Starting Over – By Christine Ashworth #3
His favorite photo of his sister Lissa stood in the middle.
Her face was alive with laughter; the photographer had captured her on a busy street in New York City.
She stood partially sideways to the camera, wearing a striped top and white overalls; the helium balloons she held were like a halo around her curly brown hair, and her eyes held delicious secrets.
She’d just turned twenty-five. Four weeks later she was dead, and it was all his fault.
He rubbed the side of the frame, as he always did. “I’m so sorry, Lissa girl.”
Ethan showered and went to bed, only to spend the rest of the night staring at the ceiling and wondering “what if”.
Skye started the coffee in the kitchen of the Café before checking the list. She’d already made the layers of Paula James’ birthday cake and tucked them in the freezer; decorating it came next, but after the dough for cinnamon rolls had been set for the second rise.
After that, it was more bread dough; cherry and blueberry pies; cranberry-orange muffins; and cookies, which would be easy since she’d made the dough the night before.
She couldn’t help but come back to the café after her encounter with Ethan. He’d stirred her up and dropped her like a hot cross bun. The man turned and ran from her for the second time, for gods’ sake! She honestly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
She hadn’t forgotten one thing about him. His moves. His scent. His taste. She’d gone home that morning and prayed they’d find each other again.
Whatever. That was in the past. Currently, she had family, friends, and a job. The next step would be to look for a place to live.
Skye went through the motions; cookie dough spaced out on the big sheet pans and tucked into the oven, timer set, all while keeping her mind decidedly off Ethan Winters.
She put the ingredients for sourdough rolls into the big mixer; once thoroughly combined, she left it to rise then started the muffins.
Three hours later, the kitchen smelled like yeasty, sugary heaven, and she’d almost worked out her aggravation.
Almost.
Jenny Frank came into the kitchen and took an appreciative sniff. “So good. Hey, a customer is asking why the coffee doesn’t taste like it did yesterday morning. Did you do something different?”
“Oh.” Skye scratched her nose. “I just added a tiny bit of cinnamon to the grounds before I turned on the machine. That’s how I make my coffee.”
“I’m about to start a new pot. Could you show me?” Jenny stood there, her smile hopeful. She was young, barely eighteen, but was a hard worker, and Skye liked to reward hard work.
“Sure. How’s your mom doing?” They moved into the café and the coffee pots.
“She’s on the mend but not coming back for a couple more days. Just to be safe.”
“That’s good news. Okay, so you just take the cinnamon shaker, here, and lightly dust the top of the coffee, and not completely. There should be more dark coffee than bright cinnamon. See?”
“Okay, got it. Thanks, Skye.”
“No worries.” She turned to go back to the kitchen, but his voice stopped her.
“Do you have time for a cup of coffee with me, Skye?”
She turned slowly. Ethan stood just beyond the counter, his smile just as hopeful as Jenny’s as the waitress watched their interaction. Skye’s gaze flickered to the corner where he had sat the day before, but the table was bare.
“You’re running late today, aren’t you?” She folded her arms.
“Yeah. Sleepless night. So? Coffee?”
Skye checked her watch. “As soon as the coffee is done, I’ll be out. I have the last batch of muffins to pull from the ovens in about three minutes.”
“I’m happy to put them in the display case for you,” Jenny offered.
She let out a chuckle. “Sure, thanks.” She turned and headed back to the bakery side of the café, aware that Jenny was following her.
“Is everything okay, Jenny?”
The teen twisted her fingers together. “I was wondering. I mean, you’re back here all alone. I’d love to learn to do what you do. I could be your apprentice. I mean, it smells so good in here all the time, and I love sweets, and making something to make people feel good, you know?”
She did. “I hadn’t thought to take an apprentice. I’ll need to think it over, then talk to my parents. Give me a couple days to think about it, okay?”
Jenny’s pretty face flushed, and she smiled. “Thank you so much. Thank you. Oh gee, I’m excited.” She bounced a little bit.
Skye halted her before she left. “I’m thinking about it, Jenny. Nothing’s settled yet.”
“Oh, I know. It’s just, it took a lot of courage for me to ask. I was sure you’d say no, but I had to ask.”
The earnestness in her words made Skye sigh internally. The girl was so young.
“Truthfully, I’m glad you asked. We’ll talk again soon, okay?”
“Okay.” On a little squeal, Jenny turned around, her ponytail bouncing, and practically skipped out the door.
