Christmas At The Café - Rebecca Raisin

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calls out behind me, “I’m starting up cooking classes, Miss Lily. You want to book in to one?”

      That stops me in my tracks. Shivering from the elements, I turn back, hovering in the middle of the road. “You what?”

      He smirks at me, and for a moment I see my future — an empty shop. There’s no way the ladies of this town will be able to resist him.

      “I said, I’m starting cooking classes. You want to come to one?”

      “Are you trying to bankrupt me?”

      He rubs his chin, and widens those big brown eyes of his. “No. I’m just trying to earn a living.”

      My eyes are blazing, but I try to smile and act more confident than I feel. “You go on and do that, then. We’ll see who is still in business by the new year.”

      Cars honk at me blocking their way. With their headlights trained on me I suddenly feel under the spotlight. I race back inside the shop, my hands shaking as if I’ve got the DTs.

      “You gonna catch your death going outside like that!” CeeCee says. “Go warm up by the fire. Look at you, so white I’m gonna call you Casper.”

      I’m so worked up, I haven’t realized I’m covered in snowflakes. My teeth chatter, as if they’re holding a one-way conversation. I rush towards the grate, my hands outstretched to the flames.

      “So? What’d he say?” CeeCee frowns, and massages her temples.

      I rub my hands together, and turn my back to the fire. “You’re not going to believe it. He’s going to start cooking classes!”

      CeeCee’s face relaxes and she laughs. “That boy know he good-lookin’.”

      “Do you think it’ll affect us?”

      “Not likely, but who knows? I think we need to have some kinda sale up in here.”

      We look towards the window and gaze across. His shop is filled with customers. “Would you look at that?” I point to a small itty-bitty woman. “Rosaleen’s over there, and in her church clothes.” I knew this would get to CeeCee.

      “I don’t believe it. Church clothes on a Wednesday.”

      Before I know it, CeeCee is out front. “Hey, Rosaleen, shouldn’t you be supporting members of your congregation?” she hollers over.

      Rosaleen looks at us, her face pinched. “He is a part of our congregation. I already asked him.”

      CeeCee shakes her head and tuts, before walking back inside. “Dressed up like that, trying to impress him, at her age, no less.” She harrumphs. “Right, sugar plum. What we gonna discount? Most o’ those folk so tight they squeak. If we offer cut-price goods, they’ll be back over here with their tail between their legs.”

      “Good idea. I’ll get the blackboard, and we can write it up and face it directly towards his shop.”

      We giggle like schoolgirls, and I smile. We’ll win, I know it. We have to. There aren’t enough customers in this town for both of us.

       Chapter Three

      The next morning, I get to the shop earlier than usual. I’m planning on baking some gingersnap-pear cheesecakes, after a friend of CeeCee’s dropped us in a pile of fresh pears. The scent of the ripe fruit hits me as soon as I open the back door, aromatic and sweeter than any perfume.

      Thinking I may as well open the shop since I’m here anyway, I catch sight of Damon. His door is open and there’s a flood of customers on his stoop. I peer over, and, lo and behold, he’s got a chalkboard facing my way.

      It reads: Why did the turkey cross the road? Because the other side is better!

      Of all the dirty tricks. I edge away from the window, and try to calm myself. We sold nearly half our turkeys yesterday, but at half price, so there’ll be almost no profit, but at least I won’t be stuck with them. I thought surely that’d be the end of it, and he’d learn his lesson. I guess not.

      I set to work peeling pears and try to think up a new strategy. It’s finicky work, but cooking always calms me. That’s probably why I run a business that makes next to no money.

      An hour later, the fruit’s peeled and sliced. I finely grate fresh ginger and mix it through the sliced pears, setting it aside so the flavors combine. I smirk when I realize I have the perfect payback for Mr Smarty Pants across the way.

      “Where you at?” CeeCee waddles in from out back.

      “Where am I? Cee, it isn’t exactly big in here, you know.”

      “Now don’t you be backchatting me. You won’t believe what I just heard.” She plonks her bag on a table, and unwinds her scarf, getting tangled on account of the fact she’s wearing her mittens. She’s out of breath and in a tizzy.

      “What?”

      “He’s starting those cooking classes, and tonight he’s making gingersnap-pear cheesecake!”

      I gasp.

      “That ain’t all. They get to take whatever they bake home with them.”

      “How did he know we’re baking that today?”

      “He must have seen Billy come in with all those pears, or else someone told him.”

      “Who did we tell we planned on gingersnap-pear cheesecake?”

      “We only told Reverend Joe, and Billy’s mamma.”

      Yesterday we had a multitude of customers that came in to shoot the breeze. Anyone could have heard. We’re going to have to watch everything we say in future.

      CeeCee narrows her eyes. “I bet it was Billy’s mamma. And she’ll probably start taking their pears over to him.”

      “Is there any point even making it now?” Eyeing the amount of fruit I’ve spent so much time preparing, I sigh. “Be a shame to waste it.”

      CeeCee surveys the work I’ve done. “I have a hankering for it after all that talk yesterday. We make it, and then if they don’t sell we halve the price by lunchtime. Maybe no one’s booked in to his classes—you ever think of that?”

      “Yeah, you’re right. It’s not like most of them don’t know how to make cheesecake, anyway. Did you see his sign?”

      CeeCee shuffles over to the window, muttering and cursing, though she doesn’t hold with cursing, usually. “I don’t believe it. He’s trying to start a war with us! What we gonna do?”

      I turn on the CD player and the gospel choir begin with Silent Night. The lights in the window flash green, red, and a luminescent white. The angel atop the tree seems to smile benevolently down on me. Steeling myself, I say, “We’re going to appeal to their Christmas spirit.”

      CeeCee looks at me as if I’ve lost my marbles. “Here you go.” I reach under the counter and produce a Santa hat and a bell I found in our box of old decorations.

      “And what you expect me to do with this?” She widens her eyes, and jingles the bell.

      “You, Mrs Claus, are going to drum up business by walking the length of the street, handing out candy canes, and some kind of coupon. Buy one, get one free. Or Buy one, pay it forward, and they can donate a free item to the church. What do you think?”

      A grin replaces her consternation. “I didn’t think you had it in you. How’s about I walk on his side of the street?”

      I know we should be feeling worried on account of giving so much away, but we’re like schoolkids, and I’m having more fun than I care to admit. “Sounds like you know what you’re doing, Mrs

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