‘I can feel it.’ She gazed up at him, her soft lips lifting. ‘Strong and steady. Just like you.’
‘Could you make me sound any more boring?’ Callan placed his hand over hers, not wanting to let her go. Not just yet.
‘I like it. I like you.’ Josie placed her free hand in front of her mouth. ‘I can’t believe I just said that. How to get a man to run a million miles. Declare you like them. Good one, Josie.’ She closed her eyes and shook her head.
He brought her hand away from her mouth and kissed her. Light and quick. ‘I’m not running anywhere.’
Her eyes opened, all hints of self-reproach gone. ‘What a night. I never expected our trip up the hill to watch a sunset to turn out like this. Free drinks. A kiss. Well, many kisses all rolled into one long, delicious kiss.’ She flipped her hand away from his heart and tangled her fingers in his. ‘And I can’t wait to see what comes next.’ A yawn escaped, and she pulled away. The tips of her fingers lingering on his like she didn’t want to go. ‘But it really is time for bed. For me.’
Callan pushed away the temptation to pull her back, to kiss her again, to ask her to stay. He suspected she’d say yes, but he didn’t want to push, to hurry either of them. He wanted to take his time, to explore this new … whatever it was going on between them.
He wasn’t going anywhere.
And, despite her history of moving on, he couldn’t help but think – but hope – Josie wasn’t either.
Chapter 15
Josie pulled two cake tins out of the oven, placed another two in, shut the door, whipped her oven mitts off and tossed them on the bench.
‘What was I thinking? I’m a madwoman. “A four-tier cake”, she said. “Representing four elements of Christmas”, she said. She needs to have her head read.’ Josie leaned over and surveyed the list of things she had to do if she was going to make her entry into the Christmas Cake-off a success. Or, at the very least, not entirely a mess. ‘Spun sugar snowballs dusted in edible silver glitter. I mean, really? I must’ve been on another planet when I decided to add that.’
Another planet was an almost accurate assessment. Her head had been well and truly in the clouds, along with her heart, since she and Callan had kissed under the mistletoe two days ago.
Then kissed right here, in the kitchen, the next day. On her sofa when he’d left Mia with Margo and popped round for a cup of tea, AKA a snog session.
It was like being a teenager again. Snatching moments wherever possible, as they’d both agreed to not confuse Mia with public shows of affection. Adding to the illusion of youthful romance, Callan had yet to try and take things further.
It was the most gentle, delectable courtship.
No hands fumbling their way towards her lady lumps. Or down to other, more private areas. Just kisses. Quick and careless. Long and lingering. Slow and sensual.
Not that she’d have swatted his hand away had he tried. A single Callan kiss made every nerve ending in her body thrum to the hypnotic chant of ‘more, more, more’. The sweet nothings he’d whispered in her ear – ‘you look wonderful’, ‘your smile makes me happy’, ‘those jeans are great’, which she took to mean ‘your bum looks fab in those jeans’ – saw her soul swell with a happiness and warmth she couldn’t recall feeling before.
Not that she’d ever given herself the chance to let someone that close. Which was why, in between all the beautiful moments they shared, she had to fight her inner voice who railed against the familiarity, the settling, the potential for commitment.
It was the fear in that voice that had spurred the inspiration for the competition. All the layers, all the elements, all the fiddly handcrafted edible figurines ensured she was kept too busy baking and creating to get in her own way. Because the moment she stopped moving, the moment she took a breath, the voice sprung forth, reminding her of what happened when you trusted another person with your heart.
They’d leave. They’d check out. They’d break your heart, one way or the other.
The second she heard the whispers unfurling, curling through her mind, trying to take root, she pushed back. Powered forward.
Which was how it came to be that she was now preparing to create the biggest, most extravagant cake of her career.
One layer a winter wonderland, with icing snowflakes embedded around the sides, and miniature handmade figurines holding a snowball fight on top.
