by Sandi Scott
“Ashley,” said Ryan, stopping to face her. “I want more—more fun, more adventures, more you.”
The moon was so bright that even here, far from the lights of the party, trees had shadows. Why was it that she always wanted what she couldn’t have and then, as soon as she could, she wasn’t sure that she wanted it any more?
“I’ve been so happy since you came back, Ash,” continued Ryan. “That’s not a coincidence.”
“Thank you, Ryan, but I don’t know.” She paused. “What we have is so great. I’m afraid we’ll mess that all up if we rush into something more.”
Ryan took her hands into his. “Fine. We won’t rush. How about this–let me take you to dinner.”
Ashley looked first at their clasped hands and then into the eyes of her friend, which were filled with a confidence she couldn’t resist.
“Dinner sounds great,” she said, “as long as it’s not at the Smokeground. That’s much too messy eating for a date.”
“Well, it’s a date, then,” Ryan said, squeezing her hands in his. They turned back to return to the party, hand-in-hand.
THE END
Letter from the Author
Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this story and will consider writing a review on Amazon.com or lending it to a friend.
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Stay cozy,
Sandi
Dear Readers,
Here’s my gift to you--the first chapter of the next book in the Seagrass Sweets series – Tarte Tatin Murder. Get the book for free at www.SandiScottBooks.com/freebook
Tarte Tatin Preview
CHAPTER 1
"Merciful macaroons!" exclaimed Ashley, slamming on the brakes and barely missing the man in a CURE Cancer T-shirt and an absurd straw hat that covered his forehead down to his eyes. He waved vaguely in her direction as he zoomed away, the piles of sponsorship signs in his cart so high that he couldn't actually see her. Dust shrouded several people walking across the lot as the cart zipped past them, too fast and too close for the crowd.
Still grumbling about the cart driver’s carelessness, she looked around the parking lot for more hazards. The other volunteers scurried about the lot, taking care of last-minute details for the non-profit cancer research foundation's golfing fundraiser. She had parked her van as close to the clubhouse as possible and jumped out to open the back just before she was almost mowed down by the reckless cart driver.
One of the volunteers waved and shouted, "Are you okay? That guy's a menace with all those signs piled on top of the ice chests and that stupid hat blocking his vision. And he didn't even stop to make sure you were all right; so rude!"
Ashley waved back. "Yeah, I'm fine; he just startled me. With this many people milling around in the parking lot, I can't believe he'd be that careless; some of them aren't moving nearly fast enough to get out of his way in time. It would be a pretty depressing start to the tournament for someone to be hurt before they even got inside the club. Anyway, it looks like a good turnout of helpers today."
The volunteer reached the back of Ashley's van. "For sure—it looks like we'll have plenty of people to cover things for once. And, speaking of covering, I'd better hustle my bustle. I'm supposed to be checking in the golfers starting in three minutes, and those old goats get testy if you make them wait. The sooner they get started, the sooner they can get back to the bar, and that's the only reason some of them play golf in the first place."
Chuckling, Ashley paused to admire the landscaping at the front of the club—red and orange double hibiscus, yellow esperanza and blue plumbago, and an iron picket fence with an arched gate twined with butterfly vine, its unique seed pods looking like butterflies hovering. Picking up a tray of scrumptious French pastries, she headed for the rather plain wood and cinder block building and tugged open the heavy, ornately carved door. Her eyes widened as she took in the opulence of the place—marble floors, gilded wall sconces, crystal chandeliers, heavy velvet drapes. "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto—or in little ol' Seagrass, Texas, either! I don't know whether to be impressed or appalled!" As she turned in circles, lost in taking in the spectacle, she didn't notice any of the people wandering around her, their voices fading into a vague murmur.
She jumped as a deep voice said, "Welcome to the Seagrass Country Club!" Turning, she saw a young man, decked out in a formal business suit, standing at a small carved cherry wood desk just inside the door. "How may I assist you today?"
"My name is Ashley Adams; I'm the dessert caterer for the CURE fundraiser. Where should I set up the food?"
"If you will follow me, I'll escort you to the banquet room. The foundation is using that room during the day for light refreshments before the awards ceremony this evening. Do you need assistance unloading your desserts?"
Ashley wasn't about to turn down the offer. "That would be great. It's pretty warm out there today, so getting the chocolates inside as quickly as possible is probably a good idea!"
The young man pulled a small walkie-talkie from inside his jacket. "Hank, please come to the banquet room to assist the caterer." A short blast of static followed, and the young man continued, "Hank should be here in just a moment; if you'll excuse me, I'll get back to directing incoming traffic. Some of our members feel neglected if someone isn't there to call them by name as soon as they walk in the door."
