Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Text copyright ©2017 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Roxanne St. Claire. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Barefoot Bay remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Roxanne St. Claire, or their affiliates or licensors.
For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds
Whispers in the Sand
A Barefoot Bay Kindle World Novella
Gail Chianese
Table of Contents
Welcome to Barefoot Bay Kindle World
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
About the Author
Books by Gail Chianese
Welcome to Barefoot Bay Kindle World
Dear Reader,
Welcome to Barefoot Bay Kindle World, a place for authors to write their own stories set in the tropical paradise that I created! For these books, I have only provided the setting of Mimosa Key and a cast of characters from my popular Barefoot Bay series. That’s it! I haven’t contributed to the plotting, writing, or editing of Sweet Surrender. This book is entirely the work of Gail Chianese, a fabulous author who’s been to Barefoot Bay before.
This time Gail is getting sweet…with cupcakes, that is. Get ready for a bake off that serves up a delicious “happily ever after” for two brilliant bakers who go head-to-head and heart-to-heart. Sweet Surrender is guaranteed melt your heart like butter and send you in search of a recipe for sweet, sweet love.
Roxanne St. Claire
Acknowledgements
Dear Readers,
I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to have been invited back to the world of Barefoot Bay. I’m a huge fan of Roxanne St. Claire’s and to be asked back is an honor. Once again, I’ve shown my rebellious side and bent the rules a little here. I’ve written a contemporary romance with a dash of the paranormal thrown in. Thank you for forgiving me my transgression and extending a little trust in Rocki’s faith in me and giving Sweet Surrender a try.
I also like to give a shout out to my amazing MTBs—the best friends I could ever wish for, without them, I’d still be staring at a blank screen. And to my daughter who came up with the original idea of telling a romance with a ghost in the story. And to Jane Haertel, editor extraordinaire, who made this story so much better than when I started out. Please know that any errors are my fault and not hers.
Chapter One
“So what’s the deal with your grandmother? Is she psychic or what?” Pete Jackson asked.
“What do you mean?” Ian O’Malley crossed his arms as he tamped down his impatience. He wanted to get the contract signed and get on with his life, not talk about his kooky family.
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining.” The older man scratched the top of his head. “It’s weird. The only one who knew I was thinking of selling the place was my wife, and no one was around when I mentioned it to her. Then the next morning your grandmother walked in and told me to call you.”
“Maybe your wife talked to her,” Ian suggested.
“Nah, they don’t know each other.” Pete scratched his head again. “It’s like your grandmother has supernatural powers.”
Ian laughed. If only Pete knew. His grandmother did have supernatural help, but she couldn’t read minds. Thank God!
“Maybe she caught a leprechaun and he granted her a wish. You know us Irish.” Ian picked up the pen and handed it to Pete. “Either way, I’m glad she did. This is exactly what I needed.”
Pete took another look around the place, bent over, and signed the deed before drawing a set of keys from his jeans pocket and handing them over.
“Congratulations. The Sweet Spot is officially yours.”
“Thanks, man.” Ian let the keys dangle for a moment between two fingers as the reality sank in. “I’m ready for it—ready to call my own shots, be my own boss. Your timing was perfect. One more week in LA and they’d be locking me up in a padded cell.”
“Don’t thank me—you did me the favor, moving as quickly as you did to close the sale. I haven’t even told anyone in town yet.” Pete looked around like he was saying goodbye to an old friend. “I’ll let you do the honors.”
“I was thinking I’d make a few changes, and then have a grand reopening. Update the décor and menu. Put my stamp on the place.”
First thing to go would be the faded pink-and-white striped wallpaper and the matching awning out front. He’d replace it with a bold color. Red was good for stimulating the appetite.
Pete rubbed at the back of his neck. “You might want to take it slow. Some of the folks here in Mimosa Key are a little resistant to change.”
“Are you talking about Charity Grambling over at the Super Min?”
Pete laughed. “I’m guessing you’ve had the pleasure of making her ladyship’s acquaintance.”
“I’m not sure I’d refer to her as a lady, more like a barracuda. She wouldn’t let me buy a paper without a full rundown: name, purpose of visit, relatives, and marital status. What is she, an undercover CIA op? If not, she missed her calling.” Ian walked around the display case, making plans.
“Wait until she finds out I sold you the bakery.”
Ian looked up. “Is she a regular?”
Pete nodded. “I’ve got it written down for you, but yeah. She picks up a dozen muffins everyday—blueberry on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Banana walnut on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and she doesn’t care who might have a nut allergy. On Sundays she wants apple cinnamon. If you value your sanity and hearing, you won’t mess with her schedule.”
Ian rubbed at his chest, where acid reflux was building. “Any others I should be aware of?” The sale had moved quickly. Ian had looked at the financial records, the competition—none—then determined it was a sound business and closed the deal.
