by Aven Ellis
I realize just how alike we are. We’re both quirky and different and live life outside the box, but, in this moment, I’m discovering a new layer.
We’ve both been hurt.
We’re both afraid to take a chance on love again.
Yet on this night we find ourselves unexpectedly drawn toward each other, testing the waters for the first time in a long time.
“Me, too,” I say, reassuring him that I understand what he’s saying.
We lock eyes. Silence falls between us, the first silence since I walked through his door tonight.
I know that Cade would be worth waiting for if that’s what I have to do.
“I should get going,” I say, picking up my plate and standing up. “Hopefully, I’ll impress my boss tomorrow with this cheesecake, and she’ll let me take a stab at putting together my own feature.”
Cade rises, too. “You’ve nailed this. There’s no way she can say no.”
I sigh. “Oh, there are a million ways she can say no, but I’m hoping this one time I’ll get a yes.”
I put my plate in his sink.
“Can I see your phone?” Cade asks.
A tingle shoots down my spine.
I reach for it on the countertop, hand it to him, and watch as he keys in a number.
“Text me, and let me know what happens tomorrow,” he says as he enters his information.
“Okay,” I say, excitement coursing through me as he hands me back my cell.
“What’s your number?”
I happily give him my cell number and he keys it into his phone. Then he sets it down on the countertop.
“Thanks,” he says, smiling at me. “Here, I’ll help you carry your stuff back upstairs.”
“Thank you,” I say.
I leave one cheesecake in Cade’s refrigerator and take the other with me. Cade grabs the baking pans and his keys, and we ride the elevator back up to my floor.
When it opens, Cade walks me to my door. I put the key in the lock and open it, and he follows me to the kitchen. We set everything down, and he walks back to the door, pausing in the doorway in front of me.
“Thank you for tonight,” Cade says. “I had fun.”
A feeling of pure electricity surges through me.
“Me, too,” I say, smiling. “And I can’t thank you enough for letting me borrow your oven.”
“It was nothing. Good luck tomorrow.”
“I’ll let you know how it goes,” I say.
“I’m counting on that,” he says.
Oh!
I swear my heart is about to beat out of my chest as we stand inches apart from each other. He’s so close I can smell the scent of sage and citrus on his skin, and oh God, it’s driving me mad.
“Goodnight, Josephine,” he says.
“Goodnight,” I say.
Then Cade turns and moves toward the elevator. I shut the door and turn around, pressing my back against it, my mind reeling.
That just happened.
Me.
Cade.
Clicked.
His number is in my cell.
We’re going fishing.
Ahhhhhhhhhhh!
I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face.
Tomorrow, I know I’ll have more than cannoli cheesecake on my mind.
And I couldn’t be happier about it.
CHAPTER FIVE
Today’s Purpose and Passion Statement:
Today, I will demonstrate my passion for the culinary arts by presenting my cannoli cheesecake to my boss. I will do so with the purpose of pitching my article idea for the romantic February Bake It! magazine issue, in which I create cheesecakes inspired by famous Italian desserts.
***
I quit typing and stare at my laptop screen. After re-reading what I wrote, I hit print so I can cut it out and pin it to my vision board while I get breakfast ready.
I don’t know if I can eat my usual bowl of yogurt and muesli. My stomach is a jumble of nerves. And not just because I’m scheduled to present my idea to Angelique this morning.
My printer stirs to life as I move over to my vanity, brushing my long, dark hair up into a chignon at the base of my neck, and thoughts of Cade enter my mind.
Oh, who am I kidding?
He never left my mind last night.
My nerves transform into butterflies as I think of Cade. Of course, I did what every modern woman does in this day and age as soon as she meets a romantic interest.
I Googled him.
I blush as I pin my hair into place. Oh, and did I find loads on him. Fan posts, game articles, interviews. Even pictures of him with Cassidy, though those didn’t bother me because I know he is over her like I am over Marco.
Of course, there were some beautiful pictures of him. Apparently, he doesn’t wear a shirt under his jersey, and he’s known for pulling it up to wipe sweat off his face.
And oh, a sexy flash of his sculpted abs and a tease of his ribcage tattoo practically had me sweating in response.
Cade Callahan is hot.
Very.freaking.unbelievably.hot.
I understand why women go nuts posting pictures of his abs all over social media. I was, however, puzzled by all the videos of him fighting on the ice.
I pause for a moment. My brain has a hard time reconciling the Cade who spoke so passionately about history and writing last night with the man who throws punches, swears, and beats the crap out of his opponents during games.
I don’t know much about hockey, but I do know fighting is a part of the game. From what I’ve read, Cade isn’t an instigator, but he’s known to defend his teammates. If something goes awry on the ice, he has no problem jumping in. He’s hated by other teams but loved by his own teammates. The coach of the Denver Mountain Lions said he’s the hardest worker on the ice, the first one out and the last one to leave practice. And he’s always asking questions about what he can do better.
I pick up my espresso-brown eyeliner and lightly smudge some across my eyelid. I can picture Cade continually asking how to improve his game. He’s no different than the five-year-old boy wanting to know all about Columbus.