The next layer would depict Santa’s workshop. Little elves creating teddy bears and toy trains, with a giant pile of ribboned boxes stacked around the edges. The third layer would feature a chorus of singers, dressed in red, green and gold, surrounded by fondant musical notes.
As for the fourth layer? That’s where her giant plan had come a tad unstuck. She wanted it to represent family. Love. Community. Connection. But all she had was a blank cake.
How could she create a family-inspired layer when her own Christmas for nearly a decade and a half had been anything but a family-filled affair?
And that’s why what you’re doing with Callan is wrong. You don’t know how to be part of a family.
She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth and mentally told the voice to take a running jump.
‘Josie? Are you okay?’
A warm hand was gently placed upon her forehead, and she leaned into it. Appreciated its warmth, the caring that saw it placed upon her.
This was what she wanted. This was what she’d secretly yearned for, dreamed of. She wasn’t letting the Voice of Sabotage destroy her chance at happiness. Of a good life. Not this time.
She took Callan’s hand and brought it down, didn’t let it go. Allowed its strength to infuse her.
‘I’m fine. Just giving myself a mental bashing for deciding to go all out in baking this cake for the competition. I should’ve started small. Eased my way in. It’s not like there won’t be other Christmas Cake-offs to compete in.’ Not if things continue as they are. Not if I embrace this new way of life.
Callan brought her hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it. ‘It’ll be amazing. At least I can only assume so, because you’ve not told me a thing about it, which considering it’s being cooked in my kitchen, I’m a touch miffed about.’ His lower lip dropped into a pout that morphed quickly into a grin. ‘So, do I get a clue?’
Josie directed her gaze to the ceiling in thought. ‘Well … I can tell you it’s Christmassy. And it involves cakes.’
‘Cakes multiple? Like these two.’ He pointed to the tins on the bench.
‘Those two, and the two in the oven. And there’s four more to come if each cake’s going to be a double-layer.’
‘Four tiers. Impressive. Not many people have attempted that before.’
A shadow crossed Callan’s face, then disappeared as quickly as it came, like a cloud scuttling past the sun.
Was he thinking of Abigail? Of the cakes she’d made? Did he feel that Josie was trying to compete with her? Trying to outdo her?
And if she was successful and placed, or won, would some part of him resent her for it?
‘Callan …’ She searched for the right way to ask the question that had played on her mind the last few days. ‘Is it wrong for me to enter this competition? This was Abigail’s thing, and I don’t want to be seen as treading on her turf. In more ways than one.’ She looked down at her shoes as her cheeks flamed hot. She hadn’t meant to say the last sentence. It had tumbled out before she could stop it. Yet, she worried about that too.
Coming here. Taking over the baking. Falling for the owner’s husband. Would people see her as being an imposter?
Worse, did Callan secretly see her as a convenient fill-in? Would he be with her until someone better came along? Someone more worthy of love? Someone worth going through the thick and the thin for?
And there went the Voice of Sabotage. Finding her insecurities and twisting them, illuminating them.
Callan dropped her hand. She waited for him to step away, to admit his misgivings about the cake, about them. She didn�
�t expect for his arms to encircle her, to bring her close, to hold her tight. His chin upon her head. His hand stroking, soothing, comforting, as it caressed the length of her back.
‘If I could go back in time and give that mother and father of yours a good talking-to, I would. I can see you waiting for me to tell you this is a mistake. To push you away.’ He looked her square in the eyes. ‘You’ve barely stood still the last couple of days. It’s like you’re ready to make a move the moment I give you reason to. And I get it, I do. It’s not easy being left without notice, without reason, Josie. No one knows that more than me. I’m scared too. But I’m not letting that fear stop me trying. Not when it took everything I had in me to come out of my self-imposed cave, to let myself get close to you.’
The air that had built and caught in Josie’s chest, leaving her unable to speak, unsure what to say, whooshed out. How could Callan be so brave? So sure? After all he’d lost. It wasn’t that long ago, in the grand scheme of things, that his wife had passed. Whereas she’d had fourteen years to learn to be as brave as he was, yet she had nowhere near that level of courage. Even if she pretended to herself that she did, hoping that if she faked it, she’d eventually make it.
