by Aven Ellis
“Do not give the lady a crappy cheesecake,” Cade says, finishing up his beer.
“No, not unless you want to irritate me,” I say, putting my plate on the table. “I hate to see good ingredients wasted in a subpar effort.”
“I’ll make a note of that. What else irritates you?”
“Caps off toothpaste.”
“Cliché.”
“Hey! You’re the writer, not me. I can do clichés,” I protest, giggling.
“Okay, fine. Go with your cliché. What else irritates you?”
“When my favorite product is discontinued. That is always irritating.”
“Good one.”
“What about you?”
“When I can’t find a pen and I need one, and I know there are like twenty of them in this apartment. I think Jupe is hoarding them in his room.”
I love that we are talking about stupid things like caps off toothpaste and a black hole of pens. Cade is so easy to talk to, and it’s just another thing for me to adore about him.
The fact that he’s initiating this conversation with me just makes me tumble further down the rabbit hole of falling for him.
“I have a question. If you and Jude are both professional athletes, why are you sharing this apartment? I mean, you could both have luxury homes or penthouses if you wanted them,” I ask, curious.
“That’s easy. We both want to be wise with our money,” Cade says, finishing up his pizza and pushing the plate back. He draws me to him, and I snuggle against his broad chest as he talks. “There’s plenty of time for a house in my future. Why not save money and have my best friend as a roommate?”
Responsible with money? Check.
Another roll further down the rabbit hole? Check.
Cade winds his fingers through my hair, and I close my eyes, listening to his heart beat under the linen fabric of his shirt.
“I love your hair,” Cade says as he plays with it. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I say, loving the compliment.
“Do you want me to call you Josephine or JoJo?”
I lift my head to look up at him. “Either is fine. Why?”
Cade gazes down at me and brushes his fingertips across my cheekbone. “Because when I call you tomorrow to wish you good morning, I want to know what name you want me to call you.”
“Nearly everyone calls me JoJo,” I say. “But you can call me Josephine.”
“I’m glad you picked Josephine for me,” he says.
“Me, too.”
As his lips meet mine in a sweet kiss, I can’t help but think I’m his Josephine.
And there’s no other person I’d rather be at this moment.
CHAPTER TEN
Today’s Purpose and Passion Statement:
Today I will meet with Skye Riley to collaborate on recipes that reflect her passion for baking cupcakes. My purpose is to help her look amazing in the pages of Bake It! magazine and create my first piece for my ghostwriting portfolio.
***
I study the words on my vision board while I wait for Sierra to finish filling her tumbler with coffee. Today is going to be a great day, I can already tell. I’m excited for my new project working with Skye.
Of course, I left one very passionate detail off my vision board.
Cade.
Goose bumps appear the second I think of him. Before I left last night, he asked what time I usually set my alarm for. I told him six, and at 5:59, he called to wake me up and wish me good morning. It was beyond romantic.
By far the best wake-up call I’ve ever had.
“Okay,” Sierra says, screwing the top on her coffee tumbler. “Let’s go.”
I nod and we head out the door.
“Did you sleep at all last night?” Sierra asks as we step inside the elevator.
I blush. “That would be a no.”
Sierra grins. “I knew you wouldn’t.”
“This is crazy,” I admit, adjusting the strap of my tote on my shoulder. “It was like Cade was on replay in my head all night long. I haven’t felt this way since . . . I don’t know if I ever have,” I admit.
“Really? Not even with Marco?”
I consider her question for a moment. “You know, I fell in love with Marco, but it was different. We grew up in the neighborhood together. Our families knew each other. I always thought he was funny and charming and good-looking, and I did love him. But it wasn’t like this. With Cade, there’s this magnetic feeling. That’s the best way to explain it. I’m drawn to him in a way I’ve never felt before.”
The doors open at ground level, and we begin our walk to work. Our publishing company is located in a renovated warehouse a few blocks from our apartment, so it’s an easy walk to work, especially when the weather is beautiful.
“It’s exciting, isn’t it?” Sierra asks, her eyes sparkling at me. “When you find someone and connect like that?”
“Yes,” I agree.
And terrifying, I think to myself.
I already like him a lot, and I know I could fall for him. But I felt so sure about Marco too, and that turned out to be a big lie. My life was ripped out from under me when he told me he wasn’t following me out to Denver like we had planned. In fact, his future didn’t include me at all. It included the new girl he had fallen in love with.
At the time, I didn’t understand how he could do it. We were so perfect together. We talked about a life. Marriage. Family. Starting new in Denver, outside the eyes of our Chicago neighborhood.
But maybe it happened because I was meant to find Cade, my heart whispers. It happened because Cade is the future I’m meant to have.
Whoa. Okay. Bad thought. No.
You kissed him, Josephine. A kiss.
Well, actually it was a lot of kisses.
Sensual, slow, seeking, hot kisses.
Whatever.
Don’t go thinking anything beyond what happened last night.
“Are you having a conversation with yourself?”
I blink.
“I hate that you know what is in my head,” I declare, shifting my eyes to a bar on my left.
“I’m going to give you unsolicited advice,” Sierra says.
