Sugar and Ice (Rinkside in the Rockies Series Book 1)

by Aven Ellis

  “I’ll grant you that. It was a fantastic story. Go ahead.”

  “Okay. First question. Tell me about your love of history. Where did it come from?”

  “Are you sure? I can go on about it too much. I’ve seen people nearly pass out from boredom.”

  “I won’t pass out. Besides, if I do, my timer for the cheesecakes will wake me up.”

  “Oh, sassy, aren’t you?”

  He raises an eyebrow to show me he’s teasing.

  “Of course I am,” I say, grinning. “But quit stalling. Tell me about your interest in history.”

  “I told you I was different, so just remember that up front,” Cade says. “I’m a total history nerd. I’ve loved it since elementary school. I wanted to know how things happened. Why they happened. My head has been full of questions since kindergarten when we learned about the Niña, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria,” he explains, talking about the ships Columbus used to sail west. “So, while other kids were busy pasting sails on ships, I was asking my teachers questions. I exasperated them, I think.”

  “You were bright very early on,” I say, studying him.

  Cade appears embarrassed. “Yeah. I guess so. I drove my classmates crazy because whenever the teacher asked, ‘Do you have any questions?’ my hand would shoot up.”

  “I love that you knew your passion early on. That’s great.”

  Cade gives me the side-eye. “Oh, yes, it made me very popular,” he says dryly. Then he shifts. “What about you? When did you learn you loved cooking?”

  “It’s a weird story, but you should expect that by now.”

  Cade props his arm up on the back of the sofa. “I would be disappointed if it wasn’t. Weird is good.”

  Oh, I like him.

  I clear my throat. “When I was five, while you were discovering Columbus’ ships, I was discovering The Golden Girls reruns with my nonna,” I explain, referring to the old sitcom.

  “Hold on. The Golden Girls shaped your future?”

  I can’t help but laugh. “It did. Because Nonna always had it on, and, in one particular episode, the characters were sitting around a table eating cheesecake. I heard that and told Nonna cheese in a cake was icky. And she said, oh no, JoJo—that’s what she calls me—cheesecake is divino. Divine. Anyway, she whipped out that same apron, and we made one together.

  “I loved being in the kitchen, standing on a chair and helping her mix the ingredients. It was magic, seeing how all these things individually could come together and make something so absolutely different and wonderful. That is when my passion for baking began.”

  “I can see why you were given the apron,” he says.

  “Thank you. I hope I can do it justice. But I want to talk more about you. Tell me more about your love for history.”

  Cade furrows his brow. “You don’t want to know about hockey?”

  I see a look of skepticism in his eyes. As if all people want to know about is the hockey career that has given him fame and money.

  “Well, I do, but I’d rather hear about history first,” I say honestly. “That’s different. And I like different.”

  His jade eyes widen a bit. “You mean that, don’t you?”

  I simply nod in response.

  His beautiful eyes linger on mine for a moment, and I’m mesmerized by the unique shade of green they are.

  “Okay. But fair warning, I can talk forever about history, so you can tell me to shut up whenever.”

  “I won’t do that.”

  “You say that now.”

  “And I won’t say it later.”

  Another smile lights up his face.

  “All right. So anyway, I’ve loved history for as long as I can remember. How things in history repeat themselves. How two different countries can have two different histories of the same event. It didn’t matter what the time period was, I wanted to read about it. Whenever we had library day at school, I was always buried in the historical section.”

  “You’re a big reader, too?”

  “Only historical novels or non-fiction historical books,” he explains. Then a sparkle enters his eyes. “I’m very one-dimensional.”

  “Ha, no, I don’t think so, but go on.”

  “I earned a scholarship to go to Cornell because of my hockey skills,” Cade says. “But I was thrilled because they have one of the top history departments in the country. That’s what I majored in. I have a degree in history.”

  “So you didn’t go straight into hockey,” I say.

  “Nope. I could have entered the draft after high school, but I wanted to study history first,” he pauses to take a sip of coffee. “I don’t regret that. I learned so much at school. And there’s so much more I need to know.”

  Cade is different from how I imagined he would be. His dream of getting a history degree took precedence over a career that would have made him millions right away if he had gone to the league. How many people would do that?

  “What do you plan to do with your degree?” I ask, taking another sip of my latte.

  Cade winces. “I’ve never told anyone this.”

  I can forget avoiding a crush on Cade.

  Because it’s already happening.

  “Only share what you want,” I say.

  “I’ll tell you,” he says, his eyes holding mine. “I want to write historical novels that are set during World War II. I’m always watching documentaries and taking notes on things to further research and ideas I could shape into a story someday. But that’s what I want to do. I want to write historical novels.”

  He’s a writer, I think in amazement. This talented hockey player is so much more than the man who wears a Denver Mountain Lions jersey.

  “You’re going to be an author,” I say. “That’s fantastic, Cade.”

  “Thank you. I’ve been writing stories since I was ten,” Cade admits. “I have some particularly shit ones that I wrote when I was seventeen that were based during the bombing of London.”

  I love the image of a teenage Cade writing his version of the Great American Novel.

  “Oh, I’d love to read it,” I say.

