If I Win
Chapter One
“Mom, what are you doing here?” Katherine Sweet dropped the cake pan onto a cooling rack and blew on her singed fingers. You’d think after over ten years of professional baking she’d have learned how to use oven mitts.
“Giving you the keys. My flight leaves soon.”
“Flight?” She flipped the cake over and examined the level. Perfect, thank goodness. She didn’t have time to bake more cake layers.
“Claude has rented a villa in Nice.”
Katherine shut the commercial oven door. “Who’s running the pasta factory while you’re sunning yourself on the Mediterranean?” She shoved her glasses back in place and checked her list of tasks. With the final large cake layer baked and cooling, she’d start on desserts for the restaurant. The kitchen prep area buzzed with chaos in the hour before Imagine opened. Her mediocre knife skills had steered her toward the pastry side of culinary school and she was glad of the calmer environment of cakes, cookies, and puddings.
Her mom set the ring of keys on the worktable. “I’ve been working my fingers to the bone since your father died. I came second to Pasta Perfecto once and I’m not doing so again. Six months of sacrifice are my limit. It’s your turn.” She finger-waved at one of the sous chefs and blew him a kiss. “You’ll need to be there tomorrow to sign paycheques.”
Katherine propped her fists on her hips. “My turn…you can’t take turns running an entire company.” One of the sous chefs was eyeing up her mother. He’d chop off a finger if he weren’t careful.
“It’s a family business and you’re the rest of the family. Now I’ve got to run. Au revoir, my darling. Have fun. Bonne chance.” She hurried from the restaurant kitchen in a flurry of silk, satin, and feathers.
Katherine stared at the three wedding cakes she had to assemble and decorate. She didn’t have time for a trip from Halifax to MacLeod’s Cove and back again, at least three hours sucked out of her day. If her mom was running away, whatever was going on must be really bad.
“Who was in here?” Chef Jason strode through the swing door from the dining room of the restaurant.
“That was my mother.” Katherine tucked the ring of keys in her pocket. She’d worry about her mom’s drama later. Right now she had buttercream frosting to make, and lots of it. She opened the heavy door of the walk-in cooler. Cooling off was a good idea. She leaned against a shelf and counted to ten, and then kept going to twenty. Of all the madcap stunts her parent had pulled, this was tops, for this month. June had been white-water kayaking – a woman who didn’t like getting wet. And last month, she’d spent a few hours exploring a cave.
Katherine grabbed a block of butter before slamming the cooler door. “How are the bookings for this evening?”
“Not bad for a Thursday. Are you finished with your little cakes?” He glanced at his watch, his favourite passive-aggressive display.
Little cakes...I’d like to shove my little cakes up your--
“Almost. I’ve been behind schedule all day.” She’d been behind all week. Getting her specialty cake business, Sweet Treats, up and running while working a full-time job at the restaurant was more of a challenge than she’d anticipated. Over six months in business and she still wondered if she could do it.
“I don’t mind you using this place for your cake thing—”
“And I appreciate it.” And she really did, since she couldn’t afford to set up a bakery. The oven in the tiny kitchen of her tiny apartment worked only when in the mood. “The good news is I’ll be out of your hair for a couple of days.” She explained the reason for her mother’s visit.
She switched off both wall ovens before crossing to her workstation and removing her cap. She’d love to pull the tie from her ponytail and stick her head under the faucet. At least with the cooler days of October the kitchen was no longer tropical.
Her boss checked his watch again, his lips pinched in the annoying pucker that screamed I’m not happy. “You’ll be back when?”
Katherine dumped her baking pans in the sink. “I’ll be back after service tonight to finish the cakes. I’ll return from MacLeod’s Cove on Saturday, Sunday at the latest. Don’t worry, I’ll have your desserts done before I go.” She took a deep breath. She’d sleep next month.
“I don’t have to remind you opening day for Imagine 2 is less than three weeks away.”
“No, you don’t.” She squirted soap into the sink and pictured Jason’s face under the plastic scrubby. Nothing mattered except his restaurant. Sure, his dedication had earned him a Michelin star for Imagine, but also two broken marriages and a third set of divorce papers warm from the printer.
She admired his sense of commitment, but questioned his sacrifices.
Look in the mirror, little missy. You’re not exactly a well-rounded individual.
She set the pans in the rack to dry and untied her apron. She rubbed the bunched tendons on the back of her neck. A long car ride on top of a long day on her feet would be so much fun. “I know this isn’t the best time to leave, but I won’t be gone long.”
She headed for the rear door while reviewing her to-do list. She’d throw clothes in a bag, head back to the restaurant to finish up the desserts and her cakes, and call Billie to beg her to deliver the two decorated cakes on Saturday. Katherine’s intuition warned of more going on at the factory than cheques to sign. Good thing she didn’t believe in intuition – most of the time.
