’ Mr Birdwhistle piped up, as though reading a joke he’d just pulled out of a cracker. ‘Well, I think we’re about to find out. What fun.’ He clapped his overzealous hands.
And then the insolent jukebox exploded into ‘Happy Xmas (War Is Over)’. But Gretel was certain it had only just begun.
Chapter 6
Ho sodding ho – she may as well give up now. She was as bad with gingerbread people as she was with actual people. And that was saying something.
Gretel was elbow-deep in flour and burnt batches of gingerbread in the kitchen of The Gingerbread Café. A week had passed since the meeting with the curious Mr Birdwhistle, when he’d revealed the astounding news that Nell had entrusted the festive-themed café to Gretel in her will. Alongside Lukas Knight, the self-proclaimed Christmas hater.
The week following the meeting had been a rollercoaster. What did Gretel know about running a café? She was nopeople personand she could barely bake a bean; and she’d had no intentions of fixing either.
So Gretel had laughed in shock. She’d cried a small river in fear. And she’d almost certainly hidden in her wardrobe eating pretzel doughnuts at least three times. But that kind of behaviour was messy, and she was getting ready to open the café again – for Nell. Yes, it was all kinds of terrifying – but so was the thought of never seeing her precious Christmassy café just as it used to be. So finally, Gretel had brushed herself off and got on with it. If nothing else, she’d always been good at that.
