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

by Aven Ellis

  “What?” Skye cries. “Cade, you’re joking.”

  “He’s not,” I say. “I have to find creative ways to put bugs in cupcakes.”

  “No!” Skye cringes.

  “Yes. You can try some tomorrow after your photo shoot,” I say, smiling. “Cricket flour is good.”

  “Ack! No, no, no!” Skye declares, sticking out her hand. “Never!” Then she shivers in disgust.

  “We do some odd things for our work,” Sierra says. “Like eat bugs. Or offal. I’ve done that. Eating nose to tail is a big thing right now.”

  “Okay, this conversation has to stop, or I swear I’m going to be sick,” Skye groans.

  “Have you had steak and kidney pie, Skye?” Jude teases.

  “Stop it,” Skye pleads.

  “No brains for you?” Cade asks. “Or duck tongue?”

  “They have duck tongue?” Jude asks.

  “Come on, Skye, walk me out so you can get away from these two,” Maxime interrupts. “I’ll take care of them at practice for you tomorrow.”

  Skye’s eyes light up at Maxime’s invitation. “Okay.”

  Maxime thanks me and says goodbye, then he walks out the door with Skye. As soon as they’re gone, we all stare at each other in shock.

  “Shit, can you believe that story?” Cade asks, incredulous.

  “How random is that?” Sierra asks. “He remembered her from a café this summer?”

  “And Maxime had no clue she’s a TV star,” Jude adds. “No idea. His recognition was purely from his memory.”

  “He does have a good memory, though,” Cade says thoughtfully. Then he turns to me. “You should see him when we break down film. Max will remember things from like five games ago against a certain team.”

  “I don’t know if that’s just memory,” I say. “She made an impression on him.”

  “Well, she’s gorgeous,” Sierra says, pausing to take a sip of her bottled water. “And the crying probably made her mysterious, too. Guys like that.”

  “I don’t know,” Jude says, shrugging. “Sometimes we like girls who smell like fajitas.”

  Sierra turns bright red, and I laugh. When they met, Sierra had been testing fajitas all day and smelled like a Mexican restaurant.

  “Or girls in aprons,” Cade says.

  I love my man so much.

  We continue talking about how odd the whole situation is, but we immediately shut up when Skye re-enters the room.

  “We should go home,” Jude says, stretching. “Skye, good to see you again. Sierra, are you ready?”

  “Yep, let’s go,” Sierra says. She turns to Skye. “My room is ready for you. Towels are on the end of the bed.”

  “I feel so bad,” Skye says, wincing. “Like I’m kicking you out of your apartment.”

  “Please. I practically live with Jude anyway,” Sierra says easily.

  Jude and Cade get up to leave, and I give Cade a kiss goodnight.

  “I’ll wake you up in the morning,” Cade murmurs against my lips.

  “Okay,” I say.

  The guys leave with Sierra, leaving Skye and me alone.

  “Maxime,” Skye says aloud, sinking down on the couch. “I can’t believe he remembered me. We sat next to each other in Brussels and he remembers. How on earth does that even happen? How do two people end up next to each other in Europe and meet again in America?”

  She begins braiding her long, blond hair. “I hate that he saw me at my worst. I was such a mess he couldn’t help but remember me that way.”

  I sit down on the other end of the sofa. “I think it’s more than that.”

  “No, that’s what I was, a tragic mess. He even said so, JoJo.”

  “But Maxime remembered details about you. You made more of an impression than being sad,” I insist. “Otherwise, you would have been a girl in a café that was crying, The End.”

  “He was right there, and I had no idea,” she says softly. “Maxime sat next to me that whole time, and I was oblivious to him. How could I not see someone who saw everything about me? Under different circumstances, I would have noticed him immediately. Maybe we would have talked. Maybe we would have hit it off . . . ” her voice trails off, and I know she’s thinking “what if.”

  I furrow my brow. “It wasn’t your time. But you’ve got a chance now, Skye.”

