Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
T oday, her future would go down in flames.
Lily flipped on the lights and removed the heating blanket from the first of the three marble tables in the middle of the kitchen.
Hart Family Fudge had always used them to keep the tables at just the right temperature for the first morning run.
She’d helped make thousands of batches of fudge in this very shop—and there was no way she’d relinquish it to the Kelleys.
What had Lily been thinking, offering to help Declan make fudge?
Guilt, that’s what. But today, she’d repay her debt—and then, hopefully, be free of Declan Kelley.
At least, metaphorically speaking.
Sunlight burned at the eastern horizon, glazing the sky in orange, pre-dawn light casting through the front windows. She loved the early morning quiet of the shop kitchen.
Not today. Today she just kept hearing his words from last night. I got caught up in the idea of us.
Whatever.
He’d only made it worse then by looking like he’d wanted to…
What? Hug her? More.
Nope.
But the whole thing had her head spinning, and when he’d asked for a truce…
Oh, the man was good at his game of manipulation. First, a deal for her to teach him the family secrets—nope, not happening. She could teach a man the basics of fudge making without sharing their secret sauce.
And then he’d asked for the truce. And looked so earnest.
She should have run after him and taken it back, but frankly, the fact that he’d left the business meeting to check on her had sunk in, never mind his help with the ice cream maker.
And then of course he had to tell her why he wanted the fudge shop.
And despite the wounds of the past, it felt, okay, a little heroic to give up his life in Chicago to save Grandma’s house.
Heroic and maybe manipulative—probably something they taught him in business school.
Lily folded the blanket, stowed it in the bin under the table, and took stock of the shop.
In her haste last night—after a quick round of ice cream making to ensure Declan’s fixes had worked—she’d left bowls and utensils dirty in the sink.
But now they sat clean and sparkling on the drying mat beside the sink.
He’d returned to the shop after she left and cleaned up. Great. He probably thought her a mess. Note to self—maybe Oscar wasn’t so wrong about leaving behind a pristine kitchen.
But never mind that. Where had she placed her recipe cards?
She’d had them out last night, hoping to spark some ideas for new ice cream flavors based on some of her favorite fudge recipes, but now they were nowhere to be found.
Hmm. Probably Declan had placed them somewhere as well. She’d ask him later.
Lily opened the refrigerator, humming, forcing her mind away from the subject of Declan Kelley while she placed chocolate, cream, vanilla, sugar onto the counter.
Then she pulled a clean copper pot—her mother’s favorite kettle—from its home on the storage rack and onto the cooking base.
Gathered the wooden paddle, measuring cup, and a few other tools.
Even from back here, she could hear a key jiggle in the front door lock.
Her heart gave a quick pit-pat at the sound. Aw, c’mon.
Apparently Declan had rustled up a spare key somehow. Maybe Mia had searched Seb’s office since he was still away.
A few seconds later, Declan walked through the swinging kitchen door wearing those sunglasses…
Lily looked away, hating her rampant heartbeat.
“Good morning, Lily.”
Lily. Not Lil. Not even Widow.
So, no nicknames today, then. Good. Good. He was keeping things professional, just like she needed to do. “Good morning. Ready to make fudge?”
“Hopping right in. I like it.”
“I figured the sooner we both have some batches made, the sooner we can get this competition officially under way.” She walked toward the peg where a pair of aprons hung.
Her mouth quirked. She shouldn’t. But she couldn’t help herself.
Reaching for the navy blue apron, she looped it over her neck and around her back.
He eyed her, but walked over and picked up the other. Pink polka dot, Lily’s favorite—except not today.
Aw, she was being childish.
He said nothing as he wrapped it around his torso. It barely fit, the pink apron ending around the same place as his white shirt.
“Cute,” she said.
He smiled. “Real men can wear pink.”
Yeah they could, because it only outlined his in-shape form, and the joke was on her.
Worse, now she really felt petty as she moved past Declan and partially unwrapped a slab of butter. She moved it slowly back and forth across the first marble table.
“What are you doing?”
“The first step in making fudge is to pull the warming blanket off the marble table—which I’ve already done—and butter it so the fudge doesn’t stick.”
“So that was my problem.”
“One of many.”
“Har har.” Declan came alongside her, studying her hand movements. A pad of paper and pen had magically appeared in his hands. “And why do we use the blankets again?”
“We use marble tables in particular because they help cool the fudge more quickly so the whole process doesn’t take too long. But with our climate here, they get too cold overnight and would make the fudge set up too quickly if left uncovered overnight.”
