“It’s not just about us. I decided that I was going to do this, even if you turned me down flat. I’m doing this for me. That’s how I knew it was the right thing to do.”
“Oh, Ben,” she whispered, awed, “that’s . . . wow. I wouldn’t have even thought . . . wow.” She dashed at the tears on her cheeks. “But what about your clients?”
“It’s not going to happen overnight,” he warned. “In fact, it’s going to take about six months or so of a whole lot of juggling, then probably another three or four to get things completely moved over. I have contracts I have to honor, and, well, it’s all stuff we can discuss later. But the bottom line is, I can do what I love anywhere and still love it. It was the people I didn’t want to leave.”
“It will be a lot different here,” she said. “I mean, you won’t have exactly the same client base to pull from.”
“Well, see, that’s the thing. That magazine article is turning out to be a whole lot bigger than I’d have ever dreamed. I’m getting calls from all over the place. All over the country, in fact.”
She smiled. “That’s fantastic.”
“I was flattered, but was thinking I’d have to turn them down, only now . . . well, Paul and I are thinking maybe we’ll have a slightly different focus when we relaunch here, think bigger in terms of how and where we work.” He looked at her. “It means travel on my part, but—”
She tipped up on her toes, grabbed his face, and kissed him. “It means you get to do what you love with the people you love. I’m all for it.”
He wrapped her up against him.
“So, how does this work with the farm?”
“I’m going to set up my business at the farm, co-op a bit of the property and build something similar to my building in Portsmouth. Plenty of room for that and the trees, too. I’ve already talked to a few of the men who’ve worked for my dad for years, and having watched them in motion this past month, I know they can handle running the place for the most part. And I’ll still be there, on the premises, to oversee things when needed.”
“It all sounds . . . well, like a miracle, really. And you’re sure you want to do this?”
“More sure than I’ve been about anything in my life. Except maybe this.” He lifted the ring box again. “You didn’t answer me. Will I have my work and my family farm, and get the girl, too?”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with all of us.” She kissed him. “And it’s probably going to be a life sentence.”
“Lock me up and throw away the key then,” he said, leaning his head down. “So, how about that shower? I love you, but you’re starting to smell a little . . . moldy.”
“And that, folks, is what love is all about,” she said with a laugh. She took the ring box from him. “Shower first, then we’ll see how this fits.”
“You fit, and that’s all that matters.”
She sighed and pressed her sodden, moldy smelling head to his chest. “You say the sweetest things.”
He wrinkled his nose, but smiled. “Well, you know, I owe you.”
“True,” she said. “I wonder how many years of sweet things I can leverage out of that.”
She squealed when he slid his hands down and pinched her backside, then squealed again when he scooped her up in his arms.
“On second thought,” she said, slipping her arms around his neck, “being of fireplug height and proportions does have its advantages.”
He laughed as he carried her up the stairs. “Can I get that in writing?”
Epilogue
It was all pretty disgusting, really. Well, except for the cake. The wedding cake, Kerry decided, was an inspired bit of perfection. As for the rest, well . . . “They can all have each other, Uncle Gus,” she said, leaning her head on his sturdy, good shoulder as she watched Hannah dancing with her new husband, Logan dancing with his wife, and Fiona dancing with her fiancée. “I’m going to marry this cake.” She took another bite of the champagne cake, and some of the cherry filling dribbled to her chin. She might have had just a wee bit too much of the actual champagne, too. But if you couldn’t overindulge at your sister’s wedding reception, then when could you, she wanted to know?
“It will be your turn soon, sprite,” Fergus told her, kissing the top of her head.
“Maybe I don’t want a turn. I mean, sure, they’re disgustingly happy. They make it look easy, because they’re like that, but it’s not. It’s messy and it’s complicated.” She scooped the cherry filling off her chin and licked it off her finger. “I think I’m just going to give the whole shindig a pass.” She glanced up at Fergus, and blinked when he looked a bit fuzzy to her. Maybe no more champagne. “And eat cake.”