“Let me know for sure when you’ll be back.” Jason hovered in the doorway, his body one giant scowl.
“Gee, you’re all heart.” She climbed in her car and brushed cake crumbs from her sleeve. Traffic should be light by the time she was done at the restaurant. If she were lucky, she’d be in MacLeod’s Cove in time to grab some sleep before discovering what emergency at the factory had driven her mother out of the country.
###
The following morning, Katherine stood in the silent pasta factory. Pasta Perfecto, fresh pasta locally made since 1985, a constant of her entire childhood. Heck, probably the first thing she wrote using a crayon. Sights and smells brought back childhood memories, like the stomach ache from eating too much raw pasta dough and the fun of helping Mr. Harding cut the ravioli. Now all the mixers, rollers, and prep tables were empty. Not how a thriving company should be.
Locating an artisan pasta company where most people either fished or farmed had been a big gamble, one her dad, with his five-percent Italian heritage on his mom’s side, had been eager to take. His hard work paid off because he’d lived and breathed the business, sacrificing his marriage in the bargain. Not only had Katherine inherited his red hair, but also his need to succeed.
She entered the small office in the back corner of the factory to find nothing changed since his funeral. His worn leather chair reminded her again of the hole his sudden death six months earlier had left in her life. She settled onto the cool surface, sinking into the dent left by the large man, and let her gaze flick across the desk. The messy piles of papers and folders would have driven him crazy.
She stuffed the stack of unopened mail into her purse, switched off the factory lights, and locked the door. She’d call Marjorie and find out what was going on. But right now, if she didn’t crawl into a bed soon, she’d fall asleep on her feet, and her feet were too sore for that nonsense. Her plan to get her cakes and desserts finished by midnight had been an impossible dream.
On the short drive to her dad’s house, she prayed there’d be a bottle of wine in the fridge, or better yet, rum. Something to shut down her brain and lull her to sleep.
Katherine parked in the driveway before walking to the roadside mailbox where she discovered more mail. Bets on how many would be bills and nasty-grams? A gust of cold wind urged her back to the house.
The front door opened in the neighbouring house and a stunning blonde emerged. She tottered on high-heels down her steps, along the cobblestoned path, and halted at the edge of her manicured lawn, giving Katherine the once over. “Hi, who are you?”
“Katherine Sweet. Who are you?” Tired and cranky, she didn’t have the patience to be social.
The other woman’s face took on the fake look of sympathy mastered by soap opera stars. “I’m sorry for your loss, your father was a lovely man. Are you here to help your poor mother? The dear woman works so hard.”
Katherine took in the sculpted jeans, perfect make-up, and bright red nails. Her cheeks heated. “How well did you know my dad?”
You don’t want to know! What if she says—?
“Oh, not at all. I arrived a couple months before he passed. I’m Jill Sinclair, by the way. I was out of town when you were here for the funeral.” She flicked a glance over Katherine’s dishevelled and wrinkled clothes. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Katherine bit back a relieved laugh and shuffled through the pile of mail. “No, thank you. I’ll be leaving tomorrow, I hope.” She frowned at an envelope addressed to her in her mother’s handwriting. More bad news she didn’t want to impart in person? Katherine opened the envelope and pulled out a folded piece of notepaper and two bright pink tickets.
“You lucky thing – two tickets.” Jill scampered across the strip of lawn between the two driveways and plucked the bits of embossed card from her fingers. “They’ve been sold out for weeks. You’re at table three, close to the front.”
“But I didn’t…” Katherine took the tickets back and read more closely – a charity auction the following evening.
She unfolded the note and read aloud. “I’m passing on the tickets since I know you’ll love to get out and have fun while you’re in town. Blah blah blah.” She leaned against the stair railing so tired her bones ached. “I didn’t come prepared for this.”
“I bet I have something you can borrow.” Jill gave her the once-over, no doubt assessing her size and the startling difference in their respective shapes. Where Jill had been blessed with the classic hourglass figure, Katherine had been blessed with not needing to wear a bra.
Appropriate clothing was not Katherine’s worry. Mixing and mingling with the local small business owners required smiling and small talk. Also, where the heck had they found twelve eligible bachelors in tiny MacLeod’s Cove?
Jill’s pedicure, complete with miniature palm trees on the big toe peeking out from her sparkly sandals suggested she would enjoy a party. And have a friend who’d love to go to the social event of the season. “Are you busy tomorrow evening?”
Jill grinned. “I was hoping you’d ask. We’ll go for drinks first, so you can relax and forget your troubles. Come to my house around five tomorrow and we’ll get you fixed up.” She spun on her high heel and strode toward her house. How did she walk so fast in those shoes?
“Wait, I wasn’t…” Katherine stopped speaking, since she wasn’t being listened to. Oh well, the auction would be a tax deduction and a distraction from the trouble lurking at Pasta Perfecto.
