I sidle up and hug her. I’d be lost without CeeCee in my life. “You’re tired. We can leave the pies until tomorrow.”
“It’s OK, sugar. I’d rather be here with you than at home on my lonesome.”
“You’re too good to me.” With CeeCee being so sweet, and me being reminded of all the things we’ve both lost, I well up again. I turn away from her and try and dry my eyes with the back of my hand but she knows me better than that.
“Don’t you go getting all sentimental on me.” I lose it completely when I see tears pool in her eyes. Again, I curse myself for being such a dramatic crier. I’m so sensitive sometimes it kills me.
CeeCee and her husband, Curtis, moved from Alabama to Ashford when their kids were just babies. Curtis worked on the railroads for most of his life, and that’s how they wound up here. He spent his time to-ing and fro-ing on the train lines, with Ashford as their base. Train lines that the Guthries used to own. They swapped one small town for another. And then their kids, all grown up, moved out of town, like so many, gone to find better jobs in big cities. CeeCee lost Curtis to cancer, one winter, not three years back. When I think of her all alone in that old house of hers, I crumble.
“I know what you’re thinking, but I’m fine, truly I am. I’ve got my church, and my friends. The kids are coming up for Christmas Day, and I’ll see my grandbabies. That’s all I want. I’m happy on my own. What about you? You wanna come over and spend the day with us? You know you part of the family.”
I wipe my eyes, and take a deep breath. “Aw, no. I don’t want to intrude, and I know what you’re going to say, so don’t bother. You cuddle those grandbabies of yours. I’m going to sloth on the couch all day, and watch a bunch of soppy Christmas movies. I won’t even get out of my PJs. It’ll be nice not to have to get up and rush in here.”
CeeCee clucks her tongue. “What about dinner? You can at least come over and let me feed you.”
“We’ll see.” As much as I love CeeCee, I don’t want her thinking she has to entertain me. She’ll have her own kids there, and her grandbabies who she loves more than anything. A day by myself doesn’t sound so awful. I plan on crying along to cheesy flicks on TV and eating ice cream straight from the tub.
“Would you look at that?” CeeCee says, pointing to across the road.
Damon’s back on the stool by the shop window looking dejected. He’s bent over, cradling his head in his hands.
“That poor man,” CeeCee says. “Breaks your heart just looking at him.”
I bite my lip, and ponder. Is he just playing a game here, or what?
CeeCee’s rolling out big balls of pastry without even looking; it’s second nature to her. “Go on over there, Lil. Looks like he could use a friend.”
“What? Are you falling for this? He’s angling for sympathy, that’s all.”
“And why not, pray tell? He’s like a movie star, those fine chiseled cheekbones and that curly hair—don’t you just want to run your hands through it?”
Like an expert chef, CeeCee’s flinging the pastry all over the place, while her eyes don’t move from Damon.
“No, I don’t want to run my hands through his hair. I’m sure it’s all tangled. That only happens in books, Cee. Sounds like you’ve been reading one too many bodice rippers, if you ask me.” I was all talk. He truly did look sad, sitting there as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Get on over there, and make that boy smile. Go on, get.”
I’m one of those people who always feel guilty. If someone bangs into me, I apologize. If someone drives up the footpath and runs over my shoe, I say sorry I was in the way. And here I am, feeling guilty robbing this man of his customers, yet it’s going to cost me too, this whole competition. I sigh; I’m not made for war.
“Fine. I’ll go. And what should I say, do you think?”
A huge smile lights up CeeCee’s face, and I wonder if those two are in cahoots together. It sure wouldn’t surprise me. She pretends to be really interested in her pastry all of a sudden. “Take him a pecan pie. I’m going make another batch tomorrow, anyways.”
It’s all well and good joking about it, but what am I going to say to the man? I begin to wonder if it was the phone call that’s made him so morose.
While I’m wrapping the pie, CeeCee mutters to herself. I know she’s fixing to tell me something, so I take my time, and wait for her to mull it over.
“You know, this might sound crazy, but why don’t you two join forces?”
“Are you on about the matchmaking thing again?”
“No, no.” She shakes her head. “I mean, why not join forces with the Christmas rush? Instead of competing against each other — work together. You never know what might happen. You’ve been trying to find someone to help you cater for as long as I can remember. And lookie here, that fine thing might just be the man for the job.”
“And how’s that going to work? Have you been drinking the sherry when you’re baking those cakes?”
“Just a nip to fortify me,” she says, and laughs. “But I don’t see why you can’t work together. You know, you could run some cooking classes for him — there’s not much you don’t know about baking. He can supply you with those ingredients you ship in for your catering customers. He sells a whole lot of things you don’t, and vice versa. You can work together. You could expand catering to bigger customers in towns further out, if you had another pair of hands — hands like his.” She looks meaningfully at me.
“And when did this come to you? Don’t tell me you just thought about it.” My palms are sweaty, and I realize CeeCee might be right about venturing further out. If Damon can actually cook it might just be a possibility. On my own, I have no hope of catering for larger customers. And there aren’t too many folk interested in working for me, who can cook, and work under pressure, or who want to lose their weekends to do it, either. I’ve been hoping for some extra help, so I can take on more clients, but catering’s hard work. So far, all of the avenues I’ve tried to find staff have turned into a dead end.
CeeCee’s idea spins through my mind. If we worked together, I could surely double the catering side of things, and we’d use products we both sold. It could really work. I stop short; what am I thinking?
“You can thank me later,” CeeCee says. “Now get on over there and see what’s bothering him.”
I fossick through my handbag for my lip gloss, and slick it on.
“Well, I’ll be, make-up too?” CeeCee raises her eyebrows.
“A girl’s got pride, Cee. There’s no reason for me to go over there looking downright disheveled. It has nothing to do with him.”
“‘Course it don’t.” She hums the wedding march as I grab the pie and walk out of the door.
“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes heavenward.
“Cherry blossom?”
“Yeah?” I hold the door open.
“You forgetting your jacket again? Someone sure is distracted these days.”
I scoff, and walk back inside to the coat rack.
Once I’m out and walking across the road it dawns on me: I’m nervous. I never meant to hurt him by having these sales; I only wanted to stay afloat. Always me and the guilt. It’s a gift of mine to blame myself. Balancing the pie, I take small