by Izzy Bayliss
Baked with Love
Lily McDermott Series Book 2
Just when things start going right for Lily, life has other ideas . . .
by
Izzy Bayliss
Copyright © 2018 Izzy Bayliss
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or other information storage or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, events or localities is purely coincidental.
http://www.izzybayliss.com
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Epilogue
Recipe for Baileys White Chocolate Gateau
Acknowledgements
About the Author
For Simon – for everything
* * *
I’m always telling people that cake has magical powers. Everyone knows that feeling when a buttery sponge melts on your tongue and suddenly a bad day is set to right. Or the moment you bite into a lighter than air pastry, flakes falling down around you, and the problems in your life are temporarily suspended. A slice of cake can be five minutes of magic in the middle of a chaotic day. A thick chocolate ganache is a heavenly balm for a crisis of the heart, while the crunch of a meringue on a fine summer’s day can make us feel warm inside. Cake is food for the soul and each little bite you take is a little piece of enchantment. And if you don’t believe me, then let me show you . . .
* * *
CHAPTER 1
Can’t breathe . . . can’t breathe . . . can’t breeeeathe . . .
“Ehm, Lily, why is your face turning purple?” Sam asked, his face a mixture of concern and amusement.
I was looking at my reflection in the glass and sucking my stomach in so much that I thought I was going to starve my brain of oxygen. I exhaled and let everything hang out again. It was useless; I’d never be able to keep that up all night.
I was standing in my newly appointed Baked with Love and it was a few minutes before the first guests were due to arrive for the launch party. I couldn’t believe that I was about to open my very own bakery – me, Lily McDermott, a bakery owner? It sounded ridiculous even to me.
“Are you sure I look okay?” I said, turning around to him.
“You look great, Lily – I’ve told you a million times already!”
“I don’t look like a person who should have their own bakery though, do I?” Although I had had my hair blow-dried and I had bought a gorgeous new tea dress, the nerves were starting to get the better of me. Whenever I looked at my reflection in the mirror, I didn’t look mature enough to own my own business. I felt like an imposter.
“What are you talking about?” Sam asked with a laugh.
“Me . . . this –” I said, gesturing around the café with a sigh. “Oh God, I think I’m in over my head . . .” You know when for once everything in your life is going right and you finally think you have your act together? Nope, me neither because here I was yet again in a situation where I felt totally out of my depth.
My best friend, Frankie, had invited lots of journalists and PR people and I knew they would be expecting somebody confident, somebody assured, somebody who knew what they were doing, not someone who was completely winging it. I felt like this was all a big charade. I was waiting for somebody to jump out and say, “Haha, Lily, you didn’t really think we were going to let you open your own bakery, did you?”
“Relax, Lily, it’ll be great!” Sam reassured me, taking me into his arms.
“But what if nobody turns up?” I said for possibly the hundred and seventh time that day.
“Well, then me and you will have a lot of cake to get through –”
I glared at him. “That’s not even funny!”
He grinned back at me. “Lily, stop fretting, of course they will. You’ve had loads of RSVPs. You’ve worked hard for this, try to relax and enjoy your special moment.”
“You’re right.” I sighed, wondering once again why I had decided to do this. Was I completely mad?
As I looked around the room, I couldn’t believe that this place was mine. A wooden sign with Baked with Love now hung proudly over the door and the fringe of a huge red and white candy-striped awning billowed gently underneath. In good weather, I would be able to put a few tables under it. The original oak floorboards were still intact, and two old bottle glass windows looked out onto Bluebell Lane where inside I had created a tower of macarons to entice people through the door. A traditional style glass counter ran along one wall, which was now full with cakes and treats. I had an old-fashioned, push-button till at the end of the counter. A comfy sofa ran along the back wall beside the gas stove which I hoped would give the place a warm, cosy feel during the long winter months. The room at the back was fitted out as my kitchen, and I was so excited to have proper catering ovens, an industrial-size fridge, and tonnes of space to work. I felt like a child at Christmas over the last few days as I tested out the new equipment. I would be able to double, if not treble, my output every day. I had bought some mismatched tables and chairs which, as well as being cheaply purchased in the charity shop, gave the place a relaxed and welcoming feel. I had also picked up vintage-patterned plates and teacups, saucers and bowls; none were from the same set but somehow, collectively, they all worked together. The end result was that Baked with Love was cute and homely and exactly what I had imagined my dream bakery might look like way back when I had been working out of my kitchen in Ballyrobin.
