Page 11 of Second Chance in Charlevoix
The comment made her ex-husband look disappointed all over again. He pursed his lips, as if he wasn’t happy.
“We can talk about it.” She hated to say no, not when she’d asked for such a huge favor. The guy worked from early morning until late afternoon. And when summer came along, well, things would only get worse. How did other places do it? She’d planned to bring on another girl for the summer. Could that new employee split her time between the counter and the baking?
Because they were billed as more than a bakery, she needed girls out front who were friendly and able to take orders. But when those orderscame in, filling them was up to Skipper and Izzy. She’d been helping out by making the quiches. But Skipper was a master with the focaccia bread sandwiches made with thin slices of fragrant parmesan cheese and prosciutto. When Debbie cousin’s Patricia had helped out over her winter break, the pressure had eased somewhat. But they still needed all hands on deck. And summer? Always crazy.
But that wasn’t her main problem. Right now she needed an answer, even though she might hate it. “Skipper about staying at your place…”
“Right.” He shook his head as if pulling himself from a dream. “It’s a go.”
“It is?” Izzy’s heartbeat revved up. She almost hugged him. But no, that would not be good. “Your mother’s all right with us living there for a while?”
His eyes swung away. “Of course she is. Looking forward to it.” That was a boldfaced lie and they both knew it. Still, she was ecstatic. No more worrying about Holly. No more sawdust in the air or sharp solvents.
“Sorry, guys.” Debbie stood in the doorway. “A lady wants to talk to you.”
Izzy wheeled around. “Is it someone I know?”
Shaking her head, Debbie stepped closer. “No, I meant Skipper. She’s asking to meet him. Loved the pear tart and thinks she might know him.”
“Oh. Well then.” What was this? Izzy turned toSkipper, who seemed equally puzzled. “Maybe you have a fan club.”
“I doubt that.” Skipper glanced at the worktable ready for the next project. He had a lot of work to do and she didn’t blame him for being annoyed by this interruption. “But let’s make it snappy. Before you know it, the lunch trade will be here.”
“Got it.” Whirling around to leave, Debbie almost ran smack into a tall, slender woman with long blonde hair. The cognac color of her jacket caught the amber shade of her eyes. A deeper amber was carried through to fitted leather pants and booties. The cream turtleneck looked like silk. What the heck? The stranger looked like a fashion model.
“Skipper?” The accent sounded French. On the stranger’s lips his name sounded more like “Skee-per.”
Izzy gulped hard. The expensive smell of leather overruled the fresh bread.
“Camille?” Surprise lifted Skipper’s voice.
“Oui,oui, cherie.”Her eyes danced at his disbelief. The hug was quick. And the kiss to both cheeks? Very French. Izzy didn’t like the heat that seared her cheeks.
“What are you doing here?” Leaning back against the worktable, Skipper studied the woman from the top of her long locks to the toes of her boots. Yes, it was one of those long looks, the kind you see in romcoms. The kind of look that tells you the hero is interested.
Or maybe Izzy was imagining things.
“I work at the Grand Hotel. You know, at Mackinac Island. Pastry chef. I’m just spending a day in Charlevoix. Getting to know the area.” Now, all that was said in English, but it sounded downright foreign. Izzy had to strain to make sense of the words. The soft voice and the French accent did it. Caught up in the drama, Debbie stood transfixed in the doorway. The sound of people talking crept in from the front tables. Izzy met Debbie’s eyes and jerked her head toward the front. Obviously reluctant to leave, Debbie turned and scurried away.
“That’s wonderful. The Grand Hotel.” Was there a bit of jealousy in Skipper’s voice? Izzy imagined that the well known hotel had better benefits and more vacation for its staff. All kinds of disasters paraded through her head. “Camille, I’d like you to meet Izzy, my boss.”
“Izzy?” She wrinkled her nose, pronouncing Izzy’s name likeEasy.
“Isabel.” Skipper quickly corrected her.
“Ah, yes.” Nodding, Camille glanced around their humble kitchen as if she could not believe it. Okay, things were a mess. Bowls were stacked in the sink and piles of baking sheets waited to be washed. “And you are here now?”
Observing Camille from lowered brows, Skipper still wore that smile. If Izzy weren’t here, what wouldthey be doing? Izzy broke out in a sweat that had nothing to do with the temperature in the room.
The conversation continued. Sometimes they spoke in English, sometimes in French while Izzy pretended to wash the bowls. By the time Camille left, there were a couple of dents in the larger ones. To her frustration, after Camille was gone, Skipper didn’t enlighten her about their discussion. He looked preoccupied. Not good.
Would this woman from his past try to recruit him? Although he’d given her good news, Izzy left that day feeling defeated and insecure. She was too proud to ask about Camille and helpless in the face of several possible disasters rolling through her head with tornado speed.
Maybe she’d bend Marlowe’s ear that night. Now that all three were in Charlevoix, they’d decided to work bingo in pairs. Tonight was her turn to work with Marlowe, although she really should be packing in preparation of her move. But first things first, and Camille had shifted Izzy’s priorities.
Chapter 6
Marlowe
