Page 3 of Second Chance in Charlevoix
Looking very professional, her ex thumped the dough with the edges of both hands. Flour rose from the wooden surface in a white cloud. She’d tried to do that once and ended up with flour and dough all over. What would she do without him?There were other coffee shops in Charlevoix but her selling point was the pastries.Hispastries.
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?” That saucy grin told her nothing. She was running short on time. The bakery would open in fifteen minutes and Debbie would come soon. This had to be a private conversation. She had to ease him into saying yes. She’d read that in some women’s magazine.
“The dough is always so light and fluffy after you’ve worked it over. You are amazing.” Okay, she was buttering him up, but a girl does what she has to do.
“I'm not working it over,” he said with a sly grin. “I'm adding subtle layers of buttery flavor.” Skipper nodded with his head toward the bulletin board where he’d pinned up recipes fromBon Appétit, Cook's IllustratedandTaste of Home.“Today I'm making a new recipe. Pear almond tarts.”
Really? Skipper had a way of presenting things that made Izzy hungry. The cookie was gone but she was still starving. “Emotional eating.” She’d read about that too. And yes, that was her this morning. Worrying about her little girl had done this to her. Slumping against the worktable, she watched him. “The pear tarts sound wonderful but if you don't stop, I won't be able to fit into my bathing suit this year.”
“You'll be fine. Anyway, last year youhardly made it down to the beach. You know, having the new baby and everything.”
He was right. Last summer she’d tried taking Holly down to the beach below Sunnycrest. Aunt Cate had helped her set up a little tent. But it was a breezy day. Sand blew into the baby’s face. Their trip to the beach didn’t last long. But oh boy, how she’d wanted to stretch out on that sand. This year maybe she could make a sandcastle with Holly. She was looking forward to that.
But Izzy was wasting time. Practicing her little speech in the mirror last night had been easier than actually facing Skipper today. Since he started wearing that red bandana, he looked fierce. More pirate than beach boy. This new look had her befuddled and cautious. He’d changed.
“What are you staring at?” Straightening, Skipper dusted the flour from his hands.
She dropped her eyes. “Nothing. Only that bandana makes you look like a pirate.” Did she ever have a thought that she didn’t express? Another one of her problems.
Lifting a hand to his head, he ended up with flour on his nose, and she laughed.
“What?” He held his arms wide. “So now I've got flour all over, right?”
She nodded, trying to return to her chain of thought. Whisking the flour offhis nose with her finger didn’t help. He grinned and went back to shaping the dough with his hands for those pears whatever-they-were-called. She couldn’t wait to put a sign in the window.
“You're making me real self-conscious, staring like that. Shouldn’t you be opening?”
“Debbie will be here soon.”
Wearing a guarded look, he grabbed a rolling pin and began to roll out his dough with long, smooth strokes. How he got it even was always a mystery.
Since she'd taken him on as her pastry chef, it was too easy for them to fall back into old habits. But she wanted to change that. They used to argue about stupid little things that didn't even matter, like what time to eat dinner and what TV program to watch. Izzy was trying to develop new habits with Skipper.
And now? If he agreed to her offer, they'd have to work on not getting on each other’s nerves. She had to do this for Holly. All that sawdust and smelly stuff in the air had really gotten to her. Even Mrs. Goodman had noticed. That had been her parting remark. “If her sniffles and cough keep up, you better bring a note from her doctor.” Izzy had to get her daughter out of Sunnycrest.
Going over to their coffee machine, she worked the handles until she held a steaming frothy caramel macchiato. This is what she needed, not anothercookie. “How are things going at your house? Your mom doing all right?” Maybe she'd dive right into it.
Nodding, Skipper kept slowly rolling out the puff pastry, like he was painting a masterpiece. Since he’d come home from Paris with his pastry training, Skipper had become a new person. He was thoughtful, methodical. She admired him for all the effort he'd put into his new career. Oh, he’d admitted that at first he’d traveled all over, sampling Bavarian tortes and German kringles. Italian tiramisu and Greek baklava. He’d won her respect when he shared the wonder of what made each pastry special.
But back to Mrs. Malone. Setting the roller aside, Skipper reached for a bowl of almond paste. “My mom's fine. Why are you asking?”
The poor guy looked at her as if he was suspicious. Izzy couldn't blame him. She hardly ever asked about his mother. But Irene would be a big part of the picture. “I imagine she's kind of bored in that house alone, right?”
“Bored? Oh, I don't know. Mom manages to keep busy. She's into knitting. Afghans on every chair, you know? She donates them to bazaars. At night when I'm getting dinner ready, I can hear her needles clicking.” And he smiled.
Skipper cooked dinner? This was a new twist. “Do you make dinner every night?”
There could be morebenefits to this arrangement than she'd imagined. But Izzy immediately felt embarrassed. Of course she’d help with everything, the way she did at Sunnycrest. But if she were truthful, Aunt Cate usually figured out dinner ahead of time. Either she cooked one of her popular dishes, like Bolognese or clam risotto, or they ordered out. With Marlowe and Sam on board now, that might change.
“Sometimes I cook,” Skipper said. “But nothing fancy. My mother might make soup while I'm at work. Lately she's kind of lost her sense of taste. I secretly add some salt and maybe some spices.”
“Lost her sense of taste?” Izzy couldn't imagine that. Irene Malone had been known for her soups and stews and all kinds of wonderful, practical meals.
“Yeah, her doctor says that it's part of her Parkinson's. Really a bummer.”
“I'm sorry about that. Is that new?” This might throw a wrinkle into things.