I had viewed unit after unit over the past few months, but inevitably they were too small, or too big, or didn’t have space for a k
itchen, or were on the quiet end of the street. Every place I had looked at hadn’t been right, but this little shop was just perfect. I could feel it in my bones.
I would be eternally grateful to my brother-in-law, Tom, who had a large property portfolio around Dublin and was cutting me a deal on the unit. The previous tenants had only vacated the building recently, and Tom had said it was mine if I wanted it. There wasn’t a chance I could ever hope to afford the rent on a prime location like Bluebell Lane without his help. I turned back around and looked around the room and once more a nervous feeling began bubbling its way up inside me.
It wasn’t long before my Dad and Frankie came through the door, followed shortly by my sister, Clara, and her husband, Tom. I was relieved to see Clara hadn’t brought her boys, Jacob and Joshua, with her. I had visions of my brand-new bakery being destroyed by her “energetic” sons. Frankie arrived next wearing an electric blue coat over a cerise pink dress. Most people with Frankie’s pale colouring and wiry auburn hair would shy away from wearing bright colours but not her. Her job as a freelance fashion stylist meant she wasn’t afraid to experiment with clothes.
“Are you ready?” she asked, kissing me on both cheeks.
“Do you think anyone would notice if I ran away right now?”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be great,” she said, giving me a squeeze.
Soon the rest of the guests began to arrive, and I watched in amazement as Frankie turned into my PR woman. She had invited Ireland’s top journalists and food bloggers and other people who she said were social media “influencers” – whatever they were. She confidently greeted people and introduced them to me until my head was spinning trying to keep up with who was who.
Frankie had insisted that we needed a theme, so we were simply going with “Cake and Cocktails.” We had designed strawberry mojitos to complement the Eton-mess, which were served in a shot glass alongside the cocktail. There were sticky toffee apple martinis to match my bite-sized sticky toffee puddings, and Frankie had suggested gin-gin mules to pair with the key lime cupcakes. Dad and Sam had been given the job of serving the guests, and Frankie directed them through the crowd with their trays so that everyone had a drink and matching cake in their hands.
I was so busy running around meeting and greeting the journalists and PR people that Frankie was introducing me to and trying to make a good impression that before I knew it she was tipping a spoon against the side of a wine glass calling on me to make a speech. My stomach flipped over; I had been dreading this bit. I managed to catch Sam’s eye across the room, and he gave me a reassuring wink.
I swallowed back a lump in my throat and began. My voice trembled with emotion when I gave a special mention to Frankie for encouraging me to set up my own cake-making business in the first place. It was hard to believe that an idea that was conceived over a bottle of wine one night was now almost a fully fledged bakery. I could never have imagined when I first took those tentative steps into business that I would one day have a café with my name over the door. To see Baked with Love, my own bakery, alive with people eating and chatting and laughing was everything I had ever dreamed of. I finished by saying: “Thank you, everyone, for coming, I think we have the recipe for a perfect night: a great crowd, some lovely cocktails, and hopefully some tasty treats.”
The rest of the night went past in a blur, and before I knew it I was saying goodbye to everyone as they assured me that they would be giving Baked with Love a big thumbs up.
As soon as we had closed the door on the last guest, I let out a huge sigh of relief and collapsed onto a chair.
“I think it was a success!” Sam said, coming over and wrapping me into a hug.
“I don’t think I said anything too stupid . . .”
“You need to work on your public speaking, but otherwise I think people actually enjoyed it,” Clara said.
“Of course they did!” Frankie said, cutting across her. She had no patience for Clara’s antics.
“I’m proud of you, Lily,” Dad said.
After we were finished cleaning up, Frankie, Dad, Clara, and Tom headed on leaving just Sam and me alone together.
“You were amazing tonight,” he said, taking me into his arms. “Come on, this calls for some bubbles!” He took me by the hand. We locked up and stepped out onto the pedestrianised street where the aprons of cafés and bars fronted. Office workers walked past us, blazers draped over their shoulders and ties loosened on the warm evening.
We walked over to a nearby bar and took a seat outside under the canopy. Sam disappeared inside and returned a few moments later with a bottle of champagne. He uncorked it and the froth rushed over the neck and down onto the table. He poured us both a glass.
“To Baked with Love,” he toasted.
“To Baked with Love,” I echoed.
