Sugar and Ice

By Tamara Clarke

When a trade brings Rafe O’Brien back to Montreal, Eliza Murray isn’t sure what to think. Their past was a mixture of joy and heartbreak, and neither of them have quite learned how to move on. Then he walks into her bakery and all those old feelings rush to the surface.
Eliza has been trying to get over Rafe for years. She’s even dating again. But nothing feels quite right without him. When they see each other again, Rafe isn’t the same laid-back, romantic man she once knew. She doesn’t know how to deal with everything he makes her feel and she can’t help but wonder if this is their second chance.
From the moment he sets foot in Montreal, Rafe is bombarded with memories and heartache. He thought he’d moved on but one glimpse of Eliza and he’s lost again. He knows he wants another chance to prove how much she means to him but he has no idea what Eliza wants and he’s terrified that it isn’t him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tamara Clarke
• Release date: Oct 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9780991876464

Tamara Clarke

Tamara lives in the foothills of Alberta but dreams of traveling as often as she can. Her greatest passions are reading and writing, but she loves many other things, including hockey, chocolate and coffee - in no particular order. Visit Tamara's blog: www.tamaraclarke.wordpress.com. Tamara posts regularly with updates on new releases and other topics of discussion. Also find links to all her ebooks for sale and her free story postings.

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Sugar and Ice

Tamara Clarke

Sugar and Ice

Tamara Clarke

Published by Tamara Clarke at Smashwords

All rights reserved.

Copyright 2016 by Tamara Clarke

No part of this e-book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including emailing, printing, photocopying, or faxing without prior written permission from Tamara Clarke.

ISBN: 978-0-9918764-6-4

Cover Designer: Tamara Clarke

Dedication:

For Wendy.

She’s encouraging when it’s warranted, critical when I need it,

and just a really good friend. Thank you.

Chapter One

The feel and sound of the rolling pin in Eliza’s hands was soothing. Much more so than the loud discussion taking place in the next room. Julien’s voice rose and she smiled to herself. Her neighbor, business partner, and one of her best friends, was excessively loud when he was excited or drunk. At the moment, since it was the middle of the day, she knew he was excited.

Something slammed onto the desktop in the other room. Eliza!

With an eye roll at Julien’s demanding voice, she set the rolling pin aside and wiped her hands on her apron. I’m coming.

She walked into the workroom beyond her test kitchen where Julien was working with Gayle, their decorator. Julien’s imposing figure suited his big personality. He stood head and shoulders over the petite woman beside him, his dark skin and curly black hair a stark contrast to Gayle’s blond hair and blue eyes.

Eliza glanced between her business partner and the decorator. What is it?

Julien waved her closer. These tablecloths, they are beautiful, no? He spoke English for her benefit. Her French was rusty. She’d been away from Montréal for a couple of years and back for only six months. Lucky for her, Montréal was very much a bilingual city and many people were fluent in both languages.

Eliza smoothed her hand over the ivory cloth. She liked the color and the fabric felt almost like silk or something else equally as expensive. Yes, it’s lovely.

Julien knew her too well. His brow furrowed. You don’t like it?

She met his gaze. I just… She sighed and smiled in apology at Gayle. Isn’t it a bit too fancy for our needs?

The decorator shook her head. I think it will work beautifully.

Julien nodded in agreement. They will come to our patisserie for the greatest delicacies and desserts. They will want to indulge, Eliza. We will give them indulgence.

Eliza smiled. She’d heard him say the same thing a hundred different ways since this had all started. I’m afraid of how much this ‘indulgence’ will cost us.

For a second, neither Gayle or Julien had anything to say. Then Gayle waved her hand in the air. No problem. She bent towards her case of samples and pulled out another swatch. This is half-price.

Eliza stared at the two samples, laid out on the desk side-by-side. They looked identical. Worked for her. Done.

