Page 6 of Second Chance in Charlevoix (Charlevoix Dreams #3)

Izzy

H er stomach was doing cartwheels when Izzy burst through the back door of Coffee and Cupcakes the following morning. What if Skipper’s mother had stood her ground? It would be perfectly understandable. No way would Irene want her around. What had Izzy been thinking? She’d hardly slept a wink.

If Mrs. Malone told her son absolutely not, what would Izzy do?

The renovation was getting messier every day.

Up to that point Holly had a pretty structured life.

Now everything was up in the air. Although Izzy couldn’t believe she felt this way, she wanted some peace and quiet.

And she wanted a safe environment for her little girl.

That morning Mrs. Goodman had mentioned that Holly had a dry cough. Izzy told her about the work being done at Sunnycrest. The daycare owner had looked at her as if she were insane. “Not a very good environment for a growing baby, I would say.”

“I’m working on it,” Izzy had murmured. Their plan of renovating Sunnycrest had seemed wonderful last winter.

Now she wondered. Izzy wasn’t known for being realistic.

But her sisters and Aunt Cate were. She was depending on them to pull this off, but some days she felt overwhelmed.

If Skipper had bad news today, what was her Plan B? She didn’t have one.

“Good morning,” she sang out, hanging up her jacket. Debbie’s coat and bag were already on the hooks so the front door would be opening soon. She sniffed the air. Through the heavenly aroma of bread and cupcakes came an even sweeter scent. “Do I smell pears?”

Skipper was bent over the counter. A lock of blond hair had escaped that wicked red bandana.

His brow furrowed in concentration as he sliced pears into thin strips.

Baking sheets were already cooling in the racks and Izzy wandered over.

She hadn’t had time that morning to eat breakfast. A chocolate croissant would do nicely.

The pastry was still warm when Izzy took the first bite.

“What time did you get here?” she asked, whisking flaky crumbs from her lips.

“Four o’clock. I wanted to have enough pear tarts to start the day.” Two sheets of the delectable pastries were already cooling. Skipper had a great work ethic. She admired him for that.

“Maybe I’ll put a sign in the window about the pear tarts. We sold out yesterday.” Glancing over at the desk she saw her forgotten box. Tonight. She’d take them home tonight.

“Good idea.” Nipping his lower lip as she’d seen him do so many times, Skipper didn’t look up.

This wasn’t a good sign and her doomsday imagination went wild.

Tears filled her eyes. She crammed in the final bite of the croissant.

What was she going to do? Grabbing a tray of snickerdoodles that probably hadn’t cooled yet, she wheeled around and streaked down the hallway into the tearoom. “Morning, Debbie.”

“Hi, what have you got there?” Debbie looked up from where she was arranging fresh mugs around the coffee carafes. “Sorry, I saw those cookies out back but didn’t think they were cool enough to bring out.”

“You’re probably right.” The metal sheet was still warm in Izzy’s hand and she set it on the ledge behind the counter.

Pulling out a tray from the display case, she helped Debbie arrange the chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies.

“I want to put a sign in the window about the pear tarts.” Pear and Almond Delight.

Was that a stupid name? She sure hoped they’d be delighted.

Somedays Izzy suffered from a severe lack of self confidence.

Why had she asked Skipper to take Holly and Izzy into his home?

The idea was stupid. Of course her former mother-in-law wouldn’t want Izzy around.

She’d fight Skipper tooth and nail for even suggesting such a ridiculous thing.

Izzy’s thoughts veered from one direction to the other like a pinball machine. And her spirits sank deeper.

“I like the name Pear and Almond Delights. Here, I’ll handle the sign.

” Opening a drawer where they kept supplies, Debbie pulled out some construction board and a marker.

Deb had an artistic streak and used a cute font for the signage.

In no time at all, the sign was posted in the window.

People started coming inside. Many had their shopping totes slung over their shoulders to carry home fresh bread.

The new tarts were cool enough to arrange on a sheet and Izzy took care of it, while Debbie worked the counter.

Her spirits temporarily lifted, Izzy scurried to the back.

More of the pear tarts were ready. Breads were stacked on the racks along with cupcakes, cookies and croissants.

As usual, Skipper spun from one task to another.

Then he stopped and turned to fix her with a serious look that wiped the smile from her face.

Skipper looked like he’d just remembered his bad news.

“Izzy, we need to talk.” Looking super serious, Skipper wiped his brow with the back of one hand.

Was this when he’d tell her that no way could she move in with him and his mom? His blue eyes burning, he faced her, hands on hips. “I need some help. No way can I handle all the bread and pastries, as well as fixing luncheon plates for the tearoom.”

The breath left Izzy’s body so fast that she felt dizzy. Gripping the edge of the worktable, she gasped, “Help?” If he only knew that they were barely making it.

“Yes. Look around.” Standing straighter, he swept an arm toward the stainless steel racks. The short sleeves on his tee shirt made her wonder. When had he become so muscular?

“Skipper, I know you work hard, but basically we’re a bakery with a tearoom.”

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 orders came 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 to Skipper, 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 like Easy.

“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 would they 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.