Page 17 of Second Chance in Charlevoix (Charlevoix Dreams #3)

Isabel

T aking a break from the front tearoom, Izzy threw herself into washing some of the large baking sheets.

The darn things were heavy and the chore was her way of letting out steam.

After last night’s meeting she was feeling pretty disgusted.

At least that's what she told herself. Disgusted felt and sounded better than hurt or jealous.

Izzy was feeling left out. She had to stop for a second and let that sink in.

While she washed and dried, Skipper worked with his apple tarts. A clever machine peeled, cored and sliced the apples, Skipper arranged them with such care. He really loved his work. The new addition had become wildly popular, maybe even more than the pear and almond tarts he’d introduced.

Letting out all her frustrations, she slammed the silver pans into one of the racks. Maybe she was a bit too energized because Skipper jerked around. “Something wrong?”

“Nothing. Why?” Grabbing the next wet sheet, she took care of it with short decisive strokes. Her arms would ache tonight but that was fine.

Dusting off his hands, Skipper faced her. “What’s wrong? You've been acting like you're mad about something all morning. This isn’t about my mother, is it?”

“No, no. Absolutely not.” Could he see the tears brimming in her eyes? Honestly, what was this about?

Instead of going back to his own work, Skipper came closer. This was making her nervous. “Look Izzy, something's going on. You haven't said anything about the family meeting last night. Is that it? What happened at that meeting?”

“Maybe.” She couldn’t deny it. Wiping her eyes with the dish towel, she balled it up and threw it onto the drain board. “Oh, Skipper. It feels like my family’s moving on without me.”

His apple tarts forgotten, Skipper looked as if he might hug her.

Of course that was stupid and totally inappropriate.

Going over to her jacket hanging on a hook, Izzy dug a tissue from a pocket, wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

Grow up, Izzy. Why bother him with this?

How could she explain her feelings? When she got home from Sunnycrest the night before, she put Holly down.

The baby went off to dreamland like the little doll that she was.

But Izzy had cried herself to sleep on her owl pillowcase.

She felt like a little girl who hadn’t been asked to play on the playground.

“What do you mean by moving along without you?” Skipper asked. “What are they doing?”

Maybe if she talked about last night, she’d feel better. “They're going to move into a new house Seth just completed so Sunnycrest can be finished sooner.”

“Sounds like a great idea.” Skipper shrugged his shoulders. “No one wants to watch their house being torn apart. Sunnycrest means a lot to all of you.”

“It's just that, it's just that...” How could she explain that she felt left out? Izzy was becoming more upset by the minute. While she stood there, searching for the right words, someone came up behind her.

“Hello, it's me again.” A familiar voice rang out. Familiar and French. After jabbing at her eyes again, Izzy turned. Camille stood there with a bright smile and a shiny white box topped with a gold seal. Behind her Debbie threw up her hands. Obviously she hadn’t been able to stop the stylish French woman from barging into the back room.

“Camille?” Skipper didn't look as if he'd been expecting this visitor. “What a surprise.”

Turning away, Izzy tried to pull it together. No way did she want this woman to see that she was upset. Camille’s life probably ran as dependably as Mrs. Malone’s owl clock, although the clock sometimes was five minutes off.

“I was in the neighborhood. Thought I would bring you a present. An inspiration,” Camille said with that utterly adorable accent. She offered the box with the ridiculous gold seal to Skipper. Izzy wanted to pick up a rolling pin and chase her down the hall. The mental image gave her a grim smile.

“How thoughtful. You didn’t need to do that.” Taking the box from Camille’s hands, he flipped the top open. “Macarons?” All Izzy could see was the pink tissue. Camille had gone to a lot of trouble and that didn’t sit well with Izzy.

“ Oui , macarons. You have all the pastries here but you need some macarons.” Clasping her hands in front of her, Camille looked so pleased with herself.

Sizzling with anger, Izzy grasped the edge of the worktable so she wouldn't pick up the rolling pin.

How dare this woman tell them what they needed in their bakery?

“How considerate.” Stepping between them, Skipper must have sensed that Izzy was upset. He threw a questioning glance at her. “You never know. We are adding things all the time. Right, Izzy?”

But Izzy wasn’t having it and she edged past Skipper. “We already offer so many pastries. I would think that something like this would take more time. Meringues, right? All that time to dry.” Reining in her anger, Izzy was feeling pretty proud of herself .