“About working with Skye Riley?” I say, deflecting her from a comment about Cade, which I know is where she is really about to go. “That Skye is in this for the fame? Cade already told me that.”
“Ha-ha, no. I do agree with him, though.”
“You cynics. Can’t people simply want to find love?”
“On reality TV? No.”
“Not everyone can find it in an elevator,” I tease, glancing knowingly at her.
Sierra’s skin turns red at the reminder of how she met Jude. Stuck in an elevator.
Hmm. I guess I should thank her because if she hadn’t met Jude, I’d never have met Cade.
And he could be the love of my life.
Gah. No. Shut up, heart!
“That’s true,” Sierra says. “But you must allow yourself to feel. If you follow your heart, you won’t go wrong. I say this to you because I trust your instincts. You know what you need.”
I snort. “Oh, yes, but nine months ago I thought I needed Marco.”
“He was practice. Marco doesn’t count.”
We both laugh.
As we continue walking, I take in the view of the historic district we call home. It’s the oldest original settlement in the city and has undergone a magnificent revitalization. It’s full of bars, restaurants, art galleries, boutiques, and it’s the home of the Denver Mountain Lions. The architecture is a mix of old and new, set against the backdrop of the Rocky Mountains.
It’s funny. I never thought I’d leave Chicago, but now as I study the city of Denver surrounding me, I can’t imagine being anywhere else. Of course, I can’t get that through my mother’s head. She thinks Denver is temporary and I’ll come home and raise my children in the same neighborhood I grew up in.
My phone buzzes. I fish for it inside my
purse and see it is my mom calling for her morning chat. She must be a mind reader.
“Mom,” I say to Sierra before answering it. “Hi, Mom.”
“JoJo, how are you?” Mom asks.
Oh, great, Mom, just walking through the streets of Denver thinking I’ll never leave, which will break your heart. Oh, and I had the best date ever with a badass brilliant hockey player who lives here, but what’s new with you?
I decide to refine my answer.
“I’m walking to work with Sierra,” I say.
Talk about editing.
“Guess who Anthony saw at Jewel last night,” Mom asks, referring to my older brother and the Chicagoland grocery chain. “You won’t believe it.”
“I don’t know,” I say, wondering which scandalous person it could be.
“Marco!” she says dramatically. “How dare he shop at my neighborhood store? I don’t want to ever run into his cheating face and think of what he did to you, JoJo.”
Oh, that scandalous person.
“Mom, I don’t care. I’m not even thinking about him.”
It’s funny. Hearing his name a few months ago was like taking a knife and stabbing it in my heart. But now? I don’t even flinch.
Probably because after spending time with Cade, I realize he did me a big favor by dumping me.
Hmm. If things go well with Cade, I should send his girlfriend flowers as a thank you gift.
“What?” Mom shrieks. “You don’t care?”
“No.”
She goes silent for a moment. “Oh, my God, you’ve met a boy. Marcella, get in here. JoJo’s met a new boy!”
Shit. Now she’s calling Nonna Rossi into the mix.
“No, um, not really,” I say, wanting to stop this conversation before Nonna gets on the phone. “He’s—”
“JoJo, you met a boy?” Nonna asks, happiness radiating from her voice.
“She can’t be with a Denver boy, she’ll never come back!” Mom wails in the background. “I’ll never see my grandbabies, ever. They’ll be Thanksgiving and Christmas babies. Oh, I can’t stand it. My heart is broken, my JoJo!”
Babies? What?
“Donna-Marie, stop, she’s allowed to leave the house,” Nonna declares. “And she’s not pregnant. You aren’t, are you?” Nonna asks me.
“My baby girl is not having sex before marriage!” Mom yells.
“What, do you think she just played board games with Marco? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not pregnant!” I blurt out, which makes Sierra burst out laughing. “We’ve had one date!”
“One date is enough, trust me,” Nonna says knowingly. “Unless his equipment was like bad yeast and didn’t rise to the occasion, if you know what I mean.”
“Nonna!” I cry.
“If she’s in love, she’ll never leave Denver,” Mom says. “I think I’m having an anxiety attack!”
“We’ll go visit,” Nonna declares, ever the problem solver. “Now Donna-Marie, go have a glass of wine and calm down.”
“Wine? It’s only nine in Chicago,” I say.
“It’s four in Rome, close enough,” Nonna declares. “Tell me about this boy.”
Despite the dramatics, a feeling of excitement sweeps over me when I start talking about Cade.
“His name is Cade, and he’s from Poughkeepsie, New York. He plays professional hockey, and he went to Cornell. He studied history,” I say.
“Ivy league,” Nonna gasps.
I can’t help but smile. She skipped straight over hockey to his intellect, just like I did.
“And he loves the apron,” I say proudly.
Nonna is silent for a moment.
“When did he see you in the apron?”
“Um, the first time we met. Well, we met before, but that was post-Marco and I didn’t appreciate what I was seeing. But when we met again, I was wearing the apron. And he liked it, Nonna. He wanted to know all about it!”
More silence from Nonna.
“Nonna?” I ask, wondering if I said something wrong.
“You’re going to marry this Cade.”
“What?”