“Mom, what are you doing here?” Katherine Sweet dropped the cake pan onto a cooling rack and blew on her singed fingers. You’d think after over ten years of professional baking she’d have learned how to use oven mitts.
“Giving you the keys. My flight leaves soon.”
“Flight?” She flipped the cake over and examined the level. Perfect, thank goodness. She didn’t have time to bake more cake layers.
“Claude has rented a villa in Nice.”
Katherine shut the commercial oven door. “Who’s running the pasta factory while you’re sunning yourself on the Mediterranean?” She shoved her glasses back in place and checked her list of tasks. With the final large cake layer baked and cooling, she’d start on desserts for the restaurant. The kitchen prep area buzzed with chaos in the hour before Imagine opened. Her mediocre knife skills had steered her toward the pastry side of culinary school and she was glad of the calmer environment of cakes, cookies, and puddings.
Her mom set the ring of keys on the worktable. “I’ve been working my fingers to the bone since your father died. I came second to Pasta Perfecto once and I’m not doing so again. Six months of sacrifice are my limit. It’s your turn.” She finger-waved at one of the sous chefs and blew him a kiss. “You’ll need to be there tomorrow to sign paycheques.”
Katherine propped her fists on her hips. “My turn…you can’t take turns running an entire company.” One of the sous chefs was eyeing up her mother. He’d chop off a finger if he weren’t careful.
“It’s a family business and you’re the rest of the family. Now I’ve got to run. Au revoir, my darling. Have fun. Bonne chance.” She hurried from the restaurant kitchen in a flurry of silk, satin, and feathers.
Katherine stared at the three wedding cakes she had to assemble and decorate. She didn’t have time for a trip from Halifax to MacLeod’s Cove and back again, at least three hours sucked out of her day. If her mom was running away, whatever was going on must be really bad.
“Who was in here?” Chef Jason strode through the swing door from the dining room of the restaurant.
“That was my mother.” Katherine tucked the ring of keys in her pocket. She’d worry about her mom’s drama later. Right now she had buttercream frosting to make, and lots of it. She opened the heavy door of the walk-in cooler. Cooling off was a good idea. She leaned against a shelf and counted to ten, and then kept going to twenty. Of all the madcap stunts her parent had pulled, this was tops, for this month. June had been white-water kayaking – a woman who didn’t like getting wet. And last month, she’d spent a few hours exploring a cave.
Katherine grabbed a block of butter before slamming the cooler door. “How are the bookings for this evening?”
“Not bad for a Thursday. Are you finished with your little cakes?” He glanced at his watch, his favourite passive-aggressive display.
Little cakes...I’d like to shove my little cakes up your--
“Almost. I’ve been behind schedule all day.” She’d been behind all week. Getting her specialty cake business, Sweet Treats, up and running while working a full-time job at the restaurant was more of a challenge than she’d anticipated. Over six months in business and she still wondered if she could do it.
“I don’t mind you using this place for your cake thing—”
“And I appreciate it.” And she really did, since she couldn’t afford to set up a bakery. The oven in the tiny kitchen of her tiny apartment worked only when in the mood. “The good news is I’ll be out of your hair for a couple of days.” She explained the reason for her mother’s visit.
She switched off both wall ovens before crossing to her workstation and removing her cap. She’d love to pull the tie from her ponytail and stick her head under the faucet. At least with the cooler days of October the kitchen was no longer tropical.
Her boss checked his watch again, his lips pinched in the annoying pucker that screamed I’m not happy. “You’ll be back when?”
Katherine dumped her baking pans in the sink. “I’ll be back after service tonight to finish the cakes. I’ll return from MacLeod’s Cove on Saturday, Sunday at the latest. Don’t worry, I’ll have your desserts done before I go.” She took a deep breath. She’d sleep next month.
“I don’t have to remind you opening day for Imagine 2 is less than three weeks away.”
“No, you don’t.” She squirted soap into the sink and pictured Jason’s face under the plastic scrubby. Nothing mattered except his restaurant. Sure, his dedication had earned him a Michelin star for Imagine, but also two broken marriages and a third set of divorce papers warm from the printer.
She admired his sense of commitment, but questioned his sacrifices.
Look in the mirror, little missy. You’re not exactly a well-rounded individual.
She set the pans in the rack to dry and untied her apron. She rubbed the bunched tendons on the back of her neck. A long car ride on top of a long day on her feet would be so much fun. “I know this isn’t the best time to leave, but I won’t be gone long.”
She headed for the rear door while reviewing her to-do list. She’d throw clothes in a bag, head back to the restaurant to finish up the desserts and her cakes, and call Billie to beg her to deliver the two decorated cakes on Saturday. Katherine’s intuition warned of more going on at the factory than cheques to sign. Good thing she didn’t believe in intuition – most of the time.
