I shrug. “Maybe.” I take an orange from the bowl, and peel it; the citrus scent is almost like a tincture.
“Hurry along with that fruit now. I’m going to bake these gingerbread cakes, and you still need to boil that batch in sugar syrup before we can dry it out in the oven.”
I cut the orange peel into small slivers, and add it to the pot, along with some lemon rind, and some pineapple skin. Once the batch is boiled, absorbing the sweetness of the sugar syrup, we’ll dry the slivers in the oven. Then we’ll dust them with sugar crystals to sit atop the gingerbread cakes, a little shimmery goodness that’ll make them sparkle under the fridge lights.
The gingerbread cakes cool on the bench; the scent of spicy ginger makes my mouth water. We’ve moved on to making cake pops. They’ve proved to be popular among the locals, adults and children alike. CeeCee’s all set on decorating the chocolate pops with red sanding sugar and tiny snowflakes she’s made from white chocolate. There’s nothing sweeter than spending an age trying to get the cake pops to look uniform, and then customers pop the dainty mouthful in and, just like that, they’re gone. The perfect bite-sized treat.
“So have you got your Christmas shopping sorted, Lil?”
I pour batter into the cake-pop molds, slowly so it doesn’t spill over. “I have. I just need to find Charlie a few more things for her stocking, and that’s about it.”
“Ho, ho, ho,” says a velvety voice behind me.
“I didn’t hear you!” I say, turning, smack bang into Damon.
“I stopped the jingle from jangling, so I could surprise you.” He kisses the tip of my nose, and then dips a finger into the batter. “Hazelnut?”
I nod. “And orange liquor. Strictly for the adults.” Surveying him, I see he’s all loose limbed again, unable to stand still. Maybe he’s got the wedding fever.
“You’re looking like the cat who got the cream,” CeeCee says to Damon.
“Well, I surely did, didn’t I?” He loops his arms around my waist, and smiles. “I’m sorry I didn’t wake you this morning…figured it was too cold to be anywhere but in bed.”
As I gaze into his bright eyes all the niggly worry I have evaporates. “You’re as excitable as a puppy.”
“That’s because there’s only eight more days until you become my wife! And…I wanted to know if I could sneak you out of the café early tonight?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “Just you and me and a blazing fire.”
Before I can say boo CeeCee says, “O’ course you can! We got an early start this morning anyways…Lil can shoot through, and I’ll close up.”
“But, Cee…”
“No buts, you lovebirds need some time alone together.”
I smile, grateful. In the last few weeks we haven’t had time for much other than working. Often going home and falling into bed with a quick hug. “It’s a date, Mr. Guthrie.”
“That it is, Miss Lily.”
“Go on and shoo, then,” CeeCee says to Damon, who grins like a lovesick teenager. “She’s got some work to do before then.”
“OK, OK. Bye, ladies.” He jogs out and across the road, waving to people as he goes; as usual all we see is the way the denim of his jeans hugs his butt. Golly, I could stare at him crossing the road all day.
CeeCee raises her eyebrows so high she almost falls over backwards. “And you think he ain’t crazy in love with you? You ain’t got the good sense God gave a goose if that’s what you think!”
I giggle. She’s right. He’s as happy as ever, and it’s because we’re getting married. All doubt gets cast aside, and I keep on with my cake pops.
“Close your eyes.” Damon holds my upper arms as he leads me inside our cottage. “Keep going, I’ve got you.”
“What is it?” I listen out for any sounds that might clue me in on what his surprise is but all I hear is the crackle of the fire.
“You’re going to have to wait and see.”
I take small steps, suddenly unable to remember where our furniture is placed now that my eyes are squeezed shut. He pushes me forward; he’s so close his breath tickles my neck. The scent of roses hits me as I head closer to the sound of running water.
“Nearly there…and stop.” He pushes a door open, and by the squeak it makes I know it’s the bathroom. “Open your eyes.”
I blink a few times as my eyes adjust to the light. “You ran me a bath? That’s the big surprise?” I can’t keep the laughter from my voice. Damon had been back over to the café to pick me up, and was gushing about all the things he was going to surprise me with.
He rolls his eyes. “If you’d care to look a bit closer you’ll see it.”
I scan the bathroom. My green terrycloth robe isn’t on the hook — instead there are two new bathrobes hanging up. Flummoxed why he’d buy bathrobes, I say sweetly, “Thank you! I’ve always wanted a new robe! How did you know?”
With a chuckle he says, “Lil, you’re the worst liar!” He pulls one of the robes down and hands it to me. On the right lapel in shiny gold embroidery it says, ‘Mrs. Guthrie’. “Oh! That’s so sweet! And what about yours?” I take his down; sure enough ‘Mr. Guthrie’.
“I figured you spend half your life soaking in the tub…this way you won’t forget me.”
“I could never forget you.” I lean in for a kiss.
“There’s a bunch of bubble bath, and stuff there from Mary-Rose’s shop. I thought you could relax, while I make us a fancy dinner…and then you’ll get your other surprise.”
“Another one?”
He grins wickedly. “This one is more for both of us.”
I make a show of wiggling my eyebrows. “Can we skip dinner?”
“This is why I love you…”
I pull my boots off, and take down my jeans. “There’s room for two, you know?”
His eyes are trained on my shirt as I unbutton it from the top down.
“Let me help you with that.” He rips my shirt open, and we laugh as buttons scatter to the floor. “This is why I bought the dressing gowns…”
The next day I’m up early. Tiptoeing to the bathroom, I wash up, and rummage through the bag of make-up samples Missy gave me. Tossing aside the scarlet reds, and eye-popping oranges, I finally settle on a pink lipstick. It’s still two shades brighter than what I’d pick, but I guess that’s Missy’s way of compromising. I apply foundation, which instantly makes my skin prickle. I figure the damage is done so lash on the mascara hoping I don’t look like a clown. With two swipes my lipstick is on.
Sighing at my pink-lipped reflection, I amble to my wardrobe, careful not to wake Damon. Jeans, jeans, jeans, baggy tees, sweats. Golly, I had no idea my collection was so limited. The joys of being able to hide under an apron most days