Julien and Gayle burst into conversation at once, both speaking French too fast for Eliza to follow. She shook her head and went back to her kitchen, leaving the pair of them to their own devices.

She walked over to the kitchen island and smoothed a hand over the pastry she’d been rolling out. It was perfect. This she understood, not the merits of an expensive tablecloth or the coordination of linens with floor tiles.

Smiling to herself, she pulled out a tray that held various kitchen tools, including some random cookie cutters and slicers. She rifled around the box, pulled out the pizza slicer and set it on the counter. She pulled out another storage box and fished around in it until she pulled out a small stack of individual tart pans, each about four inches in diameter. Setting them on the counter, she picked up the pizza slicer and started to slice the pastry into small sections.

Her noisy companions argued in the next room but she hummed to herself as she worked. As it always did when she worked, the outside world faded away.

Her fingers worked the pastry with hardly any thought on her part. She’d been doing this since she was old enough to stand on a chair at the kitchen counter beside her grandmother. Pastry, cookies, cakes. All of it she could make without recipes and she loved to test new combinations and flavors all the time, like now.

First, the pastry. Then the filling. She still didn’t know if she’d do a savory one or something filled with custard and fruit. Maybe something with maple and pecans. Yes. That made her smile. It was late in September, the perfect time for warm, rich, sweet treats.

An hour and six tarts later, Julien brought her back to the real world.

Are you tired?

Eliza looked up and shook her head. No. Do I look tired?

He came around the counter and pulled her close with his hands on her shoulders. You look beautiful. He kissed her on both cheeks to punctuate his compliment.

Get off. Eliza pushed him away with a laugh. Maribel won’t like knowing you spend all day flirting with me.

Julien waved a dismissive hand. She knows I love you both equally.

Eliza laughed. She shook her head as she wrapped the small batch of icebox cookies she’d done after the tarts had gone in the oven.

Maribel knows you love everyone. So do I. She wiped her hands on her apron. Is Gayle gone?

Julien nodded as he opened the oven door a crack and sniffed. What is this ambrosia?

I’m not sure yet. I might call it maple nut tart.

Absolutely not. He gave her an arch look and straightened from the oven, letting the door close. We will call it Autumn Delight.

Eliza wrinkled her nose. No. That’s no good.

Fall Fancy?

She shook her head.

Ah! Julien clapped his hands once. Autumn Ambrosia!

That’s actually really good. I like that.

It will be our fall special next month when we open. Where would you be without me?

Eliza laughed but the truth was she’d still be locked in her bedroom as she’d been all those years ago. She’d still be unable to move or talk without crying. Her heart would still feel freshly broken and her soul would still ache. She still felt all that from time-to-time, she would always carry that wound, but Julien and his wife, Maribel, had saved her. They’d been her friends through her darkest days and if it hadn’t been for them, she might never have recovered.

A jangling ring tone interrupted and Eliza checked on the tarts while Julien answered his phone. He spoke for a minute before ending the call. Maribel says you’re expected for dinner.

Only if I can bring dessert. Eliza reached in and pulled out the tray of tarts. She set them on the counter and turned back to shut off the oven.

Julien crowded her, leaning close to breathe in the fresh baked treats. They look divine.

I hope they taste divine. Eliza’s gaze was more critical. She checked the pastry – not too dry – and the filling, bubbled up from the baking, was slowly deflating to a glossy, caramelized finish.

Julien straightened and squeezed her shoulder. I’m sure they’re wonderful. All your creations are.

Eliza continued to scrutinize the tarts as Julien moved away.

We finished selecting all the linens.

That’s good. Eliza left the tarts alone and picked up the cookie dough. She put that in the big fridge at the end of the kitchen and started to clean up. What’s the plan for tomorrow then?

Julien gave her a narrow look. Tomorrow we are finishing the menu and pricing.

Eliza made a face. Do we have to?

We must. Julien pointed at her. You can’t hide from me. I know where you live.