“Oh, oui, oui ,” Camille said in a dismissive voice that said you silly girl of course they are made of meringue. “ But quality takes time , no ? It is not like the chocolate chip cookie Americans love. A few minutes and voila .”

Izzy’s favorite chocolate chip cookies had just been thrown under the bus.

Out in the front room the bell rang, and Camille backed away.

Was she leaving? Izzy hoped so. At least there wasn't any kissing of the cheeks today.

“I do not mean to interfere. We will talk?” Camille tossed to Skipper, posing in the doorway with her leather pants and jacket, a lime green silk scarf knotted at her throat.

That handbag tossed over her shoulder probably cost at least a thousand dollars. The Grand Hotel must pay very well.

Looking as if he didn't know what to do, Skipper nodded. “ Oui … I mean, yes we will talk. And thank you.”

That just about did it. The clicking of Camille’s heels retreating to the front stabbed Izzy to the core. Meanwhile, pushing the tissue aside, Skipper held out the box. Judging from his expression, anyone might have thought the box held explosives.

“Let’s try one,” he coaxed. Inside the macarons were lined up in dazzling colors.

The macaron he chose was lemon, sunny as a summer's day.

But Izzy wasn't feeling sunny, even though the smell of sugar lured her.

Selecting a pink confection that probably was strawberry or cherry, she placed it on the worktable.

“She's trying to steal you from me. I mean, from Coffee and Cupcakes.” Her cheeks flared.

“Don't be silly.” Skipper took his first bite and took the time to let it melt on his tongue. “She wants us to succeed. The macarons wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

“You know we don't have time to work this into our schedule. The people of Charlevoix are hearty. They’re apple tart people.”

Skipper chortled around a mouthful of macaron. After he'd swallowed, he managed to choke out, “But Charlevoix is a French name.”

“Of course it is.” Was he trying to show her up? The back room felt warmer than usual.

“What we need,” Skipper said, his tongue whisking over his teeth, “is more help not more offerings in the display case.”

So he was back to this. Her shoulders sank.

After dealing with the pans, she had to agree.

Fate was against her this morning. First Sunnycrest and now this.

Frustration rose inside like a geyser. Lifting a fist, she smashed the pink macaron with one blow.

Skipper jerked back. Then she gently swept it into one palm and choked it down, piece by piece.

The darn thing was really good. Fragile but good.

The strawberries could have been picked that morning .

Mumbling to himself, Skipper returned to work.

Izzy left for the front, where they had no customers. “Debbie, check on getting some colored tissue paper for our boxes. Maybe a sunny citrus. Or lavender. Yes, maybe Skipper will be making some lavender macarons.”

“Are you sure that you and your mother can handle Holly?” A last minute call from Sam had Izzy heading for Tall Oaks to help Marlowe with bingo. Skipper and Izzy had just finished doing the dishes. Izzy could pitch the bakery while she was at Tall Oaks. She slipped into her jean jacket.

“Of course we can handle her. She’s my little munchkin. Right?” Skipper had the baby in his arms. He really seemed to enjoy Holly, more than Izzy would ever have believed.

Looking at him with adoring eyes, Holly shook her head. “No munchkin!”

“Oh I think so. No problems tonight, right, my little munchkin?”

“No.” And Holly shook her head.

“Because you are my good girl.” When Skipper brought his forehead down to Holly’s, Izzy’s heart almost stopped beating. The two of them made such a picture. Her dear baby’s hand went up to Skipper’s cheek. He captured it in his own and gave it a little kiss. Holly giggled.

“I wish I didn’t have to go.” Izzy checked the owl clock and grabbed her fringed suede bag. “Josh asked Sam out at the last minute and...”

“No worries. Get out of here. I’ve got this.” Skipper seemed to understand. When she went to kiss Holly goodbye in Skipper’s arms, Izzy came to a stop. She'd forgotten how he always smelled of fresh soap and she breathed it in, along with Holly’s baby powder smell.

“You two behave now.” Somehow she got the words out. Then she was off.

Checking her rearview mirror as she drove away, she caught the two of them standing at the door, waving goodbye.

All the way to Tall Oaks, she took deep breaths and tried to calm down.

Today had not been her finest hour. She'd made an idiot of herself when Camille had shown up with that box of macarons.