17. Beth
Chapter 17
Beth
I headed back to the café, the brisk late morning air nipping at my cheeks. My breath fogged in front of me as I unlocked the door and stepped inside, flipping on the lights. The cozy warmth of the café wrapped around me like an old friend.
I moved to the kitchen, tying my apron around my waist. Flour, sugar, and eggs greeted me like familiar companions. I started mixing ingredients for a batch of gingerbread cookies, my mind wandering back to Daryl's garage.
His gruff demeanor had been a wall I was determined to climb. I could still hear his voice, grumbling about the eggs while we cooked together. He had refused the wreath with a look that could have curdled milk, but there was something in his eyes that softened for just a moment when he thought I wasn’t looking.
As I rolled out the dough and cut out little gingerbread men, I hummed the tune I'd been singing. The song had been stuck in my head all night. The way he had looked up at me when he heard it, like he was seeing something entirely new, made me wonder if there was more to him than just his rough exterior.
The oven beeped, pulling me back to reality. I slid the cookies onto a tray and popped them into the oven. As they baked, their spicy-sweet aroma filled the café. I glanced around at the twinkling lights and holiday decorations, feeling a pang of sadness for Daryl’s lack of Christmas spirit.
Maybe inviting him to the dinner tonight hadn’t been such a bad idea after all. He needed a little joy in his life—everyone did. And if anyone could bring a smile to that broody mechanic’s face, it would be me.
Not that I was arrogant. But I was patient. And stubborn, quite frankly.
The timer chimed, and I carefully removed the cookies from the oven, placing them on a cooling rack. Each gingerbread man stared up at me with their tiny icing faces, and I couldn't help but smile.
"One step at a time," I murmured to myself.
I slid another tray of gingerbread cookies into the oven, adjusting the temperature and setting the timer. My mind drifted to the Christmas Eve dinner I was hosting tonight. The thought of friends gathered around, sharing laughter and stories, warmed me from the inside out.
The café would be filled with the smell of roasted turkey, honey-glazed ham, and my famous mashed potatoes. I imagined the tables covered in red and green cloths, each place setting adorned with a little candy cane. There'd be twinkling lights everywhere, reflecting off ornaments hanging from the ceiling.
I hoped Daryl would come. I wasn't planning on inviting him—I didn't want to rush things—but it just came out. Then again, I wasn’t holding my breath. Still, a part of me couldn't shake the image of him sitting at one of those tables, his gruff exterior softening in the glow of Christmas lights.
"Maybe he'll surprise me," I said aloud, trying to believe it.
Regardless, tonight would be fun. I had Ellie and a few other friends who never failed to bring joy and laughter wherever they went. We'd have music—maybe even some live performances if people felt brave enough. I'd have my guitar ready just in case I found some courage myself.
The timer beeped again, and I pulled out the cookies, placing them alongside the others on the cooling rack. The sight of so many gingerbread men lined up in rows made me smile. They were perfect little soldiers of holiday cheer.
I busied myself with preparing more treats—peppermint bark, fudge, and sugar cookies with colorful sprinkles. The more, the merrier. Tonight had to be perfect, not just for me but for everyone who walked through those doors.
The door chimed as Ellie walked in, bundled up against the cold. She stomped her boots on the mat and blew on her hands.
"Smells amazing in here," she said, taking a deep breath.
"Just getting ready for tonight," I replied, handing her a gingerbread cookie fresh from the rack.
She took a bite and her eyes lit up. "These are fantastic! Daryl won't know what hit him."
I laughed softly but shook my head. "I'm not sure he'll come."
"Don't worry about it," Ellie said with a wink. "Even if he doesn't show up, we'll still have a blast."
She was right. No matter what happened with Daryl, tonight was about celebrating with friends and spreading joy.
And I was determined to make it unforgettable for everyone who came.
The day slipped away from us as Ellie and I cooked together. Time seemed to blur as we measured, mixed, and tasted. The café was open but only for a few hours; most people were busy with their own holiday preparations. It gave us the perfect window to get everything ready without interruptions.
"Hand me the cinnamon," Ellie called out, her hands covered in flour. "Please."
I tossed the jar to her, smiling as she caught it mid-air. "Think we'll have enough cookies?"
"We'll have enough to feed an army," she replied with a grin.
We worked in sync, like a well-oiled machine. Ellie tackled the desserts while I focused on the main dishes. Turkey, ham, mashed potatoes—all my favorite holiday staples. The kitchen smelled like heaven, a blend of savory and sweet that made my mouth water.
"How's that fudge coming along?" I asked, stirring a pot of gravy.
Ellie peered into a pan, her brow furrowed. "Almost there. Just needs a few more minutes."
I turned back to my work, humming softly as I mashed the potatoes. The day was flying by, and I could feel the excitement building inside me. Tonight would be special—I could feel it in my bones.
Suddenly, I heard a yelp from Ellie. "Beth! Fire!"