Another young man stepped around the corner, this one in dress slacks and a short-sleeved shirt embroidered with the country club logo on the pocket. He grinned at her as he held his hand out to shake hers.
"Hi! I'm Hank. Greg said you needed some help carrying something?”
"Hank, thanks! I'm Ashley, and I have pastries and chocolates to bring in for the CURE fundraiser. I definitely appreciate your offer to help!"
"Oh, yum—that sounds good! We'd better get them in quickly; we wouldn't want them to melt before the golfers get to taste them. They can sometimes be a bit fussy!"
As Hank and Ashley returned to the clubhouse with the next load, Hank commented, "I noticed you looking at all the glitz—pretty over the top, huh?" Clearly, he'd seen the same reaction before and found it amusing.
Ashley laughed. "I can't decide if it's beautifully sophisticated or if it's really cheesy and tasteless! It's hard to imagine that something this sumptuous is in little Seagrass! And you certainly don't expect anything like it when you see the outside. I know the merchants’ association has been pretty successful in getting a more well-heeled type of tourist, but this has been here longer than that, hasn't it? And old Seagrass screams beach shack and barbecue joint. The décor here just doesn't fit that image."
"Some things don't change,” Hank replied. “There have always been people with more money than common sense, and folks who saw the need to show off that money. The club has been around since the early 1920s, but it wasn't 'old money' that built it. The original members were definitely nouveau riche, and pretty snobbish about it! We read some of their journals and the newspaper accounts of the opening and events in my local history class. It was pretty obvious that cliques and arrogance aren't just a modern invention."
The last trays and boxes set on the table, Ashley thanked her helper and handed him a cream-filled mini profiterole. "Here, take a pastry with you."
The high-nineties temperature and 83 percent humidity had made carting in the miniature eclairs, stacks of hazelnut and chocolate crepes, and bite-sized tarte tatin squares hot work. Before she started arranging the pastries on silver serving trays, she stepped over to the bar, looking for a glass of water.
"Please tell me you are here with my liquor order," the bartender, a petite blonde, begged. "As you can see, this bar is almost dry, and that won't do at all. The CURE guys are hoping fo
r a big take on the fundraiser, and folks always bid higher at silent auctions when they're a bit lubricated beforehand."
"Sorry, I'm just the dessert caterer; I can't help you with the alcohol thing at all. I was hoping I could get a glass of water to cool off while I finish setting up. My name is Ashley; I own Seagrass Sweets, the catering company. "Geez, I'm sorry! The supplier said the delivery's on the way; it should have been here yesterday, but he said the order had never been placed. He thought he could get it here two hours ago, but I haven't seen any sign of the truck or the booze. I guess I'm freaking a little. Some of the members are already grousing about having to wait for their first drinks."
Ashley glanced at her watch. "Really? It's not even ten o'clock in the morning! Are they really looking for alcohol this early?"
"I guess some of them prefer hooch to hot coffee; we had to start locking up the stuff because a few of the members would help themselves to drinks before we open up at eight most mornings.” She scooped ice into a large glass and filled it with water, then handed it to Ashley. “I'm Stacey. Just let me know if you need anything from the bar. It's going to be a long day for both of us!"
Carrying her drink back to the dessert table, Ashley covered the serving tables with the vintage tablecloths she'd inherited from her great-grandmother, which were with tone-on-tone flowers and vines embellishing the light ivory linen background. She used dainty pastel-stitched lady's handkerchiefs in place of a runner to add a subtle touch of color. With the antique tiered porcelain dishes and engraved silver trays, the table was elegant but still exuded warmth, a "high society meets country chic" effect that didn't take itself too seriously. The effect was subtle enough to accent the food without distracting from it, and Ashley felt a twinge of pride as she surveyed the display. She knew Great-Grandmother Estelle would approve of the way Ashley was using the heirlooms and that she would be proud of her great-granddaughter's business, especially because at least half of the recipes were from the handwritten cookbooks Ashley had inherited from her.
As she arranged eclairs, cream puffs, and slices of opera cake on the tiers and filled the crepes with chocolate-hazelnut spread and raspberries before dusting them with powdered sugar, an attractive silver-haired man wearing a CURE polo shirt and plaid golfing slacks walked up. His moss-green eyes twinkled, implying a friendly, charming personality with a hint of mischief lurking inside and giving Ashley the impression of a slightly naughty young boy hiding in a grown-up body. She wondered briefly what he'd been like as a child.
"Hello, there—you must be Ashley! I'm Charles Brady, Ryan's uncle. After all the great things Ryan has told me about them, I can't wait to sample your desserts!"
