Chapter 3
Three
CALLIE
PRESENT DAY
Ardnoch, Scottish Highlands
S tepping back from the plate of patisserie cakes I’d created for my mum, I eyed her, feeling almost as nervous as when I’d baked anything for my teachers. I’d spent the better part of the last three years in Paris at a top culinary school, earning my bachelor’s degree in French pastry arts. Between classes and internships at some of the busiest restaurants in the city, I’d not only grown in experience but in confidence.
And yet, I was still nervous to make the pastries I wanted to sell in Callie’s Wee Cakery. My mother named her bakery after me, not knowing that I’d grow up to want to follow in her footsteps. I loved every hour I’d spent here as a child, baking with Mum. Some of my fondest memories, both while we were in LA and here in Scotland, include the days spent in the kitchen with her.
By the time I was fifteen, I’d known with certainty that I wanted to stay in Ardnoch and help Mum run the bakery. That never changed. But after a few years in the village doing just that, I’d yearned to learn more than what Mum could teach me. She understood that. So I applied to the school in Paris because I was lucky enough to have a parent who not only believed in me but could afford the fees.
I missed my family. I missed Scotland. But I was glad I left the Highlands to experience a bit of the world, to earn my degree, and to learn through missing it that our wee village was exactly where I wanted to be.
However, every time I talked about coming home and bringing all I’d learned back with me, my mum either got quiet or changed the subject. I’d begun to wonder if she didn’t want me working at the bakery and taking it over one day.
She’d been strange with me ever since I returned home a few days ago. I’d begun to worry that maybe I assumed too much when I announced all those years ago that I wanted to work with her. And now that I was back, she didn’t want me back. While I was gone, she trained a young lad called Phil from Golspie, and he was now her assistant baker. I tried not to get nervous or jealous about that. But now I had to wonder … maybe she didn’t need me anymore.
“These look too beautiful to eat, Callie.” Mum stared at the pastries in awe. “Ardnoch won’t know what’s hit them. But are you sure you have time to bake such complicated pastries for the store? Are you sure we can charge what we need to charge to cover the cost of the ingredients?”
I nodded. I’d worked all of that out already when coming up with my creations.
I’d taken classic French pastries such as the Saint Honoré and modified them, made them smaller. They were somewhere between the size of an entremets and a petit four. My specialty was choux pastry. Two of my teachers had claimed I had the best choux in my year.
Mum finally cut her fork into the dessert. It was six profiteroles filled with salted caramel diplomat cream, glazed in chocolate hazelnut, with diplomat cream piped between them in the shape of a star. A seventh glazed profiterole topped the star. I watched in glee as Mum’s eyes rolled with pleasure.
“Ohmagawd …” The mouthful muffled her words.
“You like?” I beamed in delight. There was nothing that brought me more joy than when someone enjoyed my desserts. Especially Mum, because she was such a fantastic baker.
However, Mum finished chewing and got worryingly quiet.
“Mum?”
Her eyes flew to mine. And I saw guilt there. “You should be a pastry chef in one of the finest restaurants in Paris. Not here in Ardnoch.”
Understanding dawned, and with it a humongous wave of relief. “Oh, Mum …” I rounded the large island in the bakery’s kitchen. “Is that why you’ve been weird since I got home?”
She chewed her lower lip. “I don’t mean to be. But I’m so worried that you’ve left behind everything in Paris because you feel obligated to be here.”
Hearing the emphasis on everything , I winced before drawing her into a tight hug. We were the same height—five seven—and since my return home, I’d been mistaken for Mum several times by villagers. As I’d gotten older, we’d only grown more alike. When I posted photos on socials of the two of us, I got so many comments from friends about how young Mum looked and how similar we were. I considered it a huge compliment.
She hugged me so hard it was almost painful.
I squeezed her back. “I’m home because I want to be home. ”
When Mum released me, I looked deep into her eyes. “Home is where you are, where Dad is, where Harry is. And I’m grateful that Ardnoch is where you are because it’s home to me. It has been since we arrived fifteen years ago. Paris was a wonderful experience, and I’m so glad I did it. But I don’t regret leaving it behind. Any of it. Including Gabriel.”