  Cade makes a face. “Oh, hell no. It’s awful.”

  “I bet it’s not.”

  “Trust me, it is. But what about you? I know you work with Sierra, but I don’t know what you do.”

  “I’m a recipe tester and developer for Bake It! magazine,” I say. “It’s why I moved out to Denver.”

  “You create things for the magazine?”

  “Yes. My ultimate goal is to write cookbooks someday. Start off with ghostwriting first, then hopefully, print under my own name.”

  “What do you mean by ghostwriting?”

  “I like that you ask questions,” I admit.

  Cade’s face grows thoughtful. “You mean that.”

  “I do.”

  “Then I’ll ask again. What’s ghostwriting?”

  I laugh, and he rewards me with that beautiful smile.

  And once again, the butterflies dance in my stomach.

  “A lot of cookbooks are ghostwritten. Recipes are created by a developer, then tested, and eventually approved by the celebrity or chef for their cookbook. Some chefs and celebrities have a lot of input, others provide minimal direction.”

  “Chefs don’t write their own cookbooks?” Cade asks, surprised.

  “It depends, but if you are a TV chef running an empire, for example, when would you have time to develop a cookbook?”

  “Interesting. I had no idea.”

  “It’s true. But I would love to head in that direction eventually. It would be challenging, but I would learn so much doing it, you know?”

  Cade takes a moment to study me, and his eyes hold steady on mine.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Josephine,” he says slowly, “I know I’ve met you twice before, but I feel as though I’m seeing you for the first time tonight.”

  My heart jumps wildly inside my chest.

  “Me, too,” I
admit.

  How I didn’t see Cade before is beyond me. Maybe I was too broken up about Marco to notice him. But as I sit here with Cade now, discovering what an interesting man he is, I can’t help but think I’m lucky I got another chance.

  To see the man he really is, the one outside the hockey uniform.

  And right now, my head and heart are in agreement.

  They both like what they are discovering tonight.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Josephine,” Cade says, putting down his fork after taking a bite, “this is the best cheesecake I’ve ever had in my life.”

  I beam in response. We’re sitting on the sofa, having talked for hours getting to know each other while the cheesecakes baked and cooled.

  “Thank you. Cheesecake is my passion,” I say, pausing to take a bite to see if I did indeed master my recipe.

  “Quick. What do you taste?” Cade asks, studying my face.

  I put my palate to work savoring the bite before setting my fork down on the plate.

  “I taste the lightness the ricotta cheese provides. Most recipes call for cream cheese, which is much heavier,” I say. “I also taste the intensely flavored chocolate mini-chips, which have a hint of vanilla. The almond kiss of the amaretto. The brightness of orange zest and the sweetness of pistachios.”

  I glance over at Cade, who is staring at me with an expression of awe on his face.

  “That’s amazing,” he says with a hint of wonder in his voice.

  “It’s one of my talents.”

  Cade takes another bite of his cheesecake. “What’s another one?”

  I think for a moment. “I can speak Italian.”

  “Nice,” Cade says. “What else?”

  “I can recite quotes from movies. And I know lyrics to a lot of stupid songs from the 80’s. As you can see, my talents are very practical and inspiring.”

  “Can you quote something from Shanghai Surprise?”

  “Okay, how on earth do you know that movie?” I ask. “It wasn’t exactly a masterpiece, and it was made before we were born.”

  “Well, World War II happened before we were born, and we both know about that.”

  “True, but World War II is important enough to learn about. An old Madonna movie? Not so much.”

  Cade’s eyes sparkle in response. “I watch a lot of movies. I’ll give almost anything a shot.”

  “Apparently so,” I tease. “But in answer to your question, no, I can’t quote from it. And you should be proud of me for that.”

  We both laugh.

  “My other big talent is making homemade pasta,” I tell him. “It might be bold to say, but my pasta game is as strong as my cannoli game.”

  Cade flashes me a smile, one that makes my heart jump.

  “Well, you backed up your cannoli cheesecake game, so I don’t doubt your pasta skills.”

  “I love the process of it. I even have a pasta machine upstairs.”

  “If it’s as good as your cheesecake, it must be stellar.”

  “Thank you,” I say, feeling a warm flush radiating across my cheekbones. “But that’s all I have. Your turn to share talents. And don’t say hockey.”

  Cade takes a moment to study me. “You really don’t care about the hockey part, do you?”

  “No, that’s not true. I do care about it, but you play professionally, so that’s an obvious talent. I want to know about your life off the ice, too. Your hidden skills.”

  Cade looks surprised. As if nobody has ever wanted to know more about his life outside of the skating rink before.

  “Okay,” he says, pausing to take another bite of cheesecake, “I’m good at fishing. I love fishing. It’s so peaceful when you are out on a stream, surrounded by mountains and trees. It’s one of my favorite things to do.”

  “I’ve never been fishing,” I say, taking another bite of cannoli cheesecake.

  “What?” Cade asks, surprised. “Never?”

  I swallow. “Never.”

  “Oh, you have to go. It’s an amazing experience.”

  “But I wouldn’t know what to do,” I say, parking my plate on the coffee table. “I don’t even own a fishing pole, let alone know how to do the bait thing or whatever you do to fish.”

