Page 4 of Second Chance in Charlevoix
“Yeah.” Skipper sucked in a breath. “That's how it goes. She's on some medications to help with her tremors. Not too steady on her feet. But the taste thing? They can't do much about that.” By that time, Skipper had cut the pastry into neat but generous squares. Taking a mold, he indented a shallow circle in each piece. Then wielding his pastry knife, he laid down a generous layer of almond paste within each circle.
This was no fair. The smell of that almond pastewas incredible. She could hardly tear her eyes away. Next was the pear layer and he grabbed a few pears from the metal bowl. Opening a drawer, he found the peeler and began to peel the pears. It was amazing how he ended up with one complete spiral with each pear. The combination of pear and almond perfumed the air. She could hardly wait to taste one of these tarts.
“From what they say, it could be worse.” While she was salivating, Skipper’s mind was still on his mother. She could tell he was worried. Skipper and his mom had always been close, especially after his father’s death. That’s what brought him back to town––taking care of his mom. Looking like he was doing heart surgery, Skipper sectioned each pear and cut delicate slices, arranging them on the almond base. “Right now she has to rest a lot. The doc said that was pretty important.”
That did not sound good, and Izzy’s hopes wavered. Poor Skipper. His sister Ainsley lived in California. Would Izzy be asking them to do the impossible? But then again, Holly was at daycare during the day. That might help. Izzy would be there in the evenings, breathing the fresh air with her baby instead of solvents and sawdust. She had to take a chance.
Taking a sip of her coffee, she decided to nudge the conversation in a different direction. “The guys are working on Marlowe's bedroom. You know, the renovation.”
“How’s it going?” Backing away from the worktable, Skipper surveyed his work and took some lemons from the refrigerator. “So Marlowe's bunking with Sam for a while, right? Did your sister get here?”
“Yep, she’s here. Waiting for her furniture. Of course, most of it will go into storage. Things are awfully crowded at our house, Skipper.” She slowed her voice so he caught every word. How could a pear tart catch his attention like that? Izzy plunged back in. “Sunnycrest has sawdust floating everywhere. I’m finding dangerous stuff, like screwdrivers, staples and nails.”
Okay, that was exaggerating a little but the words had their effect. Skipper looked up and his eyes narrowed. “The workers should be more careful. You don't want the baby picking up stuff like that. She could poke her eye out. Or worse.”
Time to tread carefully. “I wish she didn't have to be around all that, you know? Her little lungs and all that sawdust. She’s been coughing and sniffling.” She was tempted to glance up at him from lowered lashes. But no, she was not going to use that flirty high school trick with her ex-husband. Back then they were teenagers. And today? She wanted this to be adult to adult. Standing squarely on her two feet, Izzy faced him.
Leaning against the table, Skipper worked the corner of his lips with his teeth. His old habit meant he was deep in thought.
“I just wish there was some other place that we could live for a little while. Somewhere safe.”
“How long will the work be going on?”
“For most of the summer, I think. I'm not really sure. But I can't afford to rent a VRBO or something like that. I mean, in Charlevoix the rent would be sky high.”
“Probably.” He nodded. “You think it'll be that long? The whole summer?”
“You just never know. I want Holly to be healthy.” Those words came straight from her heart. Tears thickened her throat and threatened to spill from her eyes. Skipper could probably see that. The man knew her better than anyone, except her family.
“You don't suppose...” Izzy began at the same time as Skipper said, “What would you think of...” Sucking in a breath, Izzy sent up a silent prayer that they were on the same track.
“Why don't I talk to my mom tonight?” Skipper hesitated while she hung on every word.
Setting her coffee on the worktable, Izzy leaned closer “What were you thinking, Skippy?”
This was not fair and she should be ashamed. She hadn’t called him that in years. Skipper gave a little twitch of those shoulders that had gotten so broad.He turned to face her full on and she swallowed hard.
“Maybe I better check this crazy idea with you before I talk to my mom. Would you consider moving into our house, just for a couple months? There's a big guest room at the back of the second floor. My room is next to it, but that shouldn’t be a problem.”
Okay, she’d let that go. Izzy wasn’t sure that his mother would see it like that.
But Skipper’s mind was elsewhere. “Mom has been sleeping in the big bedroom on the first floor. She can't take those stairs anymore. There’s plenty of room upstairs.”
“Oh, Skipper! What a wonderful idea. Would you really consider that?” Izzy actually had goosebumps. This might work.
“Happy to do it.” Skipper smiled at her the way he used to when she got overexcited. When he’d pulled out that tiny diamond ring on the beach way back when, she’d felt just this thrilled.
But this time she wasn’t smiling with excitement. No, Izzy was smiling with relief. How would she have faced her family if Skipper hadn’t agreed to this arrangement? She’d have to say that he’d gone back on his offer. The offer she hadn't mentioned yet. Izzy was beginning to feel a tinge of guilt when the back door flew open and banged shut.
“Sorry I'm late.” Debbie bustled intothe kitchen and hung up her bag and jacket. The kitchen had become silent. Turning, Debbie took one glance at Izzy and Skipper. “Hey, am I interrupting? Is something wrong?”
“Nope, not a thing.” Izzy straightened her apron and cleared her mind.
Skipper chimed in at the same time. “Absolutely not.”
Debbie's eyes traveled to the worktable and she frowned. “You've been talking about those almond pear pastries, Skipper. But I don't think I can sell brown pears.”
Skipper and Izzy glanced down, and Debbie headed for the front. Sure enough the carefully placed pears looked a little brown. Their conversation had kept him from adding the glaze. Shaking his head, Skipper swept both hands over the tarts and threw them into the trash. “Okay, I’m starting over. With the pears.”
