I swallowed against my nerves and stated more boldly, “I love you, Callie Ironside.”
Doubt and fear crept in as she stared at me for a few seconds. Then she crossed the distance between us, grabbed my hand, and tugged me to follow her around the side of the house.
“What—”
She whirled and pulled me into her before she threw her arms around my neck. Her warm, soft body flushed against mine, and my skin was instantly on fire. “I love you too.”
And then her lips touched mine.
Utter relief flooded me, and I wrapped my arms tight around her, lifting her off her feet to meet my mouth more fully. I pressed her up against the side of the house for leverage and kissed her like she was fucking oxygen.
It felt right.
Perfect.
And I was an idiot for waiting so long to make this girlmine.
But I’d never be an idiot with Callie again. I’d never, ever let her slip through my fingers. How could I?
It would be like losing a part of myself.
Three
CALLIE
PRESENT DAY
Ardnoch, Scottish Highlands
Stepping back from the plate of patisserie cakes I’d created for my mum, I eyed her, feeling almost as nervous as when I’d baked anything for my teachers. I’d spent the better part of the last three years in Paris at a top culinary school, earning my bachelor’s degree in French pastry arts. Between classes and internships at some of the busiest restaurants in the city, I’d not only grown in experience but in confidence.
And yet, I was still nervous to make the pastries I wanted to sell in Callie’s Wee Cakery. My mother named her bakery after me, not knowing that I’d grow up to want to follow in her footsteps. I loved every hour I’d spent here as a child, baking with Mum. Some of my fondest memories, both while we were in LA and here in Scotland, include the days spent inthe kitchen with her.
By the time I was fifteen, I’d known with certainty that I wanted to stay in Ardnoch and help Mum run the bakery. That never changed. But after a few years in the village doing just that, I’d yearned to learn more than what Mum could teach me. She understood that. So I applied to the school in Paris because I was lucky enough to have a parent who not only believed in me but could afford the fees.
I missed my family. I missed Scotland. But I was glad I left the Highlands to experience a bit of the world, to earn my degree, and to learn through missing it that our wee village was exactly where I wanted to be.
However, every time I talked about coming home and bringing all I’d learned back with me, my mum either got quiet or changed the subject. I’d begun to wonder if she didn’t want me working at the bakery and taking it over one day.
She’d been strange with me ever since I returned home a few days ago. I’d begun to worry that maybe I assumed too much when I announced all those years ago that I wanted to work with her. And now that I was back, she didn’twantme back. While I was gone, she trained a young lad called Phil from Golspie, and he was now her assistant baker. I tried not to get nervous or jealous about that. But now I had to wonder … maybe she didn’t need me anymore.
“These look too beautiful to eat, Callie.” Mum stared at the pastries in awe. “Ardnoch won’t know what’s hit them. But are you sure you have time to bake such complicated pastries for the store? Are you sure we can charge what we need to charge to cover the cost of the ingredients?”
I nodded. I’d worked all of that out already when coming up with my creations.
I’d taken classic French pastries such as the Saint Honoré and modified them, made them smaller. They were somewhere between the size of an entremets and a petit four. Myspecialty was choux pastry. Two of my teachers had claimed I had the best choux in my year.
Mum finally cut her fork into the dessert. It was six profiteroles filled with salted caramel diplomat cream, glazed in chocolate hazelnut, with diplomat cream piped between them in the shape of a star. A seventh glazed profiterole topped the star. I watched in glee as Mum’s eyes rolled with pleasure.
“Ohmagawd …” The mouthful muffled her words.
“You like?” I beamed in delight. There was nothing that brought me more joy than when someone enjoyed my desserts. Especially Mum, because she was such a fantastic baker.
However, Mum finished chewing and got worryingly quiet.
“Mum?”
Her eyes flew to mine. And I saw guilt there. “You should be a pastry chef in one of the finest restaurants in Paris. Not here in Ardnoch.”