Ashley smiled and offered him her hand. "I'm so glad to meet you, Mr. Brady. Ryan said that you would be here today. He used to mention you occasionally when we worked together at SmithCorp. He always told me that you were just like a father to him."
"Oh, I know you worked together; Ryan's told me a lot about you, and not just about your baking!" Ashley blushed a little, wondering what exactly Ryan had told his uncle; she had a hard time just trying to figure out what Ryan thought of her. "I have to say, though, his catering recommendation made one part of this crazy event simple for the planning committee." He winked at Ashley, making her blush even more. She knew that Ryan had been interested in her when they worked together, but she was involved at the time—with the wrong guy, as it turned out—a snake who led her into some illegal hacking while lying to her about both the IT work and their relationship. She wasn't sure that Ryan was interested now in anything more than a casual friendship. Maybe Uncle Charlie would drop a clue or two.
"It's a good thing I was a Boy Scout growing up," he said, tapping the etched silver flask tucked into his breast pocket and nodding toward the bar. "I came prepared for an emergency, and it looks like we have one over there—not a drop of Scotch whiskey in the place. What kind of bar has no alcohol on hand?" Based on the way he listed slightly to the side, Ashley suspected he'd already breached his emergency stash more than once that morning.
Before she could respond, a yelp from the silent auction tables startled them. They turned to see an older, distinguished-looking man pretending to brush non-existent crumbs off the front of a pretty young brunette's blouse. He had her trapped between two tables, leaning close and leering, and her eyes were flitting around desperately, looking for an escape route.
"Ah, yes,” Charlie remarked. “My golf partner for the day, the brilliant Oliver Green, genius researcher, and self-proclaimed gift to women, has already begun his play. He's closer to finding a cure for cancer than anyone else in the world, but he rather lacks the social skills necessary to charm women—or anyone else, for that matter."
As they watched, the couple's interactions became more and more awkward. The woman's body language said clearly that she wasn't interested in his advances but didn't know how to reject them without offense, and she kept trying to find a way to move away from him. Green, however, was totally unaware that she was repulsed rather than intrigued, and he kept sliding closer and closer, clearly ignoring polite society's usual personal boundaries.
"Excuse me, Ashley. I'd better go rescue our lovely volunteer before she either faints dead away or screams for her lawyer to sue us. It was a pleasure to finally meet you, and I look forward to getting to know you better." Charlie touched Ashley warmly on the shoulder as he walked over to Green, slapping him on the back and starting a conversation, giving the grateful volunteer a chance to escape.
Ashley pulled out her phone and quickly texted Ryan.
"Thx tons for job referral. Just met ur uncle –great guy!"
Her phone beeped seconds later.
"Beware crazy Uncle Charlie. There’s no telling what wild things he’ll get up to!"
Like what you read? Get the whole book for free at www.SandiScottBooks.com/freebook
Napolean-A Creamy Puff Pastry Cake
Ingredients
For the dough:
2 10’’x10’’ (25cm x 25cm) puff pastry sheets
For the cream:
1 cup sugar
1 cup flour
1/4 gallon milk
3 large eggs
Preparation
First prepare the dough. Depending on the manufacturer of the puff pastry, you might need to defrost the dough, and either rollout or cut the sheets to the desired size.
Preheat the oven to 400F. Line 2 cookie sheets with parchment paper. Bake each puff pastry sheet for 20 minutes on the middle rack. After 10 minutes you might want to rotate the cookie sheet 180 degrees to ensure equal baking. When the pastry is puffed and light golden brown it is ready.
Let the puff pastry cool, and then cut each sheet horizontally into 2 layers, basically making 4 thin sheets. You will need 3 of them for the actual sheets and 1 for decorative crumbs, which you can easily make with your fingers.
Now for the cream: Beat the eggs with the sugar and flour. Boil the milk. While the milk is warming, pour about 1/2 cup into the egg mix and stir well to gradually increase its temperature. This way the eggs won’t curdle when you add them to boiling milk. Repeat this step 2-3 more times as the milk approaches boiling temperature.
Once the milk boils, pour the warm egg mix into the boiling milk, constantly stirring, to prevent lumps from forming. Keep on the stove for several 3 more minutes, continue stirring. It’s best to use hand held mixer in this stage.
Remove the cream from heat, let cool, and spread on the puff pastry sheets, creating alternating layers of puff pastry and cream (3 layers of each type, 6 total).
Spread the pastry puff crumbs on top of the upper cream layer.
Refrigerate for 2-3 hours or overnight before serving.
Makes 9 servings at 392 cal/serving
Recipe from Foodista
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPT
ER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
Letter from the Author
Tarte Tatin Preview CHAPTER 1