He smiled down at her. “It’s an option,” he said. “But if ye get the chance for messy and complicated, well . . .” He turned his attention back to the makeshift dance floor that was otherwise known as the McCrae kitchen. “Don’t be so hasty to turn it away.”
Kerry thought something must have gotten in her eye, because what else would explain the sudden sting there. “Maybe,” she said, a bit hoarsely. She sniffled and frowned the tears into submission, then smiled once again. “Maybe it just has to be the right messy and complicated.” She didn’t really want to think about that, or about what she personally knew about messy or complicated. She shifted so she could snuggle in a bit closer. “Maybe I’ll just eat cake and spend my days taking care of you. You’re messy and complicated.”
He hooted a laugh at that. “Oh, there is some truth in that, to be sure.” He put his good arm around her and squeezed. “We’ll see how it all plays out, lass.”
She thought maybe she was smarter than all of them, but as she watched her oldest sister twirl ever so elegantly in her husband’s capable arms, her middle sister laugh as she got her heel caught on the hem of her dress and had to be saved from an inelegant dance floor face-plant by her always-on-call husband-to-be, and her oldest brother, whom she’d never thought she’d see making googly eyes at anyone, making rather exceptional googly eyes at his wife . . . she thought maybe there might be something to it. Maybe.
“As Christmases go,” she said, “this one is pretty memorable.”
“That it surely is,” he said, giving her another peck on the head.
Her thoughts about marriage aside, she was happy for her siblings, and quite truthfully loved the new members of her immediate family. Thank God. She was glad Ben was there, that he had postponed his trip south until New Year’s Day, so Fiona could go with him.
Yes, she had a lot to be thankful for, really. If the past few months had taught her anything, it was that life was long and yet too, too short. That was why she’d made the decision early on to make the absolute most of hers. Her siblings had gone the more traditional route, but, well, that had never been for her now, had it? She didn’t want to think about that, either. About leaving again.
“I’m really, really glad you’re here,” she said, sliding one arm around his waist and hugging him closer.
“Me, too, sprite. Me, too.”
“Merry Christmas, Uncle Gus,” she murmured, letting the music, the cake, and the champagne lull her into a light, happy doze. Where she dreamed of another place, another time, and wondered . . . what if . . . ?
Hannah & Calder’s Champagne & Cherry Pie Filling Wedding Cake
Hannah and Calder are having a big Christmas wedding, in snowy Maine, so I wanted something that was elegant, but not necessarily traditional, that also reflected the season. A lovely champagne cake was the perfect elegant foundation, while the luscious red of the cherry pie filling added the perfect bit of color to celebrate the holidays.
Below is my version of their wedding cake. The measurements listed make a regular size cake but can be easily altered to make a wedding cake. Make multiple 9” round cakes to be stacked, tiered, or even made into smaller cupcake versions, and tiered on a cupcake tree. Wouldn’t a champagne cupcake tree be perfect for a Christmas wedding? The
holiday décor ideas would be endless!
The recipe below features a poured fondant for the icing, but the variations there are boundless as well, from any number of flavored frostings, to a simple powdered sugar dusting, depending on the event. And what could be better on a cold winter night than a warmed up piece of left over champagne cherry pie cake with a little scoop of rich vanilla bean ice cream? Excuse me while I go fix a plate!
Champagne Cake
2¾ cups sifted cake flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
cup shortening (white, not butter, to keep
cake color light)
1 cup granulated sugar
¾ cup champagne (I used Pommery—if you’re
ever in France, it’s a winery tour not to be
missed!)
6 egg whites
Directions
Preheat oven to 350°F.
Prepare two 9” round cake pans with butter and dust with flour.
Sift flour, baking powder, and salt together. Set bowl aside.
Cream the shortening and sugar together until light and fluffy.
Blend in the flour mixture in thirds, alternating with the champagne, until you’ve produced a creamy batter.