“Like I said before, business is good year-round. Better in some months than others, but now that we have the Barefoot Bay Bucks and that goat farm, No Kidding, there’s more tourists. Junonia, the restaurant out at Casa Blanca Resort and Spa, does their own baking, but the Barefoot Brides really keep us hopping.”
“Barefoot Brides?”
Pete leaned against the edge of one of the few tables in the place. “They run a destination wedding service out of the resort. Some of the brides—and their mothers—can be a pain, but Willow is a dream to work with. The month of August is kind of quiet as it’s hotter than Hades here. But the rest of the year, it’s gotten to be busier than I can handle. After dealing with the rich and famous, Mimosa Key should be a piece of cake for you. Ha, ha. Pun intended.”
Nope, he was done with pampered princesses and spoiled children. From here on out he was calling the shots. He’d bake what he wanted, when he wanted, and for whom he wanted. But Pete was right—Mimosa Key was a small community. He’d been hearing stories of the place for years from his gram, Siobhan O’Mal
ley, and more recently from his sister, Shay.
And since he was planning to sink some roots there was no point in starting his new business venture and life by pissing off everyone on the island. Plus, he’d pretty much depleted his savings buying the bakery, so for now he’d suck it up and cater to the bridezillas.
Pete said his goodbyes, wished him luck, and left, leaving Ian standing in the middle of an empty storefront full of promise. He walked around, envisioning the changes he wanted to make to the space as his brain plotted out the menu. Life in LA had been good—for a while, until one day it became one long-running competition. Could he top the last cake he made? It stopped being about taste and art and became about who could create the most outlandish masterpiece. Or who snagged the bigger client.
He’d grown tired of it all.
It was time to get back to doing what he loved—baking.
And not just cakes. He wanted to bake cookies and pies. Maybe he’d even branch out and add breads and pastries. This was his place and he could do as he pleased.
He’d take the Charity Gramblings of the world, who wanted simple food that tasted good, over fame and fortune. The latter two had never brought him satisfaction. Sort of like sex without an orgasm. All the work, with no reward.
A quick scan of the upcoming orders confirmed a full calendar. Pete planned on notifying the staff in person tonight of the change of ownership, and tomorrow they’d have their first meeting. Sometime in between, Ian needed to get his ducks in a row. Mimosa Key was small, which meant jobs were limited, as were workers. The last thing he wanted was to lose trained staff or make valuable employees stress over where their next paycheck was coming from. He planned on changes, yes, but his goal was a hometown bakery where customers were treated like family. And to do that he needed good people under him.
As he surveyed the inventory he pulled out ingredients on autopilot. His fingers itched to feel the silky softness of flour sifting over them. He craved the smell of melting butter and brown sugar. He needed the taste of home.
And nothing said home more than chocolate chip cookies. Plus, chocolate was the way to a woman’s heart and it sounded like he needed to win over a couple of them if he was to succeed in Mimosa Key.
First stop: a visit to the Barefoot Brides. According to the calendar hanging on the wall, his next wedding was a little over two weeks away. The order was for a simple vanilla cake with strawberry buttercream, except Ian knew there was no such thing as a simple wedding cake.
One of these days he’d learn to freaking look before he leaped.
If he hadn’t been so pissed off and tired of Lynsay, his boss, with her never-ending demands to “go big or go home,” he might have thought things through. He’d tried to go big. Hadn’t gone so well. Now he was home—or rather making a new home—thanks to his gram’s call.
He didn’t regret his decision. Had it been impulsive? Sure. Reckless even, but it got him out of LA and closer to his family. Now to make the most of the opportunity he’d been given and learn from his mistakes. First lesson learned: keep the customers happy. Second lesson: next time, weigh his options and think before he opened his trap.
Chances of that happening? About the same as him baking a lousy cake.
In other words, low, because he was a damn good baker. At least that part of his life was working.
Ian popped the butter and cream cheese for his cookies into the microwave to soften, then measured out the dry ingredients for his award-winning cookies. They’d definitely go on the new menu. Not that he planned to make too many changes, because one of the reasons Ian had been drawn to The Sweet Spot was because Pete had kept it simple. The guy hadn’t gone for a bunch of frou-frou pastries.
Ian planned to follow suit.
The bell over the front door jingled and Ian wiped his hands on the pristine white towel.
“I’m sorry, but we’re closed for the day,” he called out as he walked to the front to be greeted by a white-haired lady in a bright-orange top and turquoise shorts. “Gram.”
“Ian, dear, I don’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to pop in and say congratulations.”
The air around his grandmother shimmered and Ian found himself staring at the faint image of his late grandfather. Ian nodded and acknowledged the spirit. “I see you brought company.”
“But of course, dear. O’Malley wanted to see the place. Your grandfather is the one who made this all possible. If he hadn’t overheard the Jacksons talking, I would never have known.”
“Had to do something to bring the lad home,” Finn O’Malley said as clearly as if his corporeal body stood right there.