The coach went on to say that Cade knows how to get into other players’ heads, which I can also believe because Cade is so intelligent. Cade plays on that ability, which often results in players taking swings at him.
And Cade isn’t afraid to swing back.
While I’m not a fan of fighting by any means, I do have to admit he looked smoking hot being such a badass.
I finish one eye and move to the other. There are so many sides to Cade I have yet to discover.
And I want to know them all.
I put down my eyeliner and reach for my waterproof mascara. Yes, I’m baking in a steaming hot kitchen, but I’m a big fan of using a little makeup. It makes me feel put together. I finish my eyes and apply a little bronzer to my cheekbones. Lastly, I swipe a rose-pink Lancôme lipstick across my lips and gently blot them with a tissue.
As I study my reflection, I know one thing for sure.
All I need is mascara, lipstick, and a latte to take on the day.
And a few thoughts of Cade Callahan for an extra-rosy glow.
I retrieve my printout and take a moment to cut the paper into a circle around the words. Then I head to the kitchen and remove the passion point from yesterday, saving it to add to my inspiration notebook tonight. I pin the new one up next to the picture of Julia Child. I study Julia’s photo, then my words, and nod.
I’m going to get this article today.
I force myself to eat a few bites—and quickly decide that’s not a good idea, and my stomach tells me so. I wash my cereal down the drain and decide I’ll stop at Starbucks and grab a pumpkin spice latte instead. It’s September, and they’re finally back.
All is right in my world.
I grab my cheesecake from the fridge—I’ve already put it inside a beautiful pink pastry box for a professional presentation. My phone buzzes on the coun
tertop as I shut the refrigerator door with my hip. I place the cheesecake down and glance at the phone.
It’s a message from Cade.
Ah! My heart pounds against my ribs. Happiness shoots through me the second I see his name.
I eagerly swipe open the message:
Good luck this morning. Make The Golden Girls proud.
Oh, my God. He remembered what I said last night!
I text him back, which is hard because my hands are shaking with excitement.
Thank you. I think Sophia Petrillo would like my cheesecake better than her double fudge amaretto ricotta cheesecake.
I smile, knowing he will be clueless to the Golden Girls reference.
Cade responds right away:
I think I need to try this double fudge amaretto ricotta cheesecake. Just to compare your game to this Sophia chick’s.
I type back:
Well, luckily for you, Cade Callahan, you happen to know an expert in the field of cheesecake. This can be arranged if you like.
I hit send. Who knew I could be such a flirt?
Buzz!
And apparently he likes flirting, too:
I am lucky.
Ohhhh!
Another message drops in:
I’m about to go for a run with Leia. You’re going to do great. Let me know how humbled that hard to impress boss of yours is after she takes a bite of your masterpiece.
I begin to type back, but he beats me to it with another message:
And if you’re up for it, wanna have dinner with me tonight? My place?My pizza ordering game is STRONG.☺
He just asked me over for dinner.
In my head I’m doing an excited Muppet arm flail in response.
I reply yes, tell him I can’t wait to see his pizza ordering game in action, and I wouldn’t miss it.
Then I gather up all my stuff and prepare to take on the morning.
Starting with a visit to Angelique’s office as soon as I get to work.
CHAPTER SIX
After I’ve set my stuff down in my cubicle and logged onto my computer, I decide to approach Angelique. She has meetings starting at nine, so I want to catch her when she is in the best—and most receptive—mood possible.
Which is usually before she starts working.
I pick up my pastry box, square my shoulders, and think confident thoughts as I head through the maze of cubicles toward the editorial offices. I see her door is open and her light is on, which it always is by eight-thirty in the morning. On the dot. Never a minute earlier, never a minute later.
I stop walking. Angelique is very regimented. Militant in the way she goes about her routine. My showing up with this cheesecake will go one of two ways. One, she’ll be livid I’m wasting her time with something she never asked for; or two, she’ll be impressed I had the gumption to do this without asking.
Obviously, I am throwing all of my positive energy at option number two.
I resume my journey and stop at her doorway. She has her planner open and is meticulously reviewing her notes with a Tiffany blue ballpoint pen in hand.
I watch her for a moment. Angelique is an editor for Bake It! magazine, but I know she has her eye on moving over to Wine and Food Romance. She’s in her late thirties, with bright red hair that is always in a perfect short bob. Angelique is thin, impossibly thin, and only likes the finer things. If she had her way, all the articles in Bake It! magazine would involve complicated pastry recipes with exotic ingredients, served in tiny portions and decorated with elegant dots of sauce around the plate.
Which is not our demographic. At all. Bake It! magazine is for people like my nonna, who love to bake and are looking for a fun twist on pumpkin coffee cake.
Not a dessert with twenty components that has pumpkin foam on the side.
“Are you going to stand there and study me, Josephine? Or will you come in and ask whatever you need to ask?” she asks, not even looking up from her Whitney English Day Designer.
“Yes, I’m sorry,” I say, stepping into her office.
Passion and purpose, I repeat to myself. This is my moment.
“Angelique, I’ve worked very hard here for nine months now.”
“And would you like a medal? A blue ribbon?”
Okay. She’s going to be snarky.