Beat the egg whites until they form stiff, soft peaks.
Fold half of the egg white merengue into the cake batter and blend thoroughly with a whisk.
Gently spoon in the rest of the merengue and fold in without over mixing.
Fill the two prepared 9” pans.
Bake at 350°F for 25 to 30 minutes or until a tester/toothpick comes out clean.
Let cakes rest for 10–12 minutes, then turn out onto a rack to cool.
Allow cakes to cool completely before layering with the filling.
Cherry Pie Filling
6 cups fresh Bing cherries, pitted (meaning the
pits have been removed)
½ cup water
2 Tablespoons lemon juice (freshly squeezed is
best)
cup granulated sugar
4 Tablespoons cornstarch
Directions
Combine cherries, water, lemon juice, sugar, and cornstarch in a heavy saucepan over medium heat.
Bring to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer for approximately 10–12 minutes.
Remove from heat and cool before using as filling. You may want to pour the mixture into a bowl to keep from overcooking as it cools.
Spread filling onto cooled 9” layer cake, then carefully stack the second 9” cake on top. Pour prepared fondant over the cake to cover top and sides. Trim off excess fondant that pools at the base.
Leftover filling can be refrigerated in sealed containers for up to two days.
Poured Fondant
3 cups confectioner’s sugar, sifted
1 Tablespoon light corn syrup
4 Tablespoons water
1 teaspoon clear vanilla extract
Few drops food coloring to tint fondant (I kept
it white for this holiday wedding cake)
Directions
Mix powdered sugar, corn syrup, and water in a medium saucepan over low to medium heat.
Using a candy thermometer, stir constantly until icing reaches 100°F.
Remove from heat and stir in vanilla extract.
While warm, spread over cake with spoon or scoop and pour with a small measuring cup.
Allow to cool and firm up, then trim away excess that pools at cake base.
Leftover fondant can be stored in an airtight container, refrigerated.
Merely reheat to reuse.
NOTE: This recipe creates a glazed fondant icing commonly used with petits fours. To create a more perfect “smooth shell” fondant coating, you can use rolled fondant, or first frost the cake with a smooth layer of buttercream frosting. You may need to increase the quantity of fondant made for complete cake coverage. Trim away any excess fondant that pools at the bottom of the plate.
Keep reading for a preview of
Starfish Moon
by Donna Kauffman,
coming next May.
She didn’t mind being known as the single sibling, the last remaining unmarried McCrae. She didn’t. Kerry McCrae’s life was too big, too bold, to settle herself down in one place, with one person. Let ’em eat wedding cake.
“Refills in the back!” came a shout from the pool table area in the rear of the Rusty Puffin, her great uncle Fergus’s pub, which was tucked away in the tiny harbor town of Blueberry Cove, Maine.
The same pub she’d been helping him run now for a little over a year, putting her big and bold life on hold. She’d come back for her older brother Logan’s wedding the previous summer, then stayed on for her oldest sister Hannah’s Christmas wedding. And now the middle McCrae sister, Fiona, was driving them all bonkers planning her fall wedding to Snowflake Bay Christmas tree farmer, Ben Campbell. None of those were excuses for Kerry not heading out on her next grand adventure.
If she was looking for an excuse—and she wasn’t—it was the stroke that Fergus had suffered just a few weeks prior to Hannah’s holiday wedding that had kept her hanging around. Technically, he was her late grandfather’s cousin, but he was Uncle Gus to her, and to her siblings. He was her port in a storm, the one McCrae who truly understood her, who recognized that glint in her eye, because it matched the one in his own. He knew she couldn’t contain her spirit in a small seaside town, no matter how dear the Cove was to her. And her hometown was dear, as were each and every one of her family members. It was their strength, stability, and support, after all, that had given her the confidence, the assurance, the daring, to leave home at the tender age of eighteen and go forth to conquer the world as she pleased. And she’d pleased herself a great deal, gypsying around the globe for more than a decade now.