He put his arm around my shoulder, and we sat back and watched the busy street life unfold before us.
“I never thought I’d say it but my life it pretty perfect right now, Sam Waters.” I reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. When I thought back over how things had gone for the last two years, a whirlwind didn’t even begin to describe it. In that period, I had married Marc and separated. I had been fired from my job in Rapid Response pregnancy tests and had set up Baked with Love from my own kitchen. I had met Sam when he had come to my rescue after a disaster involving a stand of fallen cupcakes and my nephews, Jacob and Joshua. After a few false starts, we had finally got it together and now here I was, relaxing in his strong arms, looking across the street at my new bakery. I almost had to pinch myself to believe it was true. From one of the lowest points of my life, all these good things had happened to me and it was all because of the magic of cake.
It was then that I noticed Sam lowering his gaze towards the cobblestones on the ground.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s nothing – sorry . . .” He smiled at me and squeezed my hand.
We sat chatting and people watching and staring across at Baked with Love with a mixture of pride and amazement until the cool evening air began to make its presence felt. I began to shiver, and Sam took his jacket off the back of the chair and draped it over my shoulders.
After we had finished the bottle we strolled home hand in hand along the Grand Canal towards Sam’s apartment. It had become my apartment too over the last year. He had let me take over his kitchen with my baking on the condition that I saved him some of whatever I had made that day. I figured it was a win-win for both of us, so I had put my house in Ballyrobin up for rent and moved in with Sam the very next day.
I felt as though I was dancing on air the whole way home. The sun began to set in shades of pink and orange over the Grand Canal basin, glinting off the water below and bedding down somewhere over Boland’s Mill. Dublin really could be the best city in the world on a sunny evening like this, I thought.
When we reached the apartment, I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling length windows. Dusk had started to fall, and a field of city lights lay twinkling beyond the pane. I drew the curtains across and flopped down onto the red L-shaped sofa that ran the length of the wall.
Sam sat down beside me and took me into his arms.
“I’m proud of you. I know you’ll make it a success.”
“I hope so,” I said, nervously biting down on my bottom lip.
“You make me so happy, you know that don’t you, Lily?” he said suddenly.
I smiled and looked up at Sam’s handsome face, the cutting cheekbones dotted with dark stubble. But he wasn’t smiling; instead, his face had clouded over. His brow was furrowed downwards emphasising the crease above the bridge of his nose.
I was taken aback by his serious expression. “I know that, Sam, I love you too.” I laughed to try and lighten the situation, but I noticed that he wasn’t meeting my eyes. A cold feeling washed over me and I didn’t like it one bit. It was unsettling. I had been here before.
Suddenly, his face relaxed and his mouth broke into a
grin and I relaxed then too. There was something about his smile that always seemed to calm even the worst of my neuroses. I was just imagining it; everything was fine.
CHAPTER 2
The next morning, I opened my eyes and let them adjust to the dusky half-light of the room. I had barely slept. I had spent most of the night staring at the shadows cast by the streetlights as they crept across the ceiling, my mind racing with plans for Baked with Love.
The room was filled with the noise of the city coming to life below me. I could hear the sound of tooting cars as traffic began to fill the streets and the beeping of a reversing bin lorry. The list of things that I needed to do for Baked with Love kept spinning around in my head. Sam was still sleeping soundly, so I pulled back the duvet and climbed out of bed. I was so bloody nervous. Today was the day I was throwing open the doors of my bakery for the whole world to see. There was no going back now. All my hopes and dreams for the last few months had finally come true; I just hoped it would be a success. Dad was going to give me a hand behind the counter, and Clara had offered her help as well. If it got busy all I had to do was give her a call and she would leave the boys with Olga, her latest in a string of long-suffering au pairs. I wasn’t too keen on taking her up on it though. She’d probably scare away any customers that I did manage to get.
I dressed in a bright pink tea dress with a black rose pattern and well-worn, flat Roman sandals because I knew I would be running around on my feet all day. I tied my hair up into a bun and quickly did my make-up. I kissed a sleeping Sam a swift goodbye, then I climbed onto my bike and cycled over the cobbled streets of Dublin until I reached Bluebell Lane.
As I came upon my bakery, I almost had to pinch myself. It looked so pretty under the watery morning sun. I parked my bike on a nearby lamp post and then with pride I walked over, took the key out of my pocket, twisted it in the lock, and pushed open the door. The bell gave its pleasing little trrring. How I loved that sound.