I spun around to see flames licking up from one of the pans on the stove. My heart leaped into my throat, but I acted on instinct. Grabbing a nearby towel, I smothered the fire, beating it down until it finally fizzled out.
Ellie stood there wide-eyed, clutching the pan of fudge like it was a lifeline.
"That was close," I said, trying to catch my breath.
She let out a nervous laugh. "Guess I'm not cut out to be a firefighter."
I couldn't help but laugh too. "Good thing we're better at baking than fire prevention."
We both chuckled, the tension melting away like sugar in hot cocoa. It felt good to laugh—really laugh—especially after the hectic day we'd had.
"Let's keep an eye on things from now on," I said, giving her a playful nudge.
"Deal," she replied with a grin.
We got back to work, but the mood had lightened considerably. There was something about shared laughter that made everything seem more manageable.
As we finished up our preparations, I couldn't help but feel grateful for moments like these—for friends who turned potential disasters into cherished memories.
I stood at the counter, peeling potatoes with a rhythm that was almost therapeutic. The thin skins fell away easily, revealing the pale, starchy flesh underneath. Once I had a respectable pile, I diced them into chunks and dropped them into a pot of boiling water. The kitchen was filled with a comforting warmth, the windows slightly fogged from the steam.
As the potatoes cooked, I moved around the kitchen, preparing the other ingredients. Butter, cream cheese, garlic—everything needed to be just right for my famous mashed potatoes. It was a recipe passed down from my grandmother, one that had become a staple at every holiday gathering.
Ellie hummed along to the Christmas music playing softly in the background as she stirred her fudge. I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. We were both in our element here, creating something special for tonight's tree lighting.
Once the potatoes were tender enough to break apart with a fork, I drained them and returned them to the pot. The steam billowed up, warming my face as I added generous dollops of butter and cream cheese. The secret to my mashed potatoes was all in the mix—getting that perfect balance of creamy and fluffy without turning them into glue.
I grabbed a masher and started working the mixture, adding a splash of warm milk and a pinch of salt and pepper. The sound of mashing was oddly satisfying, each press releasing more steam and melding the ingredients together.
"Need any help over there?" Ellie asked, peeking over my shoulder.
"I'm good," I replied, not wanting to break my concentration. "Almost done."
She nodded and went back to her fudge, leaving me to finish up. After a few more minutes of mashing and stirring, I tasted a small spoonful. Perfectly creamy with just the right amount of garlic and butter. It tasted like home.
I transferred the mashed potatoes to a serving dish and sprinkled some fresh chives on top for a pop of color. Standing back, I admired my handiwork. There was something incredibly satisfying about taking simple ingredients and turning them into something so comforting.
Ellie came over and took a whiff. "Those smell amazing."
"Thanks," I said with a smile. "Grandma's recipe never fails."
She gave me a thumbs-up before returning to her own creation. As I covered the dish with foil to keep it warm, I felt a surge of excitement for tonight's event. Cooking had always been my way of showing love, and I hoped everyone would enjoy what we had prepared.
The kitchen buzzed with energy as we continued our preparations, each dish bringing us one step closer to making tonight's gathering unforgettable.
Ellie finished her fudge, carefully pouring the glossy mixture into a pan to set. She glanced up at me with a playful glint in her eye. “I made extra,” she said. “I think I’m going to take some to the Dungeon Bat.”
I raised an eyebrow, surprised by her generosity. “Wow, that’s nice of you.”
She smirked, wiping her hands on a towel. “I can be nice, even with someone like Kane.”
“And that’s why you’re on the nice list,” I said with a grin.
Ellie rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. She started cutting the fudge into neat squares while I put the finishing touches on my mashed potatoes.
Once the potatoes were ready, I covered them with foil and took a step back, surveying our work. The kitchen looked like a holiday feast had exploded—platters of cookies, trays of fudge, and bowls of various side dishes were spread out across every available surface.
“I think that’s it,” I said, feeling a sense of accomplishment wash over me. “I’m going to get ready.”
“Meet you in a few?” Ellie asked, gathering the fudge for Kane.
“Absolutely,” I replied, wiping my hands on my apron.
Ellie made sure all the ovens were turned off and gave the kitchen one last look before she left with her tray of fudge. I watched her go, admiring her ability to find kindness even for someone as grumpy as Dr. Gabriel Kane.
With a deep breath, I headed to the small office at the back of the café where I could lock up the safe and go through my mail. Tonight needed something special—a cozy yet festive outfit that would set the right tone for the tree lighting ceremony.
As I organized the bills and the ads, I couldn’t help but think about Daryl and his reluctance to join us tonight. Ellie’s act of kindness towards Kane was proof that anything could happen. After all, if she could make peace with someone like Kane, surely there was hope for Daryl and me.
But those thoughts could wait; right now, it was time to get ready and make tonight as magical as possible.