“Ah.” He scribbled on his paper.
She set the unused butter back on the counter. “I’m curious—how many batches did you try that didn’t turn out?”
“I’m not gonna answer that.” He tapped the pen against the paper. “What’s next?”
“We add water and liquid glucose to the kettle, then light the burner. For the first one of the day, it takes a minute or two to heat up.” Lily followed her own instructions in real time as she explained.
“Then you add the chocolate and let it all melt.” She grabbed a paddle and stirred the mixture in the pot counter-clockwise. “Now comes the sugar.”
“That’s a lot of sugar.”
“It’s fudge. Basically chocolate-y sugar.”
“Is that an official recipe name?”
“Maybe for your boring recipes.” A rich, sweet smell filled the shop.
“I believe the word you’re searching for is classic .” But he wore a smile when he said it.
And oh no, she smiled back. What?
She pointed to the kettle. “Okay, now we’re gonna add butter and evaporated milk. Let that melt. You want to try?”
“Sure.” He set down the pen and paper, got the ingredients, dumped them in, then took the paddle. Stirred. “Like this?” His arms easily worked the mixture, muscles flexing with each go-round.
He glanced up at her. “Lily?”
“What?” Yikes. He’d caught her staring. “Oh, yep. Looking great.” She winced at her choice of words. “I mean, you’re doing a great job.”
His brow furrowed as he focused on letting it all melt together. “Now what?”
“Now it’s important to wash the residual sugar off the top insides of the kettle with some water on a pastry brush so it doesn’t burn.”
“Ah.”
“Yet another ruined batch story?” she teased.
“No comment,” he grumbled, and Lily couldn’t hold back a smile as he worked the sugar down with the brush. When he was finished, he looked up at her. “Now we heat the fudge to two-forty, right? That’s what my research said.”
“Yeah, but the exact temperature changes based on different factors. Things like air temperature, humidity, the softness of your butter, the speed of heat application. Typically, I heat it to two-thirty-four and then slowly allow it to increase until it feels right.”
“Feels right? Can’t you give me some exact measurements?”
She shrugged. “Sorry.” Then she shooed him aside and reached for the wooden paddle he held.
“Here, I’ll stir while you set up the metal framing on the table.
We’ll pour the fudge from the kettle onto the slab and let it cool for five or ten minutes.
I’ll show you how to know when it’s cool enough to cream up. ”
“You got it, boss.”
Well, that was a new one. She stirred while he assembled the metal framing.
“Wait,” he said. “I figured you’d have something funky and uber creative to add to the recipe.”
She said nothing, just glanced at him.
“Oh, I see. Not sharing your secrets, huh?”
She raised an eyebrow.
He held up his hands. “I get it.”
“Well, most of the time you don’t add those things until after the base has cooked.”
His silence made her laugh.
“Let me guess…”
Declan sighed as he finished the framing. “Yes, okay? Another mistake made by yours truly.”
“Don’t feel bad. I remember some doozy errors in my early days.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, just basic stuff.”
“Like what I’m doing.”
She sighed. “Yes, and more.” And suddenly, the past rose up, tied a knot inside her.
“Lily? What’s that face for?”
She looked up, and he stood closer than before, brow furrowed. Almost like he cared.
“It’s nothing.”
“I know you. That’s not nothing .”
He knew her? She refused to let those words land while she turned the fudge round and round in the pot while it heated. “When I was ten or eleven, I completely ruined a batch of fudge. It went rock hard because I overbeat it.”
“Doesn’t seem like such a big deal to me.” Declan took the candy thermometer off the wall, stuck it into the fudge.
Two-seventeen. Still a bit to go.
“Yeah, well, I was…I was daydreaming. Conjuring up a new recipe in my head. My grandpa was furious.”
“I did hear he was a bit of a hot temper.”
She gave him the side eye. “You’ve heard, huh?”
He held up his hands. “Yes, and it has nothing to do with the names he may or may not have called my grandpa when he accused him of theft.”
“Oh.” She could imagine that. “Well, he probably had his reasons.” Oops. She wasn’t trying to reignite the war.
Apparently, he wasn’t either. “Sorry.” The thermometer beeped upward. Closer to being ready. “So, what happened with your grandpa?”
“He basically told me to stop being an airhead.” She shouldn’t be telling him this—but frankly, talking to him felt…
Stupidly easy.
Oh boy. “He said I’d never amount to anything if I couldn’t focus.”
“Over one ruined batch of fudge?”