On Thin Icing (20 page)

“I think he’s trying to be sweet,” I said. “He really sounded like he was worried about me. Like he thought Carlos could be dangerous.”

Sterling rinsed green beans. “Look, I like the guy, but I have to be honest with you, Jules. I think he’s stepping over a line here.”

“What do you mean?” I chopped thick slices of center-cut bacon into tiny squares. We would render the bacon fat and smash in garlic for the beans. Adding the diced bacon to a cast-iron skillet, I started it sizzling.

“I mean, everyone knows that you and Carlos have had some issues, but he’s your husband. Thomas is crossing a line. If I was in his place, I’d back off. Way off. You don’t treat a married woman like that, especially with her husband here.”

“Treat me like what?”

“Jules, come on.” Sterling shook the beans in a colander and started to snap them in half. “I’ve seen the way Thomas looks at you. He’s into you. No judgment there, but even with Stephanie, when she pulled away I backed off. That’s what you’re supposed to do as a guy. Not step up the pressure. Isn’t that what Carlos has done? Given you space?”

I dropped three bulbs of garlic into the bacon and smashed it. The garlic would do its job of infusing the bacon fat with flavor, then I’d remove it. “Sterling, I think you should consider a career in counseling.”

“That would be something. Former junkie turned counselor. Would I put that on my business card?” He snapped a bean in half.

“It’s called life experience. People can relate to that, and I’m serious, you always seem to understand what’s going on. I never thought about it like that with Thomas. It’s weird because I thought we were friends, but you might be right. It feels like he wants something more than I do.” The bacon smelled so good, I had to resist swiping a taste.

“Because he does, Jules. Trust me.” Sterling raised his brow.

“But what you just said about Carlos—that’s why you backed away from Stephanie?”

He shrugged. “It’s the right thing to do. My mom used to say that if you hold on too tight you squeeze life away. It’s better to loosen your grip, let it breathe, you know?”

“I don’t know anything, except that once again, you’ve proven that you are one of the wisest people I know.” The bacon had fried perfectly. I drained some of the fat and removed the garlic.

“Does that come with a raise?” He crunched on a bean.

“It should. Maybe we can start a side business at Torte where you and Mom counsel customers. We can reserve one of the booths. Make a sign that reads
THE BAKER IS IN.

Sterling brought the beans to the stove. “I don’t know about that, but I am hoping that like Carlos said, giving her some space will bring Stephanie back to me.”

“You and Carlos talked about Stephanie? When?” I motioned to the beans. “Go ahead and dump those in.” He did. The green beans crackled in the fat. I sprinkled them with sea salt and then covered them with homemade chicken stock. After they came to a boil, we would cover them and let them cook on low for thirty to forty minutes. The process of braising the beans would result in soft beans with a wallop of flavor.

Sterling watched as I tossed the beans over the heat. “Earlier today. He’s a great guy, Jules.”

I handed the skillet to Sterling and returned to the island where my shortbread dough was resting. Like everything else at this elevation, it was drying out fast. I quickly pressed the dough into the tins with fluted edges, and stuck them in the oven. If there was a love triangle, Sterling had made it clear whose side he was on. I was surprised that he had opened up to Carlos about Stephanie. We didn’t have time to dissect either of our relationships more, as we prepared to deliver dinner to Lance’s guests.

While Sterling covered the beans with a lid, I checked on the lasagna and bread. The bread was rising nicely and the cheese on the top of the lasagna pans was starting to bubble. We were close to being ready for dinner service. I sent Sterling to deliver plates and silverware, and make sure that Carlos had opened the wine to give it time to breathe.

Everything came together. I removed the lasagna to let it rest while I sliced the bread. Thank goodness it had risen to a normal size and baked with a golden-brown crust. The inside was light and airy, as I sawed through it. Sterling removed the beans from the heat. They smelled so rich and delicious, I knew they would be a hit.

I noted the crown was still on Lance’s head as I sliced through the top layer of gooey cheese on the lasagna. The board members had removed their coats, gloves, and hats when the heat came back on. Their winter gear was piled on the couch. The windows sweated with condensation, and the fire burned low.

Whitney and Dean Barnes sat next to each other. They were in a deep discussion about something when I refilled their water glasses. Neither looked up. I heard Dean say something like, “We’ll deal with that back in Ashland.”

I wondered what they were talking about.

Lance may have been king, but Carlos was the star of the show. He had set up a temporary bar on a serving tray next to the table. There were five bottles of uncorked wine waiting in a neat row.

“This first wine is from the southern hemisphere,” Carlos said as I finished filling water glasses and placed the pitcher on the table. No wonder Lance was thrilled that he had volunteered to run the bar. He was taking Lance’s board members on a tasting tour. Carlos used to do this for staff members on the ship. He wanted his staff to be well versed in the ship’s vast collection of wine. Since we had travelers from every corner of the globe, he also wanted staff to be knowledgeable about different growing regions and the kinds of wine that they produced.

