Charlie puts the brush to her mouth and paints her lips with it. “I can’t help it!” she says when she notices us staring at her mouth, which is coated brown as if she’s wearing lipstick. CeeCee hoots. “You keep that brush just for your eggs now.”
We spoon in the chocolate to completely fill the molds and then tap the sides.
“Sounds like a horse gallopin’ to the finish line!”
I laugh with CeeCee as I survey the bench; we’ve spilt chocolate all over it and it dries quickly in all sorts of obscure dribbles.
“Here comes the messy part.” I rip off a layer of baking paper, and spread it on the clean end of the bench. We laugh as we upend the molds and watch the excess chocolate fall out like lava, leaving only the thin shell. Charlie immediately dips her finger into turned-out chocolate.
“They look perfect already,” CeeCee says, admiring the even, half shells before she puts them in the fridge to set.
We get through three more batches of chocolate eggs, some tiny ovals, some huge as gridiron balls, before we decide to take a break, and sample some of our creations. Charlie hugs us before tottering back to Damon’s shop. Not before taking a handful of treats as she leaves.
“I’ll make us a couple o’ gingerbread milkshakes to go with our chocolate — what do you say?”
I groan in mock protest. “I can see this little fad adding a few inches to my hips.”
CeeCee harrumphs as she mixes up our drinks. “You too skinny anyways.”
“Pfft. You would say that even if I was as big as a barn.”
CeeCee dips the milkshake glasses into honey, then coats the rim with gingerbread crumbs before filling them up. She mooches over and hands me a glass, and we flop to the sofa. I take a big gulp, and close my eyes at the sheer deliciousness of it. The ice cream makes the drink thick, it’s spicy from the ginger, and sweet from the gooey treacle mixed through.
CeeCee smacks her lips together and says, “Glory be, that about as good as a cuddle from yo’ mamma.”
“That’s the prettiest thing I ever seen.” CeeCee tilts her head, and stands back to get a better look at the window display. We’ve added the newly decorated eggs, including one of Charlie’s, which looks as if she’s scrawled white hieroglyphics on the dark chocolate shell. We added a chocolate honeycomb wall and little bees made from licorice adorn it.
The display looks like a fancy barnyard, with the spun sugar glinting under the small down lights, and all the cute little animals we made out of chocolate or fondant peering up at us. Easter eggs of every shape and color look downright mouth-watering littered throughout the magical setting.
“Let’s go check it from the street.” CeeCee grabs my arm, and pulls me into the bright day.
“Would you look at that?” I say. “Walt’s shop is closed again — that’s the third time in a week or so. Why do you suppose that is?”
CeeCee crosses her arms and follows my gaze. “I don’t rightly know.”
“You think sales are slow?”
She turns back to our Easter display, and says, “Could be.”
Walt’s shop is dark. His display window is filled with colorful one-off pieces of furniture he lovingly hand-crafts. He uses wood recycled from old boats, their assorted paints faded and chipped, and mismatched to produce the most beautiful eclectic pieces you’ve ever seen. He says his furniture tells a story. The wood he uses has sailed around the world and seen more life than most of us ever will. My heart aches thinking Walt and Janey might be suffering financially.
“Maybe we should make him a box of goodies tomorrow, Cee. There’s nothing one of your famous pies can’t fix.”
She nods. “That surely will help.”
I know firsthand how hard it is to stay afloat in such a small town. We’ve seen plenty of businesses come and go but Walt and Janey’s furniture shop is one of the oldest. They’ve been here forever. Walt is the event organizer for Ashford. He arranges the Christmas carols every year, and all the festivals and gatherings we have throughout the seasons. It strikes me how odd it is he hasn’t been more involved in the chocolate festival. And CeeCee’s uncharacteristically quiet about it all; she’s Janey’s best friend, and surely knows what’s going on. Though, it could be a pride thing — I’m sure if it’s a financial problem they don’t want everyone knowing.
“Once I get this Joel mess sorted out, why don’t we look at buying a few more of his tables for out front here?” I motion to the pavement, where we have a motley mix of wooden tables, and mix-matched chairs.
“You a good girl, Lil. I think that’d be nice.”
We stare at Walt’s store for a while longer. I realize I haven’t seen Janey in town over the last week or so. Usually Janey comes in to shoot the breeze and sit with CeeCee while they talk about their church and their grandbabies.
“Did you play bridge with Janey this week?” I ask CeeCee.
“Nope. I got word from Rosaleen it were off because we had odd numbers. Happens all the time. We’ll see if Walt turns up tomorrow.” CeeCee bustles back inside before I can respond.
***
Later that day, we decide to shut the café a tad earlier than usual. All these early starts and late evenings have taken a toll. The street has gone sleepy with so few people about. Everyone is conserving their energy for the weekend festivities; well, I hope so, at any rate.
“Sugar plum, you try and put the thought of Mr Jefferson’s verdict out of your pretty little head. Go on and enjoy the night with that fine-looking thing, and worry about it in the a.m.”
I couldn’t seem to get hold of Mr Jefferson on the phone all day. The niggly feeling he’s going to have bad news for me hasn’t been far from my mind. “I’ll be fine, Cee. Bet you he’s found a way to fix it, and will call with the good news tomorrow. Why don’t you take a few bunnies home? Not sure we taste-tested them enough.”
She haws, loud and high, and pats her handbag. “Already done. I never tried the white chocolate rabbits — can’t go selling the merchandise if I haven’t tasted it for myself.”
I pat my bag. “I’ve got a helping of caramel-filled eggs. You never can tell when you’ll get a sugar craving.”
“It’s a wonder we ain’t bigger!” She guffaws, and pats her rounded belly. “Wait a minute! You the only skinny one — that just ain’t fair!”
I scoff. CeeCee’s got a real thing about calling me skinny, when in actual fact I’ve got proper country-girl curves, which are only getting bigger with all the chocolate I’ve been eating.
I shut off the lights and we head out of the front door into the balmy air. Damon’s shop is still open, and I wave to him as CeeCee and I stroll up the street. “You gonna walk?” I ask. CeeCee usually hitches a ride with Sarah when she closes her book store. “Yeah, sugar, after all that chocolate today, I think I might need to make it a regular thing. Plus we’re early. You go on ahead. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She pecks me on the cheek.
“I’ll pop in and tell Sarah you’re walking home.” CeeCee lives a bit further out on the other side of town from me, a good twenty-minute walk.
“You tell her I need another selection of those bodice rippers you keep teasing me over,” CeeCee says.
Laughing, I nod and walk into the tiny bookshop.
As usual Sarah is propped up behind the cash register, her head in a book, jeans-clad legs crossed