  “Oh no, he thinks I’m a mess. Did you see his face when the guys told him I was on reality TV? He disapproved,” Skye says, biting her lip. “I could see it on his face. And he didn’t ask for my number or anything, he just said he was glad to see me again and know I was okay.”

  I think on this for a moment. Maxime is very private. From his inner circle to his secluded home in Boulder, he keeps things quiet. Out of the public eye. His life off the ice is his, and he protects it. He only has secret social media accounts and very few people have access to them. Privacy means everything to him.

  Skye is the opposite. She proclaimed love in front of a TV camera. She fell apart in front of a massive TV audience, and she’s now sharing her raw feelings on her blog. She wears her heart on her sleeve for the entire world to see.

  My head sees the differences between these two.

  My heart, however, thinks there is an undeniable connection.

  There’s a reason they ended up in the same café at the exact same time in a major European city full of people. And there’s a reason they met again tonight. I know there is.

  However, it’s up to them to write that story.

  Buzz!

  I pick my phone up off the coffee table and see a text from Cade:

  I’ll miss sleeping with you tonight, my sweet Josephine.

  Swoon.

  While I might not know if there will be a romance between Skye and Maxime, I do know one thing.

  I was destined to fall in love with Cade.

  I was fated to meet him, to fall for him, to surrender my heart to this man in a way I never did to Marco.

  As we approach the busy holiday season, I’m happier than I ever have been.

  All I want for Christmas is for Cade to say he loves me.

  And I have a feeling I will be getting that present this year.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  I can’t believe it’s already Thanksgiving.

  I wipe my hands on my apron as I cube bread for the stuffing. I’m back in my mom’s kitchen in Chicago. Our house has always been the gathering spot for family and friends, so meal prep is huge. I stayed up last night and baked four maple and vanilla-bean-infused pumpkin pies before the oven was overtaken by a twenty-pound turkey, which is now roasting in the oven.

  Mom is working on trimming green beans in between wailing about Anthony and Britta, who are spending the holiday with her parents. What does this mean for the baby? Why won’t they get married? Thanksgiving will never be the same, blah blah blah.

  My solution is to throw myself into making stuffing while trying my hardest to ignore Mom’s tiring dramatics. Nonna’s solution, on the other hand, is to have a second mimosa.

  I’m beginning to think her solution is better.

  I still can’t believe I’m back in Chicago. November flew by after Skye’s visit. She completed her photo shoot and much to Angelique’s horror, Skye asked me to be in a few pictures. She saw other celebrity cookbooks where the celebrity is photographed with their recipe collaborator and suggested the idea to Tiffany. So not only are my recipes going to appear in the Valentine’s Day issue of Bake It! magazine, but so am I.

  Maxime sent Skye a Connectivity request and followed her on Snapchat and Instagram, and while he hasn’t done much except comment on a few of her posts, and her on his, I believe these two might have a romance. I know logistically it would be insane considering she lives in Los Angeles and Maxime is in Denver, but my heart says these two people belong together.

  That part of November has been great.

  But the rest of the month has been hard. Cade has been distracted and quiet lately. He had a week-long road tr
ip up and down the East Coast, and the Mountain Lions dropped three games, including two in overtime. He’s with the team in San Diego for the holiday because they play tomorrow.

  His mood is understandable. The team is struggling, and he’s so passionate about his work it has to weigh on him.

  But I can’t help but wonder if something else is on his mind.

  I swallow hard and dump the bread cubes into a huge mixing bowl. Normally, I’d be happy right now. At home, cooking with my nonna, catching up with the family after being gone for so long.

  But I have this anxious feeling gnawing at the pit of my stomach. I can’t help but wonder if Cade has reached the doubt stage of our relationship. We’ve been dating since late September. Isn’t it usually by the third month one decides if a relationship is going to be more serious or end? Didn’t I read that in a magazine?

  And when he’s on the road, away from me, does he have a clear head about his heart? Is Cade reevaluating us in that brilliant, logical mind of his?

  “What are you thinking, my JoJo?” Nonna asks as she peels a potato.

  I blink. “What?”

  “You look sad. Do you miss Cade?”