“Of course not. But I believe if you’re passionate about what you do, and repeatedly do good work, you prove you are ready for more responsibilities. That’s what I’d like to talk to you about.”
Angelique finally lifts her head. She narrows her eyes.
“I think I shall decide when you’ve proven yourself and are ready for more opportunities.”
Shit, shit, shit. We are on the road to option number one.
I step forward, determined to show her my cheesecake.
“I have developed this cannoli cheesecake to capture the Sicilian dessert in cheesecake form. It’s light, it’s full of flavor, and I think our readers would enjoy it in the Valentine’s Day issue,” I say boldly. “This recipe is from my family and has been passed down for generations. I elevated it with additions of amaretto, Madagascar bourbon vanilla, and a pistachio crust.”
I open the lid of the box and present it to her.
Angelique studies it for two seconds before her green eyes meet mine.
“No.”
I stay strong.
“Would you consider trying it, please?”
“I’m not impressed with what your granny made, Josephine.”
Her words kick me in the stomach. Her bored tone—along with her sharp words—have officially slammed the door shut on my proposal.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare for my nine o’clock meeting. Put your cute cheesecake in the break room for the others to pick at.”
I consider reaching across the table and shoving her face first into my cheesecake, telling her she only wishes she could bake as good as my nonna and she should save her belittling, rude remarks, but I somehow resist the urge.
I’m so adding impeccable restraint to my list of special talents.
“Thank you for your consideration,” I say, turning and leaving her office.
I shake as I walk down the hall, toward the break room. Why does she have to be such a bitch? Why can’t she be encouraging like Sierra’s editor is? Why can’t she be a woman boss who lifts up other women in the workplace instead of tearing them down?
I could have handled a no. Heard constructive feedback. Received a goal to help me work toward. But, no, Angelique doesn’t have time for that. She simply wants me to test, test, test recipes all day long and run like a gerbil on a wheel.
I turn into the employee break room. I’m so mad I want to take the cheesecake and hurl it in the trash. But as I enter the room, I nearly drop my pastry box in shock.
Tae Packett, executive assistant to John Flowers, our senior editor, is getting coffee with two women.
One of whom I recognize.
It’s Skye Riley, the runner-up from Is It Love?
Holy cannoli, I can’t believe it. I forget my own crisis and focus on her. Cade and I were just talking about her last night. What is she doing here? Some kind of bakery feature? That must be it. I remember her saying over and over on the show how she wanted her own cupcake shop.
I can’t help but stare at her. Skye’s beautiful, of course. She’s tall, thin, and dressed in a super chic gray and black striped shirt, which she has knotted at the waist and paired with white jeans and high-heeled, black strappy sandals. Her honey blonde hair is long, flowing, and highlighted to perfection, and a beautiful rose-gold, double-layered crystal necklace adorns her neck.
“Oh hey, Josephine,” Tae says breezily. “What do you have there?”
I blink. Yes. Time to stop staring at the reality show runner-up in the break room.
“Oh, a cannoli cheesecake I made yesterday,” I say as if the sole intention of my creation was to bring it in for my coworkers to enjoy. “I was inspired to bake.”
I lift the lid and set the cake on the counter. I know it will be gone in a half-hour, so I don’t have to worry about coming back to stick it in the refrigerator.
“Oh, look at the mini cannoli,” Skye says, leaning in to peer at my cheesecake. “They’re adorable! Aren’t they the cutest thing ever, Charlotte?” she asks, turning to the woman next to her, who has been texting on her phone since I entered the room.
“Um, yes,” Charlotte says, nodding and briefly glancing at my cheesecake before going right back to her cell.
“It’s a beautiful cheesecake,” Skye continues, smiling at me. “You’re very talented.”
At least Skye notices my skills, even if my boss doesn’t.
“Thank you so much,” I say, smiling back at Skye.
Then I turn and exit the room. I head down the hall to the dressing area where I’ll slip into my chef jacket, tie on my floral headscarf, and get ready to spend the day testing stuffed French toast recipes for a celebrity chef.
No matter what Angelique throws at me, there are things I refuse to let her change.
My passion.
My purpose.
Angelique can’t change my dream.
And that’s all there is to it.
***
This day has been nothing short of a disaster.
I leave the kitchen around noon for my lunch break. I should have known today would be shit the second Angelique offered to give me a medal.
The stuffed French toast recipe was a complete fail. I knew as soon as I read it. The egg ratio was way off. Regardless, we’re required to go through several rounds of testing before reporting a suspected error in a recipe supplied by a chef. In this case, the chef is from Salt Lake City and is known for owning an amazing brunch restaurant. Go figure.
But with each test, the bread came out tasting like scrambled eggs. I don’t think stuffed, scrambled egg toast is what she was shooting for. So, I meticulously recorded the amounts of ingredients used, down to the ounces, and logged everything in my iPad. One thing people don’t know about recipe testing it that it’s very intensive, detail-oriented work.
I stop in the dressing room to take off my coat, dropping it in the bin for linen cleaning. I open my locker and remove some facial blotting tissue papers and lightly dab them on my face. I glance in the mirror I have glued to the inside door. There. I’m now matte instead of shiny. Better.