After all these years, it didn’t faze Ian. The rest of the family didn’t have the same gift. Only his gram and he could actually see O’Malley and talk with the man. His sister heard bits and pieces, and his parents still thought they were all nuts.
“Just don’t haunt the customers, okay?” He said to Finn before turning to his gram. “I was making cookies. Want to help?”
“Oh, no, but thank you. I’ll leave the baking to you. Feel free to bring a plate over tonight for dessert, though. Hmm.” She looked around, wrinkling up her nose. “I hope you’re planning to rip this god-awful wallpaper down. It’s very 1950s.”
“I was thinking I’d paint the walls red—”
“No, that won’t do at all. You’re in Florida, dear. Paradise. You need to harvest the colors around you and bring them inside. Make the bakery an extension of the beauty of Mimosa Key.” She gestured to her colorful outfit as she spoke.
He managed not to wince, and smiled instead. Gram meant well. “I’ll keep that in mind. Are Shay and Colin coming to dinner tonight?” He hadn’t seen his sister and soon-to-be brother-in-law since he’d arrived.
“Colin had to run up to St. Augustine. Some animal rescue needed him, so Shay went to visit your parents.”
“Are you going to serve hot cross buns, lad?” Finn’s strong Irish lilt rang strong and true. “They’re my favorite.”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Ian, that’s a wonderful idea. Bring a little touch of your ancestry to the place.”
“We’ll see, Gram.”
Finn moved closer, creating a chill down Ian’s left side. “Your great-great granddad was a fine baker in his time, did you know? Made the best hot cross buns in all of County Mayo. Why, the ladies would line up for blocks to get their hands on his buns.”
“Is that a fact?” Ian asked as he raised a questioning brow to his grandmother.
“It is a fact, indeed.” The air warmed as O’Malley’s spirit moved away, but he continued to speak. “If you ask me, a lad such as yourself stands a fair chance to have a lady or two line up to get their hands on your—”
“Well, I must be off now,” Gram cut in, wrapping him in a quick hug. “Time for my pedicure and then I have a dance lesson over at Allegro with that sweet Jasper. Don’t forget the cookies tonight.” With a final kiss on the cheek, she was out the door with Finn trailing behind her before Ian could say another word.
At eighty-plus, Siobhan O’Malley was still full of life and opinions. As Ian headed back into the kitchen chuckling, he made a mental note to grab his camera later so he could capture the “colors” around him when he went over to the Casa Blanca Resort and Spa.
~*~
Caty Kennedy’s kitchen smelled like heaven. She inhaled deeply and smiled. She’d been waiting for this day for years—CatyCakes was now open for business.
As she pulled the batch of chocolate-cherry cupcakes out of her brand-new oven, tears filled her eyes. They were just right. As was her newly renovated, commercial-grade kitchen. Even if she’d had to spend damn near every last dime of her divorce settlement, it was worth the price.
Everything from the sunny yellow walls, to the granite one-piece countertops, to the oak cabinets was exactly what she’d wanted. Throw in the top-of-the-line appliances, the six-burner stove, double ovens, walk-in pantry and fridge, and it was per
fect.
Soon the rest of her life would be too.
Her mouth watered as she inhaled the rich aroma. If she chose, she could eat every last one.
She could do anything she wanted now that she had her freedom—and sanity—back, but all she wanted to do was bake. It was what she did best, and her dream was to have her own business. A sweet little shop on Main Street, with a pink-and-white striped awning and a window filled with scrumptious baked goods all made by her.
For now, she’d have to settle on a home-based business, but she’d taken the first step.
She slid the muffin pan onto the waiting cooling rack and grabbed the next batch to pop into the oven. She couldn’t wait to test out every piece of equipment, to share her creations with paying customers…to make something of herself on her own terms.
As the one batch cooled and the next baked, Caty perused her walk-in pantry. She planned to top the cupcakes with a marshmallow frosting, so she needed something to offset the sweetness. Create a balance. Life—and food—was all about balance.
Maybe something salty? And crunchy? Her hand landed on a bag of pretzels. Perfect.
The kitchen door opened as she set the bag on the counter and her intern, Shelby, walked in, sniffed the air, and smiled. “Did we get our first order?”
“Sort of. My friend, Mandy Nichols, mentioned it was an employee’s birthday and she was going to run out and get cupcakes, so I volunteered to make them. She and I went to high school together and now she has her own business that provides housekeeping for the Casa Blanca Resort and Spa. Plus, her husband is part owner of the Barefoot Bay Bucks.”
“That was nice of you, but how does that help?” Shelby dipped a spoon into the batter, closed her eyes and moaned. “This is really good.”
“Thank you.” Caty poured a cupful of pretzels out onto the counter and grabbed her rolling pin. “For one, she’s a mom, and moms throw birthday parties. And two, I’m hoping she’ll recommend to her husband and his partners that they carry CatyCakes at the stadium.”
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