  “JoJo, you will never have Thanksgiving with him when he’s on the road, do you realize that?” my mom interrupts, momentarily shifting her anguish over Anthony on to me. “Once you marry him, you’ll never come home for Thanksgiving. All my children are going to leave me!”

  “My poor Donna-Marie, this is breaking her heart,” my other nonna, Nonna Catherine, declares. “I need to pray for strength for us.”

  I watch as Nonna reaches for the champagne bottle and tops off her mimosa.

  “Mom,” I say firmly, “Cade and I are dating. Who knows what the future holds?”

  “If he’s at home, you’ll stay with him,” Mom declares. “If he’s on the road, you’ll come here but that will be never I’m sure!”

  “My poor JoJo, her husband will never be home,” Nonna Catherine adds.

  “And the babies! I’ll never see your babies, and Britta will never let me have a holiday with her baby. This is the beginning of the end of our family traditions!”

  My brother Christopher steps into the kitchen for a moment, takes one look at my mom, and smartly retreats back to the living room before she can wail at him for not having a girlfriend to love.

  “Mom, I have no idea what the future holds, but this family will always be a part of it, okay? Now, if you don’t pull yourself together, we’ll have no food for Thanksgiving, and that is something to cry about,” I say firmly.

  I turn back to cubing bread, and Mom shifts back to green beans at the table, consoled by Nonna Catherine and a few of my cousins who are obviously more sensitive than I am at the moment.

  “You do know what the future holds,” Nonna says softly to me. “The apron has already told you.”

  “Well, Cade hasn’t told me,” I blurt out.

  Nonna stops peeling. “What?”

  “I shouldn’t have said that,” I admit. “It’s not fair to him. I can’t dictate when Cade will fall in love. I can’t make him fall faster just because I did.”

  “Have you told him how you feel?”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “That would scare him off.”

  “Do you want a man who is scared off by feelings?”

  I think about this for a moment, but Nonna continues before I can answer.

  “I believe in Cade,” Nonna says. “His eyes speak to me, and they say he loves you.”

  “Nonna, you’ve only talked to Cade a few times.”

  “That’s all I need,” Nonna says knowingly, pausing to take a sip of her mimosa. “The apron and his eyes confirm everything. He deserves to know how you feel, JoJo.”

  I consider Nonna’s advice. Should I tell him first? It’s a huge risk. Huge. And I’m not sure I can handle Cade not feeling the same way, or if he backs off our relationship because my feelings are too intense for him.

  I wish I were brave enough to do it.

  But I’m not.

  “We’ll see,” I say.

  “You aren’t going to tell him.”

  I laugh. “Do you live inside my brain, Nonna?”

  Nonna grins. “I know my granddaughter. I also know you should join me for a mimosa if you hope to get through this day with your mother.”

  I glance over at the kitchen table where Mom is holding court discussing Britta’s vegetarian diet and, oh my God, are they going to have to serve Tofurkey if she comes over? Will the baby know what a real turkey is?

  “You’re right,” I say, reaching for a champagne glass. Then I look at Nonna. “Is it wrong I want to drink it straight up and not cut it with orange juice?”

  Nonna grins wickedly at me. “That’s my girl.”

  ***

  I am so full.

  I lie on the bed in my old room, staring up at the ceiling, and unbutton my jeans. I ate too much. Way too much. Turkey. Stuffing. Mashed potatoes and gravy. Green bean casserole. Rolls. Cranberry sauce. And pie. With extra whipped cream because whipped cream is awesome.

  Oh yeah, and multiple glasses of champagne which is making the ceiling spin a little bit. I feel sappy inside, and I’m missing Cade. And his tattoos. I know four of the five now. Number four is for happiness. But he refuses to tell me the last one.

  I’ll call him.

  Because I need to know the final tattoo.

  And because I miss him.

  Shit. Where’s my phone?

  I get up and stumble over my boots, hitting the floor and landing with a thud. I’m sprawled out on my stomach like a starfish.

  Oh, crap, I’m so drunk.