“Let me know for sure when you’ll be back.” Jason hovered in the doorway, his body one giant scowl.
“Gee, you’re all heart.” She climbed in her car and brushed cake crumbs from her sleeve. Traffic should be light by the time she was done at the restaurant. If she were lucky, she’d be in MacLeod’s Cove in time to grab some sleep before discovering what emergency at the factory had driven her mother out of the country.
###
The following morning, Katherine stood in the silent pasta factory. Pasta Perfecto, fresh pasta locally made since 1985, a constant of her entire childhood. Heck, probably the first thing she wrote using a crayon. Sights and smells brought back childhood memories, like the stomach ache from eating too much raw pasta dough and the fun of helping Mr. Harding cut the ravioli. Now all the mixers, rollers, and prep tables were empty. Not how a thriving company should be.
Locating an artisan pasta company where most people either fished or farmed had been a big gamble, one her dad, with his five-percent Italian heritage on his mom’s side, had been eager to take. His hard work paid off because he’d lived and breathed the business, sacrificing his marriage in the bargain. Not only had Katherine inherited his red hair, but also his need to succeed.
She entered the small office in the back corner of the factory to find nothing changed since his funeral. His worn leather chair reminded her again of the hole his sudden death six months earlier had left in her life. She settled onto the cool surface, sinking into the dent left by the large man, and let her gaze flick across the desk. The messy piles of papers and folders would have driven him crazy.
She stuffed the stack of unopened mail into her purse, switched off the factory lights, and locked the door. She’d call Marjorie and find out what was going on. But right now, if she didn’t crawl into a bed soon, she’d fall asleep on her feet, and her feet were too sore for that nonsense. Her plan to get her cakes and desserts finished by midnight had been an impossible dream.
On the short drive to her dad’s house, she prayed there’d be a bottle of wine in the fridge, or better yet, rum. Something to shut down her brain and lull her to sleep.
Katherine parked in the driveway before walking to the roadside mailbox where she discovered more mail. Bets on how many would be bills and nasty-grams? A gust of cold wind urged her back to the house.
The front door opened in the neighbouring house and a stunning blonde emerged. She tottered on high-heels down her steps, along the cobblestoned path, and halted at the edge of her manicured lawn, giving Katherine the once over. “Hi, who are you?”
“Katherine Sweet. Who are you?” Tired and cranky, she didn’t have the patience to be social.
The other woman’s face took on the fake look of sympathy mastered by soap opera stars. “I’m sorry for your loss, your father was a lovely man. Are you here to help your poor mother? The dear woman works so hard.”
Katherine took in the sculpted jeans, perfect make-up, and bright red nails. Her cheeks heated. “How well did you know my dad?”
You don’t want to know! What if she says—?
“Oh, not at all. I arrived a couple months before he passed. I’m Jill Sinclair, by the way. I was out of town when you were here for the funeral.” She flicked a glance over Katherine’s dishevelled and wrinkled clothes. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Katherine bit back a relieved laugh and shuffled through the pile of mail. “No, thank you. I’ll be leaving tomorrow, I hope.” She frowned at an envelope addressed to her in her mother’s handwriting. More bad news she didn’t want to impart in person? Katherine opened the envelope and pulled out a folded piece of notepaper and two bright pink tickets.
“You lucky thing – two tickets.” Jill scampered across the strip of lawn between the two driveways and plucked the bits of embossed card from her fingers. “They’ve been sold out for weeks. You’re at table three, close to the front.”
“But I didn’t…” Katherine took the tickets back and read more closely – a charity auction the following evening.
She unfolded the note and read aloud. “I’m passing on the tickets since I know you’ll love to get out and have fun while you’re in town. Blah blah blah.” She leaned against the stair railing so tired her bones ached. “I didn’t come prepared for this.”
“I bet I have something you can borrow.” Jill gave her the once-over, no doubt assessing her size and the startling difference in their respective shapes. Where Jill had been blessed with the classic hourglass figure, Katherine had been blessed with not needing to wear a bra.
Appropriate clothing was not Katherine’s worry. Mixing and mingling with the local small business owners required smiling and small talk. Also, where the heck had they found twelve eligible bachelors in tiny MacLeod’s Cove?
Jill’s pedicure, complete with miniature palm trees on the big toe peeking out from her sparkly sandals suggested she would enjoy a party. And have a friend who’d love to go to the social event of the season. “Are you busy tomorrow evening?”
Jill grinned. “I was hoping you’d ask. We’ll go for drinks first, so you can relax and forget your troubles. Come to my house around five tomorrow and we’ll get you fixed up.” She spun on her high heel and strode toward her house. How did she walk so fast in those shoes?
“Wait, I wasn’t…” Katherine stopped speaking, since she wasn’t being listened to. Oh well, the auction would be a tax deduction and a distraction from the trouble lurking at Pasta Perfecto.