She searched my eyes for the truth. “You didn’t love him, then?”
I shook my head. I’d met Gabriel through a classmate. He’d been a sexy, charming, hardworking police officer. He worked in a tough arrondissement in the north of the city. Out of the nine months we’d been dating, I’d say we’d spent the equivalent of four of them together. He was exactly what I’d needed after Remy, my first boyfriend in Paris. Remy was a fellow student and arrogantly confident in a way that was sexy at first. But he’d needed to feel superior to me, and when I started excelling in class, moving past him, he resorted to insults and belittling comments, so I kicked him to the curb.
Gabriel had been complimentary and sweet and our relationship had been wonderfully shallow. However, his evasiveness not only became annoying but raised alarm bells. I never met any of his colleagues, didn’t know anything about his family, and in the last few months of our relationship, he’d grown even more distant, cagey, and he’d started drinking more. I knew his job was difficult, but I also didn’t feel like he’d ever let me in long enough to be a safe place for him to come home to. The fact was I didn’t have the energy to find out. I didn’t want to find out. It hadn’t hurt a bit to break up with him, and honestly Gabriel had seemed relieved when I broke it off. We’d both known I would be leaving Paris once I graduated.
Mum sighed. “Your social media posts were very deceiving, then. You two … you looked in love.”
I raised an eyebrow. “We did? ”
“Very much so.”
“Well, we weren’t, I assure you.” I could never love someone as closed off as Gabriel. “I know absolutely nothing about him beyond the obvious stuff. He wouldn’t tell me about his family, if he was originally from Paris or not … it was all superficial. He was always working, so I barely saw him.”
My mum seemed to deflate before me. “Oh, thank God. I’ve been so worried that you were giving up this amazing life in Paris because of a promise to me.”
“Don’t you think I would have told you if I was in love?” I’d told her every detail of my life. She was my best friend. Shaking my head at her silliness, I pulled her in for another hug. “I am exactly where I want to be, Mum.”
“I’m so glad,” she whispered, sounding a little teary.
When we finally released each other, Mum picked up her fork and dug into the Saint Honoré again. She shook her head in wonder as she moaned around the bite. “These are going to sell out fast,” she said once she’d finished. “Let’s take the others home to your dad and brother.”
“Sure.” I watched as she boxed up the selection of pastries, feeling nervous again as I considered broaching another topic I wanted to discuss. As Mum grabbed the keys to lock up, I finally blurted out, “How would you feel if I opened the bakery an extra day? You wouldn’t have to be here,” I hurried to say.
Mum only opened the bakery three days a week. It was one of the reasons that made it so successful because people, including tourists, clambered to get to the bakery first thing on the days it opened. We were usually sold out by one o’clock in the afternoon, sometimes by ten a.m. during the summer months.
She considered this. “I only open three days a week because of the early hours. Do you really want to be up at three in the morning four days a week? ”
“I was thinking I could do a lot of the prep work the night before. In fact, I was thinking of introducing that idea to the bakery in general. If we make the right things, we could do that.”
“Not bread.” Mum shrugged. “The bread has to be freshly baked.”
“So, I don’t make bread on day four.”
Mum shook her head. “You’ll get nothing but complaints from our regulars.”
“Not if we market it as patisserie day. And I was thinking, maybe I could handle the running of the bakery so you can concentrate on the cake-making side of things.” Mum specialized in celebration cakes, like weddings and birthdays. Her cakes were to die for, and she had a strong following on social media for her creations. But she was extremely exclusive and difficult to book because she only had time to do so many, what with the running of the bakery.
“Actually, I was going to run that idea by you, so I’m happy to do that. But I think we still need to discuss this day-four idea.” She opened the back door, gesturing me out. “Why don’t you settle into things first and we’ll see how it goes?”
I nodded, knowing I couldn’t throw all my ideas at her at once. “Sounds like a plan.”