  I wonder if anybody noticed at the table that I’m very buzzed.

  No, probably not. Mom’s antics receive all the family’s attention on holidays.

  I spy my purse and reach for the strap, pulling it across the floor toward me in a move of epic laziness. I have trouble correctly lining my thumb on the button to unlock the screen and it keeps saying my thumb isn’t on it. But my thumb is on it, dammit!

  “Stupid thumb button thingie,” I mumble, finally accessing my screen. I hit the Connectivity Video Connect for Cade, and to my delight, he answers, his face popping up on the screen.

  “Heyyyyyyy,” I say, grinning at him. “Happy Turkey Day!”

  “Sweet Josephine, Happy Thanksgiving. Although we said that to each other this morning. And this afternoon.”

  “Oh?” I ask, trying to remember.

  “Why are you in the dark, sweetheart?”

  I pause and look around. “I don’t know. I miss you. I wish I could have pumpkin pie on you.”

  Cade furrows his brow. “Um, you want to eat pie on me?”

  “What? No,” I say. “Not on you. But that would be fun. I could lick your chest.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Yesss,” I admit, sitting up on the braided rug on the floor of my room.

  Cade bursts out laughing. “Okay. Did Nonna do this to you?”

  “Of course she did. It’s the only way to deal with my mom.”

  “I’ll thank Nonna for taking such good care of you.”

  “I love my nonna. I love both of them, but you know which nonna I’m talking about, right? The fun one. Not that the other one isn’t fun, but the fun one.”

  “I do, sweetheart.”

  “Cade?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I miss you sooooooooo much it makes my stomach hurt. Or is that the pie?”

  I absently touch the screen as if I could touch him right now.

  “I miss you, too. I’ll be home Tuesday night.”

  “I ate too much pie,” I groan. Ugh, I’m starting to feel tired. “Pumpkin pie and champagne. So good. Like ridiculously crazy good, Cade. Did you have any?”

  “Any what?”

  “Champagne?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sad for you,” I say, thinking he should have some. “Did you have pie?”


  “Pie, no crust.”

  “What?”

  “Too much fat in the crust, I scraped it.”

  “As a baker, this hurts me. I need to make you a pie. With a good rust.”

  “I don’t think I want pie with rust.”

  “What?” I say, trying to focus.

  “Josephine, why don’t you crawl into bed? We’ll talk later.”

  “Cade, I need to know your last tattoo. Why won’t you tell me?”

  Cade smiles at me. Or at least I think he does. He’s still blurry.

  “I told you I will tell you when it’s the right time. Until then it’s a special secret.”

  “Ugh. I hate not knowing.”

  “I know. But the moment has to be right,” Cade reassures me. “But you really need to get into bed now. I won’t call you until you text me and tell me you’re awake, okay?”

  “I don’t think I can get up,” I mumble. “I can sleep here. But I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay with me. I miss you, Cade.”

  “I won’t go anywhere until you’re asleep. I promise.”

  “Don’t go anywhere ever,” I say softly as I lay back down on the floor.

  “I promise.”

  Then I smile and close my eyes as Cade talks to me, letting his voice wrap around me like a comforting blanket, and drift off to sleep.

  ***

  What the hell am I doing on the floor?

  I sit up, and oh, crap, I’m so sore. My back hurts. My neck hurts. I have a huge headache.

  I try to remember last night. I remember eating too much and drinking bottomless glasses of champagne—

  Oh, no.

  I drunk-called Cade. I remember telling him I missed him and the rest is kind of fuzzy, but I think it involved pie.

  I reach for my phone, which is next to me on the floor. It’s nearly dead, but I have enough battery to retrieve my text messages. One from Sierra, telling me next year we are doing a friends Thanksgiving because her family is driving her nuts. The next three are from Cade:

  Stayed on the phone with you until you passed out. I messaged Nonna on Connectivity to check on you and make sure you were okay. She said you were, but you refused to get into bed. She said I was a peach to check on you. She also gave me her cell so if I need her in the future, she’ll be easier to find.