Except, she thought, for this last year when she’d been home again. For the weddings. And to help Uncle Gus. If it also kept her from thinking about the last adventure she’d been on before she’d returned home, then all the better, really.
“Keep your pants on, Hardy,” Kerry called out, without even looking up from the bottles she was uncapping and sliding down the bar to two of the other thirsty bar patrons crowding the small establishment. Her musings continued as she pulled four more drafts and set them on a tray. Gus’s stroke had absolutely been the reason she’d stayed past Hannah’s wedding. He’d always been there for her, so of course, she’d be there for him.
She carried the tray to the back, trying to ignore her little voice as it whispered, he’s fine, or fine enough, he doesn’t need you to stay . . . so how long are you going to cling to that reason before you find yet another? Fiona’s wedding, perhaps? Then what?
Kerry ignored her little voice—she’d gotten good at that—and set the tray on the round café table closest to the pool table that Hardy and his three fellow lobster fishermen coworkers were using. “Who’s losing?” she asked, then grinned as all four men paused in chalking or lining up their cues to look her way. “I only ask so I know whose tab to put this round on.”
“Might as well add it to Perry’s,” Hardy replied as the other two men who weren’t Perry chuckled in agreement. “He couldn’t sink a shot if he nudged it all the way to the pocket with his nose,” Hardy added with a laugh.
Hardy was a tall, well-muscled, good looking guy, a few years older than Kerry’s thirty-one. He wasn’t a native of the Cove, but had moved there from Boston after marrying Caroline Welsh, the third-grade teacher at the local elementary school. So Kerry didn’t know him well, or at all, really. What she did know was that he was a natural flirt and cocky enough to think it was perfectly fine to exhibit that talent wherever and whenever he saw fit. She also knew it had surprised no one except him, apparently, when, after three years of marriage, Caroline had filed for and gotten a divorce almost before he’d known what had hit him. That had happened right after Kerry’s return to Blueberry.
He’d stayed on in the Cove, continued
working for Blue’s, the local fishing company in Half Moon Harbor. The locals had opined he’d hung around to woo his ex-wife back, but he’d tried to coax Kerry out on a date more than once, so if that was his plan, then the divorce had taught him nothing about women. He’d been good-natured enough about accepting Kerry’s continued rejections, but she knew, given the twinkle in his dark brown eyes, that he’d try again. She wasn’t worried about that. She’d handled far worse than Hardy on her globetrotting travels.
Perry was a half dozen years older than Hardy, also a Blue’s employee, and had been since he was sixteen, helping to keep his family’s farm going by dropping out of school and working full time as soon as he was able. He was as good-natured as he was hardworking, married to Bonnie, the town’s one and only EMT, and proud of his wife’s accomplishments. They had two little ones and another on the way.
He looked up at Kerry with a sheepish grin, then straightened so he could take a sip of the beer she’d carried to him. “I wish I could say different, but he’s right. I’m blaming it on lack of sleep. Bonnie’s pulling night shift work as long as she can—pays better—so I’ve been pulling double duty with the kids. Her ma’s got them tonight so I can get out for a bit.”
Kerry just nodded as he handed the mug back to her and bent back over the table to line up his shot.
Across the table, Hardy took a sip of his beer, folding his arms around his pool cue as he leaned back against the wall, watching Perry try to line up a shot that would sink both the seven and the three if it worked. The other two men followed Hardy’s example, which was privately why Kerry thought Hardy had really stayed in the Cove. Big-man-in-a-small-pond complex, at least in his immediate circle. The three men took turns sipping and taking side bets on how many rounds Perry was going to owe for by the end of the night.
Kerry had set Perry’s mug on the table and picked up the now empty tray, but set it back down again and walked around to where Perry was still lining up his shot. She leaned down next to him. “Tap the side of the table,” she told him, her voice low.
Snowflake Bay Page 28