Six minutes later, after checking her lipstick, Skye filled two cups with coffee and took them to where Ethan sat with his laptop still in its bag.
“Sleepless night, huh?” She took the seat across from him, her back to the shop.
“Yeah. I owe you an apology.”
She raised an eyebrow, sipped her coffee, and didn’t say a word.
“Not going to make this easy, are you?” He looked like he was gathering his thoughts. “I’m sorry for leaving the way I did.”
“Just tell me the truth. Was it me? Did I have bad breath? I mean, it’s been a while since I kissed a guy, so, you know. Was my kiss bad? It didn’t feel bad but these days who knows anything anymore. And I’m babbling because I didn’t get much sleep last night either.” Skye rubbed her eyes.
At Ethan’s low chuckle, she glanced up. “Well?”
“It wasn’t you.” His smile disappeared and he shifted in his chair. His blue eyes grew somber. “Come to dinner with me tonight. My place. I’ll cook for you. Is there anything you don’t or can’t eat?”
She sat back. “I eat everything, but Ethan, this feels a bit fast for a home-cooked meal.”
He glanced around the busy café before leaning forward a bit. “Look. There are things I need to tell you, and the café isn’t the right place. When is good for you?”
She tapped her lips with one finger while holding his gaze. “Friday night. I have Saturday off.”
“Friday night, then. Seven work for you?”
“Yeah. Want me to bring anything?”
He smiled, a smile that showed in his eyes, and her heart trembled. Damn it.
“Dinner rolls?”
“Buttermilk or sourdough?”
“Whichever you feel like baking.” He pulled a card out of his jeans pocket and slid it across the table to her. “This one has my actual address and phone number.”
She raised both eyebrows at that. “So I should feel special?”
He laughed then, a full belly laugh that had her grinning back at him.
“I’ve got to get back to the kitchen, but it’s a date. Friday night, sevenish. With dinner rolls, the type to be determined later.”
She walked back to the kitchen and felt his gaze upon her back the entire way. Was it her imagination, or was she just hit with a bunch of mixed signals?
Ethan paced his kitchen, with Posey watching him going back and forth. The salad was crisping in the fridge, the wine was chilling, and everything else was ready to put together when she arrived.
He didn’t know what kind of magic Skye was working, but when he’d left the café that morning two days ago, he’d come home and written five thousand words before sleep claimed him.
That, plus the six thousand he wrote yesterday, and the other two thousand last night after his run, made thirteen thousand words over two days.
Then another five thousand today. Eighteen thousand words in what, three days?
More than he’d managed to string together in almost a year.
The best part? He was excited about what he wrote.
Restless, he went to the mantel over the cold fireplace and pulled a card from the mess of oracle cards he’d tossed into a bowl there.
“Perspective: try looking at it from a new angle.” He snorted and flipped the card back into the bowl, swirled them around again.
“Try looking at what from a new angle?” His gaze fell upon his family photos.
He touched the one of his parents. They’d been gone so long now; a freak accident on a fishing boat in Taiwan on one of their many trips abroad led to their death.
The aftermath of that had been its own brand of hell.
He moved to the photo of Lissa and smiled again at the way her face had just lit up. She’d wanted to be an actress so very badly.
But in these times, what with all the turmoil in the country, he would have had to staple her to his side to keep her safe; and that wouldn’t have been good for either of them.
The bell rang then, pulling him out of his thoughts.
He opened the door wide and there she stood, her rich brown hair curling around her shoulders. She wore a strappy, fit and flare sundress in blue with yellow flowers scattered across it, and her brown skin glowed. A white pastry box was in her hands.
She took his breath away.
Skye cocked her head to one side, eyes dancing with laughter, and raised an eyebrow. “Am I allowed to come in?”
“I’m sorry. Of course, please.” He led the way back to the kitchen.
“I love your house. I didn’t realize any of the ones along the Terrace were rentals.
” She slid the box and a bright red bag from her shoulder onto the breakfast bar.
“Now, here’s the bread. Sourdough rolls.
” She pulled the paper bag of rolls out of the fabric bag.
“Enough to last you for a while. You might want to put half of them in the freezer.”
Ethan sniffed the bag appreciatively. “The bag is still warm,” he marveled.
“The box has my special triple lemon cake in it. Just half a cake, as my parents commandeered the other half. I need to find my own place,” she added, and perched on one of the stools at the bar.
A woof and a clatter of dog paws came through the kitchen and Skye found herself being thoroughly sniffed by what looked like a mop on legs. A very big, silky, brown and white mop.