  “I could show you.”

  I freeze.

  Did Cade just offer to take me fishing?

  “What?” I ask, my heart pounding against my ribs.

  “I could take you fishing,” he says. “I have access to a private pond in Boulder. With me as your guide, you’ll be good to go.”

  My head is spinning. Less than three hours ago, I wanted no romantic interests in my life. I was all about the cheesecake.

  But now I find myself interested in Cade.

  And I want to see where this could go.

  “I’d love that,” I say.

  Cade’s face lights up. “Great. Are you free Saturday morning?”

  I nod. “Yes,” I say. “And in return for teaching me how to fish, I could teach you how to make pasta.”

  “Putting your briefcase down for an equal exchange of knowledge?”

  I giggle. “Apparently I am.”

  “Then I’ll accept the pasta making lesson.”

  My crush on this man is going to border on ridiculous by the time I leave his apartment tonight.

  Cade clears his throat. “Can I ask you something personal?”

  “Sure,” I say, curious.

  “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

  My blush comes back again.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you that.”

  “No, I don’t mind,” I say.

  And it’s the truth. I don’t mind talking about Marco anymore.

  In fact, I’m glad there is no Marco in my life.

  “I was in a long-term relationship that ended last January,” I explain. “I haven’t dated since. Marco—that was his name—was supposed to come out to Denver once he finished grad school. But instead, he fell in love with someone else.”

  “Shit, I’m sorry,” Cade says. “That had to be horrible.”

  I pause before answering. When it happened, it did destroy me. I focused on my career. I wasn’t going to risk my heart for a long time.

  But as I sit here with Cade, I don’t feel like protecting myself.

  Not anymore.

  “At the time it was,” I say honestly. “But I think it happened for a reason. If he was the man I was meant to be with, he wouldn’t have fallen in love with someone else.”

  “I think he’s an idiot.”

  I burst out laughing.

  “Well, thank you, but you don’t know him.”

  “I know all I need to know.”

  Oh, I like him-I like him-I like him!

  I decide to ask him the same question.

  “What about you? How come you don’t have a girlfriend?”

  Cade rakes his hand through his hair. “You might need another piece of cheesecake for that.”

  “No, no, we aren’t The Golden Girls. We aren’t going to eat a whole cheesecake discussing your love life.”

  “Why do I have a feeling I’m going to get an education in that, too?” Cade asks, cocking an eyebrow at me.

  “You should be educated in The Golden Girls. They’re amazing.”

  “One thing at a time. I call pasta first.”

  Crush, crush, crush.

  “Focus,” I say, speaking to both Cade and myself, although Cade doesn’t know it. “Your love life. Go.”

  “All right. I love the idea of love, but it’s hard for me to find. One, because I meet women who think they love me when they don’t even know me. That’s a major downside to being a professional athlete. You’re always wondering if they really like you or the lifestyle that comes with you. If a girl gets past that, she has to like the off-ice me who reads and writes and devours history books. Who watches old movies and likes to be outdoors. I thought I had found that.”

  My heart stills. Had his heart been b
roken, too?

  “What happened?” I ask.

  Cade sighs. “Her name was Cassidy. I fell in love immediately. Hard. Fast. Everything you’re not supposed to do, I did. It was instant for me. I followed my heart. I had no idea it was so wrong. Cassidy broke up with me last winter.”

  I realize we had both been going through heartbreak at the same time.

  “What was her reason?” I ask gently.

  “We started fighting a lot. I assumed it was relationship growing pains, but it was the beginning of the end. She eventually dumped me. Via text.”

  “My turn,” I say.

  He furrows his brow. “Your turn what?”

  “She’s an idiot.”

  Cade laughs, and I join him.

  “The closest I’ve gotten to love since then is watching Is It Love? on TV. Sad times at Casa de Callahan.”

  I sit straight up. “You watch that reality dating show?”

  Cade looks sheepish. “Um, I admit it. Yes, I watch it.”

  “I love that show.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes! Last season, I felt so bad for Skye,” I say.

  Skye was the unfortunate runner-up who was told “It’s not love” by the bachelor looking for true love.

  Cade gives me the side-eye. “Please. Skye is trouble.”

  “What?” I cry. “She was sweet. And she wants to open her own cupcake shop!”

  “Ah-ha! You have baked goods bias,” he declares. “Skye was a manipulator. That sweetness was fake. Or should I say ‘baked’ in?”

  “Cade, she was not! And what about the winner, Miley? She was in it to launch a TV show.”

  “Oh, they’re all in it to launch a TV career.”

  “I refuse to believe that about Skye,” I say, resolute.

  “Sucker.”

  “I am not!”

  “You are, too. Mark it down. I’m calling it. Skye will be on some other TV show this fall season.”

  “Oh, you bet I’ve got it down,” I say. “And I’ll remind you of it when we see nothing of her.”

  “Right.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Nope.”

  “I thought you said you were a romantic.”

  Cade doesn’t reply rapid fire this time.

  “I am,” he says slowly as if he’s considering his words, “for the right person. I’m going to be sure next time before I leap.”