“That apron has a legend. Camilla met her husband for the first time wearing it. Family history says that any woman who meets a love interest wearing that apron will marry him.”
I try to process this new information. No, that is silly. A simple story that can’t be proven.
“Nonna, that’s a nice story, but—”
“It’s not a story,” Nonna says firmly. “It’s Camilla’s legend. She met Joseph Rossi while wearing that apron. And she told me her gut knew other Rossi women would meet their husbands wearing it.”
“That’s . . . coincidence,” I say, my heart beating nervously.
“No. You weren’t wearing it when you met Marco. One of Camilla’s daughters wore it at a church holiday baking event and met her husband,” she says. “Now, you know I inherited the apron by marrying your pops,” she explains, referring to my grandpa, “but you are the third Rossi woman to wear this apron and meet a man. Two previous Rossi women did meet their husbands while wearing it.”
“What?” I gasp. “I never knew that!”
“I didn’t want to tell you because you didn’t wear it when you met Marco, and I thought, eh, the legend will die here. But no! Don’t you see? Marco wasn’t meant to be your husband!”
Oh, my God.
This is crazy. This can’t be true.
“You are going to marry this Cade, JoJo. He is going to be your husband.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
So now that I have my future husband all lined up, I can start picking flavors for our wedding cake.
Oy.
I’m still reeling from what Nonna told me this morning. Yes, two out of three women have met their husbands while wearing the apron. But that was just a coincidence.
Besides, I met Cade before that night, so the whole theory is invalid.
Yet in so many ways, the night I showed up at his door wearing the apron was our first real meeting. Even Cade said he felt like he was really seeing me for the first time that night.
I wonder if perhaps the legend is right. There’s a reason my oven died. That Cade was home. That we felt an instant attraction.
No. This is crazy. I can’t think like this. We had one date. If there’s one thing I’ve learned after my relationship with Marco, it’s that I need to proceed with caution. We have a second date lined up Saturday morning. There’s nothing guaranteed beyond that.
I’d be wrecked if Cade said, “let’s be friends” after the second date.
Gah! I can’t keep having these conversations in my head.
I refocus by reviewing the online research I did yesterday for my meeting with Skye:
*Skye is 23. From Los Angeles. One of three girls. Parents still married. She worked in food hospitality prior to going on Is It Love?. She believes in true love and that marriage is forever. Loves the beach and outdoor activities. Passion is baking cupcakes. Dream is to open a cupcake shop. BA earned in broadcasting at UCLA.
I pause. Her broadcasting background makes me wonder if Cade and Sierra are right. It wasn’t listed in her bio on the show website, and if she really wanted to bake, a food science, hospitality, or culinary school background would make more sense. Of course, people can change their minds. Just because I have known what I wanted to do since, oh, the age of five, doesn’t mean everyone else does. Before the show, she did work in the industry according to the food hospitality reference in on her show bio, so that should count for something. But then who knows what that really means? She could have been a food server and that could have been labeled “food hospitality.”
My office phone rings.
“This is Josephine,” I answer.
“Hi, Josephine, it’s Elaine from the front desk. Skye Riley is here for your ten o’clock meeting.”
“Okay, I’ll be right down, thank you.”
I pick up my iPad and head toward reception. I’ll talk
to Skye in one of our chat rooms first, a place where you can sit and brainstorm. After I review her recipes, I’ll take her into our elaborate pantry and see if anything else catches her eye, and we can kick around some more ideas after that.
I open the door to reception and find Skye sitting in an oversized leather chair. She has her eyes cast down to the floor, and I’m shocked to see she’s wringing her hands as if she’s anxious. What on earth could Skye be nervous about? She’s dated on TV! She had her boyfriend tell her on camera that it “wasn’t love.” The mere idea of that makes me nauseated.
Nothing could be worse than that.
But talking about cupcakes? This is easy. It should be fun.
Skye lifts her head and catches me staring at her.
Shit.
“Um, good morning, Skye,” I say quickly, smiling warmly at her. “I’m Josephine. It’s so good to properly meet you.”
Skye stands up, and oh, she is so thin. If Nonna saw her, she’d strap her to the kitchen table and force-feed her manicotti.
“Hi,” she says, extending her hand to me. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
I shake her hand and notice it’s clammy.
“Sorry,” she says, cringing as she pulls it away. “I’m a little anxious.”
Did TV wreck her confidence so badly that she’s nervous talking about cupcakes? I have the urge to put one of my cozy blanket scarves around her and make her a latte.
“You have nothing to be anxious about,” I say. “Come on, let’s go chat for a bit.”
Skye bites her lip. “Um, okay.”
“Would you like coffee? Tea?”
“A black coffee, please.”
“Sure,” I say. “Let’s go into the break room.”
I lead Skye to the break room, retrieve a cup, and slide a cardboard holder around it.
“Do you prefer dark roast or light?” I ask.
“Dark, please,” Skye says, fiddling with the shoulder strap of her black Gucci bag.
She’s so nervous I’m starting to feel jumpy.
I pour her a cup of dark coffee, put a lid on it, and hand it to her.
“Thank you, that’s very nice of you,” she says.