Fine. Menu it is. She looked around her test kitchen and let out a breath. She’d been working so hard for so long. I can’t believe the grand opening is in less than a month.

He smiled and nodded. Me either.

Sometimes I can’t believe it’s happening at all.

I know. Who knew your crazy idea would come to this?

She swatted his shoulder as she moved past him to hang her apron on a hook by the door. They walked out of the kitchen and through her office before going upstairs.

After moving back to the house six months ago, she’d converted the basement to her workspace. At first, she’d thought she could use the kitchen upstairs on the main floor but realized she wouldn’t have enough space to do the work she’d need to. When Julien came on board, they’d both agreed they’d need an office space as well. The location they’d picked for the bakery itself didn’t have anything beyond a storage room and a small office that was little more than a closet.

So, she’d renovated the basement. It certainly made for a short commute, for now at least.

I must go. Julien headed for the back door. Maribel said dinner is at seven and don’t be late.

I won’t. Eliza shut the door behind him.

Since they were neighbors, they’d long ago added a gate between their yards so they could all come and go between properties with ease, front yard or back.

Alone in her house again, Eliza climbed the stairs to the second floor and walked to her bedroom at the end of the hall. Not the master suite on the other side of the hall that held far too many memories and definitely not the room at the front, with the pastel colors and cartoon safari animals decorating the walls. Most days, she tried not to think of those other two rooms. They remained furnished and decorated the same as always, and she kept them tidy, but she never considered ever using them again. It was difficult any time she came home and walked upstairs. Still, when she’d returned to Montréal six months ago, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to sell the house. She told others that it hadn’t made sense to sell with the real estate market being what was.

Eliza looked at the clock on her nightstand when she walked into her bedroom. It was just past four in the afternoon. Plenty of time to clean up and change for dinner. Not that Julien and Maribel would care if she showed up in her flour-streaked yoga pants and a dough-encrusted shirt with mismatched buttons. They’d been friends too long and they’d seen her at her absolute worst; a few baking stains didn’t matter.

She flicked through her closet for something to wear, settling on a summery lavender dress with little purple flowers all over. It was a stretch this late in the year it was but with all the nice weather they’d had, she wanted to take advantage of it.

Hanging the dress on the open closet door, Eliza wondered if she had time to sit and relax. Since the whole plan for the bakery had started, she’d been caught in a whirlwind of bank meetings, renovations and baking. There’d been more days when she’d fallen in bed, fully clothed, than days when she had nothing on her plate.

Leaving the dress and her room, she wandered back downstairs to her main kitchen. She put the kettle on to make some tea and walked over to sit on her cushy couch with a satisfied sigh. She’d bought the couch when she’d moved back to the house. It had been her first purchase on her own and she loved it.

She picked up the remote control and turned the TV on. She flipped through several channels before the kettle started to whistle. She dropped the remote on the couch and hurried to the kitchen to make her tea. When she came back and saw what was on the screen, she almost dropped her mug.

It was a sports talk show. They were discussing hockey, which wasn’t unusual for Montréal, especially at this time of year. She didn’t know what they were talking about or why he was on the screen, but there he was.

Her heart skipped a beat whenever they showed him. Every brief clip of him skating on the ice or talking to a teammate. He looked different to her, though the show didn’t pause long enough on his face at any moment for her to really tell.

Then the segment was over and he was gone. Her breath left her in a whoosh and she didn’t know she’d been holding it. She reached for the remote but didn’t change the channel. She kept watching, the mug of tea in her hand cooling.

Change the channel, she told herself. He’s gone for a reason. Don’t do this to yourself.

She sat there, in a daze, her thumb rubbing the buttons of the remote. She didn’t notice the passing of time until she heard the song playing. At first she frowned, wondering if the TV had gone haywire. It was her cell phone, and the song was one she’d assigned to Julien and Maribel.

That was when she noticed the time. Oh crap!