‘And don’t for a second think that you can’t enter the competition, that you’re treading on toes, or that people will raise an eyebrow at you throwing your hat in the ring. They won’t. You work here, you’re talented, it’s expected. Besides, the villagers adore you. I can see it in the way they talk to you. The way they keep coming back.’
Josie noticed he didn’t mention their burgeoning relationship. That it wasn’t in the mix. Callan may talk about being brave, but he wasn’t yet brave enough to acknowledge that one day the villagers, and Mia, would have to know about them.
Because he didn’t want to admit to it? Didn’t want to be seen as betraying his wife? Didn’t want to be judged? Or maybe, despite his words, he didn’t see them going beyond a fling …
Josie forced a smile and told herself she was being ridiculous. It was early days. Callan was doing the rational thing. What she’d have done if she were in his position. He had as much, perhaps even more, to lose than she did if they didn’t work out.
‘So, I’ll keep going on with the cake.’
Callan nodded. ‘You must. I insist.’
‘Does that also mean you won’t mind me rattling around down here tonight? It could be late. In fact, I guarantee it will be late, but I promise to keep quiet. Wouldn’t want to wake you or Mia.’
‘The kitchen’s yours. And don’t worry about waking us up. The world could be falling down around us and Mia would sleep through it. As for me, I just hope you don’t hear me snoring. Abigail once said I was so loud she could feel the foundations shaking. Although’ – he tapped his chin in thought – ‘if I’m really that bad it might put you off me. Maybe I need to rescind the use of the kitchen overnight?’
Josie went to object but stopped as a thunder of footsteps on stairs and a plaintive ‘Daaaaaadd-eeeee, is it time to go shopping yeeeet?’ met their ears.
Callan’s arms shot away from her, and he took a giant step back.
Josie crossed her arms and tried to ignore the part of her that felt hurt at the way he’d dropped her as if she were a hot tin straight from the oven. She understood why he wanted to keep their tentative relationship away from Mia, but that didn’t stop the little girl who spent years feeling rejected from reliving that feeling.
Josie picked up a knife and turned her attention to the cooling cakes. She ran the knife around the perimeter of the one closest, then unlocked the cake tin.
How had her life come to this? From spending her life avoiding connection, ties, community, to now wanting all of it. Sooner rather than later. She kept a careful eye on the cake as it peeled away from the edge, making sure no chunks tore away. What she needed to do was slow her flow and let things progress naturally. At a speed that wouldn’t see their situation implode. Or fall apart.
She took a calming breath as the last part of the cake gave, leaving a perfect circle.
She looked up to see Mia, dressed in the frothiest, pinkest, tulle dress she’d ever seen, being bear-hugged by Callan.
‘Nice dress.’ Josie grinned as Mia escaped Callan’s cuddle and twirled round and round in the middle of the kitchen, sending her skirts flying, until she collapsed in giggles on the ground.
Josie crossed the kitchen and, once Mia had caught her breath and stopped looking like the inside of her head was whirling, pulled her into a standing position. ‘You’re going shopping? Where are you off to?’
‘Can’t tell. It’s a surprise.’ Mia began jumping up and down, trying to retrieve her coat from the hook.
‘Here, let me help.’ Josie passed Mia her coat and helped her get into it, then lined up her soft pink cowgirl-style boots.
Mia balanced on Josie’s arm as she pushed her feet into them. ‘Daddy said we can’t tell people what presents we’re buying them, even though I would want to be told if I were getting—’
Before she could spill the beans, Callan placed a softly cupped hand over Mia’s mouth.
‘Mia, darling, were you about to accidentally ruin the surprise?’ He removed his hand and Mia tipped her head up to his, shaking her head fervently.
‘Sorry, Daddy, I forgot.’ She shrugged by way of apology.
‘And we should get going before she forgets again.’ Callan took his keys off their hook next to the coats and jiggled them in his hand. ‘You’ll be okay for a couple of hours?’
