Page 2 of Second Chance in Charlevoix (Charlevoix Dreams #3)

Isabel

A lthough Izzy wanted the following day to go smoothly, trouble started when she reached daycare.

As one of the girls whisked Holly away, Mrs. Goodman waved Izzy into her office.

In Izzy’s past experience office conversations never ended well.

Sitting in the chair facing the desk, Izzy hated what she was hearing. Her baby girl’s attitude was a problem.

Was Izzy taking this personally? Heck, yes. You would have thought Holly was genetically related to Izzy instead of adopted. Izzy’s mom had probably had a lot of conversations with authority figures like the ones buzzing in her head.

Holly was “not learning to play well with others,” Mrs. Goodman told her in a very serious tone.

As Mrs. Goodman droned on, Izzy fell into a funk.

The woman could have been talking about Izzy.

Headstrong. Had to have her own way. “She does not know how to share.” Feeling a little teary, Izzy wiped her eyes with one of the sleeves of her jean jacket.

Somehow she choked out assurances. Izzy would fix this.

She had to. But how? Lame ideas buzzed around her head like a cloud of gnats as Izzy said good-bye and drove to the bakery in her beat-up Toyota Camry.

One of the reasons she’d opted for daycare was so Holly would learn to play with other children.

Her baby girl was used to getting anything she wanted.

Just like Izzy. The thought made her want to slam her head against the steering wheel.

After the death of their parents, the family would have given Izzy anything.

But life wasn't like that. Izzy knew that now, and she desperately wanted her little girl to learn from her mother’s past mistakes.

Wasn’t that the least she could do? Yet here she was.

How could she help Holly with her attitude?

Parking behind Coffee and Cupcakes, she stomped into the back room.

After hanging up her jacket, she pulled on her green apron.

The smell of baking bread filled the air. That had to be the most relaxing smell in the world. And she needed to relax. Setting her shoulders for what she had to do that morning, she tightened her blonde ponytail. Her stomach was churning like she’d eaten a bad burrito.

Although Izzy might be considered the baby in her family, in the bakery she was the boss. But she was about to ask for the moon. Would Skipper go for her plan? Today she wanted everything to go smoothly. But she’d hit a snag at daycare and that could not continue.

“What's with the serious expression?” Skipper looked up from the dough he was working, folding in layers of butter over and over again.

The things that man could do. The public loved all those flaky layers.

Skipper knew how to bring on the butter and the fillings sweet enough to make your teeth hurt.

“Nothing.” She hated to drag him into the daycare problem.

But wasn't that what she was about to do? Izzy had been thinking about that all the way over to Coffee and Cupcakes. How should she approach this situation? She was feeling desperate. Skipper had to let them stay at his place. Although his mom hadn’t been Izzy’s favorite person during their short marriage, Izzy had changed. Would Irene Malone see that?

“Is this about Holly?” Skipper wiped his hands on his apron.

A tray of chocolate croissants sat ready for the showcase.

His wonderfully oversized chocolate chip cookies were also ready to be taken out to the front.

Three different kinds of breads were probably already arranged on the back shelves.

Focaccia was his favorite this month. The shop opened in twenty minutes.

Debbie would be here soon. As indecision froze her, Izzy’s sugar addiction kicked in.

She snatched a chocolate chip cookie from one of the trays.

“How do you always know what I’m thinking?

” She bit into the cookie and slung her purse unto the chipped desk from Goodwill.

Almost all of the furniture back there was secondhand.

Some had been gifted to her by the previous owner.

Izzy's budget was tight and bakery equipment had taken up most of it, along with the tables and chairs out front.

Boy, the cookie was good. Crisp on the edges and soft in the middle.

Meanwhile, Skipper went back to work. “We lived together for over a year and now we've worked together almost for a year. I know you.” His eyes flicked up as if he had more on his mind. But he pursed his lips tight.

“You know me but with a lot of years in between.”

Skipper had spent years away from Charlevoix learning to be a pastry chef in Paris. She’d spent them dashing into another ill-fated marriage. Pushing his red bandana back with the heel of one hand, Skipper shrugged. Guys could do that. They could just forget sixteen years as if they were nothing.

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. His pastries.

“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 from Bon Appétit, Cook's Illustrated and Taste 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 you hardly 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 off his 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 another cookie. “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?”