Once we were settled in the car, we chatted a bit about recipes. Anytime I’d returned home from Paris over the last three years, I’d shown Mum the things I’d learned, and she soaked it all up like a sponge. She wanted more lessons, and I was more than happy to oblige. We never had so much fun than when we were baking together.
As we drove down Castle Street, the village’s main thoroughfare, my chest filled with a happy ache. It was almost summer, so the days were longer this far north. The Victorian streetlamps that lined the village were only beginning to glow, and the car park out front of the Gloaming was filled. The historical architecture and design of the village appealed to tourists as much as the celebrities staying on the village outskirts. Everything predated the mid-twentieth century, and dominating it all, near to the Gloaming, sat a medieval cathedral.
Shops, restaurants, and bed-and-breakfasts were scattered throughout the village on quaint row streets. Castle Street was the main road off the square that led out of Ardnoch toward Ardnoch Castle and Estate. It was an avenue of identical nineteenth-century terraced houses with dormer windows. Many of the homes had been converted into boutiques, cafés, and inns. There was Morag’s, a small grocery store and deli that did great sandwiches, and Flora’s, the most popular café in Ardnoch, and, of course, Callie’s Wee Cakery.
Some of the row cottages, however, remained residential.
“Oh, there’s Ery and the twins.” Mum slowed to a stop, and I gaped at the sight of the two tall beings at Ery’s side as they strolled from the Gloaming to an SUV. “Ery!”
Eredine Adair was the willowy, elegant wife of Arran Adair.
One of Lewis’s uncles.
I wanted to sink a little deeper into the passenger side as Lewis’s Aunt Ery and cousins looked our way. The twins were Kia and Keely. The girls were the spitting image of their mother. And tall. They had to be teenagers now. How had that happened? It didn’t seem that long ago when I’d been allowed to hold them in my arms as babies. Back when … well, when I’d been as much a part of the Adair family as I was of my own.
A different kind of ache spread across my chest. A less than pleasant one.
“Is that Callie?” Keely, the more outgoing of the twins, yelled before loping toward the car. She was all long limbs and awkwardness, in that in-between stage where you haven’t quite grown into your body. Her pretty, light hazel eyes lit up as she stopped by the driver’s window, grinned at Mum, and then ducked her head to greet me. “You’re back!”
Mum flinched slightly at the loud yell by her ear but shot me a grin.
“Look at the size of you two,” I huffed, forgetting my awkwardness in Keely’s bubbly presence. “How many inches have you grown since I was last here?”
“Three!” Keely hopped onto the balls of her feet. The twins had taken up dance at a young age and did ballet, tap, and all the things. They’d constantly been on the move as kids, and it didn’t look like much had changed. “Are you really back, then?”
Before I could answer, Ery and Kia approached. “I am,” I said to them all.
Ery gave me a soft smile. “It’s good to have you home.” Her gaze turned to Mum. “You must be so happy.”
“Unbelievably.”
“Hi, Kia.” I waved at Keely’s twin sister. The girls were identical, but Kia had her father’s blue eyes instead of her mother’s hazel. It was the one thing that made it easy to identify each girl.
She gave me a soft smile much like her mum’s. “Hi, Callie.”
“We were just grabbing dinner with Arran.” Ery, like me and Mum, was originally from the US. Unlike me, but much like Mum, she’d hung onto her accent. “He’s working the late shift because a bartender quit suddenly. He’s there all week, so we’re taking the chance to spend time with him when we can. Aren’t we, girls?”
Arran Adair owned and ran the Gloaming, the local pub and hotel that had been a vital part of Ardnoch for centuries.
“We’re heading home from the bakery. You guys need to stop by soon. Callie is introducing the most delicious pastries known to man,” Mum said proudly.
“All that hard work in Paris has paid off?” Ery asked.
I nodded. “Definitely. I’m excited to share what I’ve learned.”
“Well, we’re all very proud of you, Callie.”
My cheeks flushed at her kindness. No matter what had transpired between me and Lewis, I was grateful that his family hadn’t allowed it to affect our interactions. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
“We better get going. See you soon.” Ery stepped back from the car.