His eyes were as warm as his smile, and any misgivings, concerns, worries and doubts Josie harboured melted away.
Callan wasn’t like the people she’d cared about in the past. People she’d given her trust to. He wouldn’t pick up and leave like her mother. Wouldn’t grow distant like her father.
He was here. Present. He didn’t scuttle away, he dug in.
The proof of that was currently tugging his hand with impatience.
‘I’ll be fine. I always am.’
And for the first time in more years than she could count, she believed the words coming out of her mouth.
She was fine.
More than fine.
She was home.
Chapter 16
Rain lashed against the village hall’s windows, the weather oblivious to the moans and groans of cake makers from around the district as they raced in from outside, arms full, noses dripping, clothing soaked.
‘It’s ruined.’ A woman one table over from Josie crumpled to the ground, her howl muffled as she buried her head in her arms. ‘Ruined.’
Josie eyed the mountain of white and yellow sludge, on which a fondant Santa – his hat now attached to his feet rather than his head – appeared to be skiing down in a haphazard way. She went to console the woman, to tell her the mushed mess could be saved, but couldn’t force the white lie past her lips.
The woman uncurled herself, picked up the destroyed mountain, dumped it unceremoniously in the nearest bin and stalked out of the hall.
‘I don’t think that’ll be the last cake to end up there.’
Josie twisted round to see Callan shaking his head and thanked her lucky stars that he’d saved her from the same fate. On seeing the rain bucketing down that morning he’d pulled together a makeshift portable stage, complete with a post on each of its four corners, over which he’d draped a tarpaulin, placed it securely in a wheelbarrow he’d borrowed from Will, and presented it to Josie with a proud flourish and a ‘for you, my lady’.
‘Poor woman. My heart goes out to her. She must’ve spent hours making that cake, only for the ski field to have an avalanche.’ A ripple of nerves danced through Josie, and she peeked under the tarpaulin to make sure her cake hadn’t gone the way of her neighbour’s, but it was perfect. Standing straight. Every decoration in place. Not a bump, ripple or wave in the icing.
Josie covered her mouth as the millionth yawn of the day escaped. She’d been up until three that morning perfec
ting the last tier, inspiration having finally struck in the midnight hour as she’d pondered the meaning of family. Of community. And how it tied into Christmas.
Her heart bubbled with hope. She didn’t expect to win, not when she was so new to the area, but she believed her creation would spark interest, maybe even happiness, and once the judging was done and the cakes could be shared with the community, she believed her work would bring more business to the bakery. That Abigail’s would be renowned once more.
‘Still perfect?’ Callan’s fingertips briefly touched her hip, letting her know he was still there. That he hadn’t left.
Josie ducked out from under the tarpaulin and turned to face him. Even under the unforgiving fluorescent lighting of the hall, Callan looked divine. His eyes shone like freshly stirred melted chocolate. His cheeks were raised high in good humour, his lips as lush as ever. It took everything she had not to reach up, to cup his face, to bring those beautiful lips down to hers.
She closed her eyes so temptation wasn’t staring her in the face, crossed her arms and tucked her hands flat against her ribcage. There. Safe. Unable to reach, unable to touch, unable to cross any boundaries in front of the villagers that might lead to unwanted speculation.
She was sticking to the unspoken, but oh so obvious, rules.
Take things slow.
Keep it easy.
Keep it on the down low.
The squeal of a loud-hailer pierced the air, forcing her to put her fears aside and focus on what was important right now.
The judging.
‘Best of luck.’ Callan nodded encouragingly, then left the hall to join those who’d gathered outside to sing carols and get in the Christmas spirit, before it was time to gorge themselves on cake.
Josie took a deep breath, wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans and surveyed the competition. She’d entered the three-plus tier category, which had limited the number of those who’d entered, but those who had were talented and their creations had her dealing with tingling tastebuds and a storm of snowflakes blustering about in her belly.
The Little Bakery of Hopes and Dreams Page 15