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back.
    ***
    CeeCee’s hollering away at someone as I walk through the back door of the Gingerbread Café. She’s slamming her hands on the bench and looks all ruffled.
    I rush over. “Cee, are you OK? What is it?”
    She puts a hand on her heart. “There you is. Glory be, I been so worried! I had to go on over to Damon and make sure you were OK. Rosaleen told me Joel was here last night!”
    I look sharply at Rosaleen, who averts her eyes on account of getting caught gossiping. “You don’t miss a trick, do you?” I say to her, fighting the edge in my voice. I have no idea how she manages to discover every tidbit in this town, but she does, and then she spreads the gossip like a game of Chinese whispers.
    â€œI better go.” She picks up a bag of cookies. “I hope everything works out and that…well, you know…” Her voice trails off as she nods to CeeCee and scurries away quick as a mouse. We watch her scrawny frame retreat before turning to each other.
    â€œI nearly done had a heart attack when I heard that snake was here when you all alone! What’d he want? I couldn’t get a word outta Damon, his mouth shut so tight I worry it’d been superglued!” She’s so riled up she speaks in exclamation marks.
    I take the envelope from my bag. “Let’s sit on the sofa.” I trudge to it, knowing CeeCee’s going to be worried. “He called yesterday, said he wanted to meet. Cut a long story short, he wants the money back I used to set up the café.”
    â€œHe what? That man as crooked as a dog’s hind leg! But he owes you a whole lot more than that! He lost your house and everythin’.” Sweat breaks out above her lip; she picks up a magazine and uses it like a fan.
    â€œI know.” I pat her knee. “Don’t worry, please, Cee. I’m going to see about an appointment with Mr Jefferson, and figure out what to do.” I try my hardest to sound bright, as if I’m not concerned, and hope it fools her.
    â€œI got a bad feeling about this, Lil. He ain’t gonna let up so easy, lawyer or no.”
    â€œIt’s fine, Cee. We’ll keep going like we always do. I’ll work out something. You want a gingerbread coffee?”
    Her eyes are glassy and I realize she’s about to cry. “Cee, it’s OK. Really, don’t cry.”
    â€œIt just ain’t right. You worked your butt off to make this place into a business.”
    â€œWe’ve
both
worked our butts off. Don’t you worry. I’m not going to give in without a fight.” I kiss her soft, plump cheek. “Put your feet up for a bit. I’ll bring you a coffee and a piece of pie.”
    â€œOK, just for a minute, then.” She keeps up a one-way conversation, muttering to herself, and shaking her fists.
    ***
    Once the shock wears off, CeeCee’s back to her bustling, busy self. I try and put Joel out of my mind as we get to work. It’s hard, though, when I picture his sneering face, and think of how cunning he is.
    We line the wicker baskets by the front door with greaseproof paper, and fill them with freshly baked hot-cross buns. Within minutes we have customers three deep as the smell travels out to the street.
    â€œI knew that was a good idea!” CeeCee says, pointing to the baskets. “It’s like bees to a honeypot.” And I have to agree. The café is more appealing with all the touches we’ve added recently. Damon built a bookshelf on the wall closest to the fireplace. We filled it with cookbooks, and paperbacks, and hunted out gingerbread coloring-in books for kids.
    CeeCee found the wicker baskets at a church fête, and we used all our knowledge of DIY to mount them on the wall. We must have looked a sight that day, two women with nails hanging out of our mouths, drills in hand, as we tried to attach them to the wall. So they hang a little crookedly, but with the amount of