She bolted up from the couch, TV and cold tea forgotten. The song stopped playing as she rushed up the stairs and looked for the phone. It started up again and she found it on her dresser, under a dirty t-shirt.

She didn’t even say hello. I’m ready, I swear!

Julien’s heartfelt laugh greeted her. You’re lying. I know you too well.

Eliza laughed as she rushed to the bathroom, pulling clothes off along the way. OK, fine. I’m not ready. Give me ten minutes, and I will be.

I’ll see you then.

OK.

Eliza dropped her phone on the bathroom counter and finished stripping out of her dirty clothes. She turned on the taps and washed her hands. She didn’t have time for a shower now, but it wasn’t like she’d been running laps all day. Her perfume was more sugar and spice.

The thought jolted her for a moment and she met her own eyes in the mirror, hearing his voice speaking those very words. In spite of the twist to her heart, the thought made her smile, another bittersweet memory to cap off the day.

Drawing in a deep breath, Eliza rushed to finish getting ready. She was halfway out the door at the back of her house when she remembered the tarts.

Shit, bugger, damn! Sweater half-on, sandals sliding off her feet, Eliza ran downstairs to get the dessert she’d promised to take.

When she arrived at Julien and Maribel’s house, she was flushed and hair escaped her careful braid in wisps.

Maribel exclaimed at her appearance as she held the door open for her. What happened? Did you fall asleep in the test kitchen again?

Eliza laughed and shook her head. Not this time. I almost forgot dessert. Autumn Ambrosia.

Maribel took the tray of tarts from her with an appreciative murmur. Eliza followed her into the kitchen and tried to catch her breath. That’s when she heard the voices coming from the front of the house.

Is Julien talking to himself again?

Maribel laughed and pushed her bright red curls out of her pale, freckled face. No. Our new neighbor stopped by to introduce himself.

New neighbor? Eliza recalled the ‘for sale’ sign she’d seen on the lawn two houses down from her own.

After setting the tarts on the counter, Maribel turned to look at Eliza. Yeah. He moved into the yellow house on the weekend.

Weekend? Eliza laughed. I don’t even know what day it is.

You and Julien both. Maribel pulled Eliza close for a quick hug. You’re the same. He was arguing with me before you got here. He insisted it was Wednesday.

Isn’t it?

Maribel laughed again. No! It’s Thursday.

Are you sure?

The two women shared another laugh and Maribel steered Eliza into the front room, where Julien was still chatting with the neighbor.

Julien, cheri. Eliza’s here.

Julien turned with a broad grin and grabbed Eliza’s hand, hauling her forward. Luc, this is our neighbor, Eliza Murray. Eliza, meet Luc Durand.

Eliza smiled in greeting. Nice to meet you, Luc.

His eyebrows went up at her accent. It was only then that she realized she’d spoken in French. Her cheeks warmed as Julien threw an arm around her shoulders with a laugh.

You’ll get used to her accent, Luc.

Eliza nudged him with an elbow until he stepped away.

I am very pleased to meet you, Eliza. Luc stuck with English and Eliza was grateful. She wasn’t sure if she was up for an entire evening in French yet.

Thank you.

Luc was tall, at least six feet. He had light blue eyes and dark blond hair that looked like it needed a cut but the curls against his shirt collar made him look younger. When he smiled, it was crooked and Eliza found it very appealing.

So you’ve moved into the yellow house?

Luc nodded. Yes, but I’ve still got boxes everywhere.

Julien waved a hand in the air, a dismissive gesture. You will have time enough to unpack. You must stay for dinner.

Eliza’s eyes widened and Maribel made a noise beside her.

Oh no, I couldn’t impose. Luc shook his head.

It’s not an imposition.

Eliza and Maribel exchanged a look.

Thank you, Julien, but I cannot. Luc smiled. I have plans already with a work colleague.

Ah, some other time then.

Luc nodded. He