“Callie, do you want to go hiking sometime soon?” Keely asked as her mum led her away.
“I’d love that.”
“I’ll call you!”
I grinned as we waved and drove off.
“She’s desperate to be older,” Mum explained. “Keely. She’ll latch on to you like you’re her new best friend.”
“I’ll take all the friends I can get,” I joked. Even though it wasn’t really a joke.
All my friends from school had left Ardnoch, scattered across the country and parts of the world. We commented on one another’s posts on social media, but that was the extent of the friendship. My best friend here had always been Lewis, and his sister Eilidh was also one of my closest friends. Eils and I still talked, but she was living her life in London.
And so was Lewis.
He didn’t have social media, so I couldn’t check in with him. But sometimes Eils would post a photo of Lewis. And I’d find myself staring at it for hours.
He’d only gotten more handsome, and his hair was even longer now. At least it was when she’d posted a photo of him last week. He’d worn it in a man bun, and he had enough scruff on his face for it to qualify as a short beard.
My heart physically hurt as I took in the streets of Ardnoch. On every single one, I saw the ghosts of me and Lewis. As kids riding our bikes through the streets. Then as teens, ducking down quiet lanes to make out beyond the eyes of the local gossips. His arms around me, his hand in mine, our laughter ringing in the air.
I didn’t believe happiness was a constant. I believed we had moments of happiness that made life worthwhile.
But I didn’t use to think that. Back then, with him, I was happy almost all the time.
Pain long buried thickened my throat as those memories hit me in wave after wave.
This was the drawback to coming home.
Lewis was everywhere.
And nowhere.
Because he was gone.
And I hated him for it.
I wished, after all these years, I could be over it.
But I despised Lewis Adair for not loving me enough.
For tainting my home with memories so sweet, they stung like razor cuts.
“You okay over there?” Mum asked as we pulled into our cul-de-sac.
“I’m fine,” I lied. But it wouldn’t be a lie forever. Just because Lewis Adair had shattered my heart seven years ago didn’t mean I was ready to give up on love.
In fact, now that I was home, I was determined to be open to a deep, meaningful relationship. I’d plant new memories with a new guy here, and I’d erase every single ghost of Lewis from the streets of Ardnoch.
As if I’d conjured thoughts of them, my phone buzzed in my purse, and when I pulled it out, I tensed at the name on the screen. Eilidh.
Come to my wrap party next weekend. Not an invite, but a command. You haven’t been to any of my TV stuff, and I’m prepared to guilt you into it.
“Who is it?” Mum asked as she parked on our drive behind Dad’s Volvo.
“Eilidh. She wants me to go to her wrap party next weekend. She’s practically demanding I go.”
“Then you should go.”
“It’s in London.”
“It’s a quick flight.”
I nodded, my thumbs poised over the screen. Then, “Do you think he’ll be there?”
Mum hesitated a second. “I don’t know. I do know he graduated last week and has a permanent position at a firm in London?—”
“How do you know that?”
She gave me a strained smile. “You know Regan and I are friends, and we made a pact not to let what happened between you and Lewis come between us. She was excited and proud and wanted to share her news about her son.”
That was fair. Even if it was the one part of small-town life that had proven to be a pain in the arse. “So, he might be there.”
“Who knows? He might be too busy for a party. Are you really going to let him stop you from doing what you want? You haven’t before.”
True. I wanted to go to Eilidh’s wrap party. It sounded fun. And I missed her. Although we spoke every week, I hadn’t seen her in over a year. She came to Paris for a few days at the beginning of last year, but that was the last time we’d seen each other in person.
I’ll be there. Just tell me where and when.
Mum chuckled as she got out of the car. “I take it you said yes.”
“I did.”
“Good. Guess you need to book some flights.”
My phone buzzed.
Ahhhhhhhh! I can’t wait to hug you and squeeze your gorgeous fucking face!!!
I burst into laughter. Eilidh was worth the risk of seeing Lewis, I promised myself. Even as my gut suddenly felt like an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies had taken up residence in it.