He held the bottle with the label positioned so that everyone at the table could read it. “This is a beautiful Malbec from Argentina. It comes from a deep, plumlike grape. It is also very popular now in French wine.” The bruise on his cheek had darkened into a blackish purple, the same color as the wine.

I watched Lance’s guests as they sat captivated by Carlos. He circled the table, pouring everyone a taste of the wine. “We will only be tasting red wines this evening, to pair with Julieta’s Italian meal.” He shot me a dazzling smile.

My heart skipped.

Carlos swirled a glass above the table in one fluid motion. He breathed in the wine, closing his eyes and swaying slightly.

One of the female board members audibly sighed.

I couldn’t blame her. Without even trying, he exuded a casual confidence. It was one of the many reasons I fell for him—hard.

“The grapes in this wine are from Mendoza. They grow in small tight clusters,” Carlos said. “A French vintner first introduced plantings of these grapes in the late eighteen hundreds. No one thought they would thrive in the high altitude of the Mendoza region, but now they are Argentina’s most popular wine.”

I had heard this speech before. Carlos felt it was his responsibility as a chef to help his guests discover new wines. I waved and ducked back into the kitchen.

Sterling was cleaning saucepans and the cast-iron skillet. My tart crusts had baked nicely. I melted dark chocolate, butter, and heavy cream on the stove and poured the luscious liquid into the tins. It would harden in the freezer and then I’d top each tart with whipped cream and berries.

“Home stretch,” I said to Sterling as I slid a tray of tarts into the freezer.

“Why don’t you take off, Jules? I’ve got this. You’ve had a rough day. You should try to get some sleep.”

“It’s not even seven. I’m not that bad, am I?” I laughed.

“I didn’t want to say anything about the bags under your eyes, but…” Sterling winked.

“Ouch.” I put my hands under my eyes. “That’s what little sleep and a lot of coffee does to you.”

“I’m serious, though, Jules. If you want to take off early, I’m happy to clean up.”

“Let me at least finish dessert, and then I just might take you up on that.”

“You should.”

While I waited for the chocolate tarts to firm up in the deep freeze, I whisked heavy cream, sugar, and vanilla together. Each tart would get a dainty dollop of whipped cream. Then I would garnish them with a blackberry and a sprig of mint.

Sterling checked on dinner. “Carlos is killing it out there.”

“Bad choice of words.”

“Sorry. He knows his wine. They’re eating up his every word.”

“I’m not surprised.” The cream had formed into soft peaks of white. It reminded me of the snow outside. “How’s dinner looking?”

“Good. They’re almost done.”

“Perfect. I’ll put the finishing touches on the tarts, and then we can start clearing plates.”

“Plates, yes, but don’t touch anyone’s wine glass. Lance told me he wants Carlos to do a dessert pairing, too. They’re on their last taste of the dinner wines. Carlos is going to see if the bar has any sweet wines in stock.”

I checked the tarts in the freezer. The chocolate had firmed with a satin-smooth finish. I took a spoon and began scooping puffs of whipped cream onto each tart. Then I placed a berry in the center of the cream. The contrast of color was striking. I garnished each one with a final sprig of fresh mint. Sterling cleared the dinner dishes, and brought dessert plates to the tables.

“Should I wait on coffee, if they’re still drinking wine?” he asked.

“Wait. Carlos will have them entertained for hours.” Maybe I would take him up on his offer. With a captive wine-loving audience, Carlos would be in his element until long after midnight. I needed to sleep.

Sterling and I delivered tarts to the table. Lance gushed about my artistic design. It couldn’t have been easier to make the tarts. When I said as much, he waved me off. “You know what I always say about simple elegance. Too many people try way too hard, darling. You, on the other hand, have perfected the art of simplicity.”

I’m sure I blushed. Carlos returned from the bar with a tray of sweet white and red wines and three kinds of port. Yep, I was right. The already tipsy guests weren’t going back to their cabins anytime soon. By the looks of Carlos’s tasting tray, they might all be camping out in the lodge tonight. This was my chance to sneak out.

I helped Sterling finish clearing the dinner plates, and made sure he was really okay with sticking around.

“Jules, you know you’re going to be back here before dawn anyway. I’d rather sleep in the morning. You look beat. Go. I’ve got this.”

I didn’t even hesitate. He was right. I’d been up since five, and had started my morning off by discovering a dead body. If that wasn’t cause enough for ditching out on the dinner dishes, I didn’t know what was.

I pulled on my coat and tied the hood tight over my head. Hopefully, Carlos would be so wrapped up in his lecture that he wouldn’t notice me sneaking out.

He was pouring tastes of moscato, as I ducked past the table. “This is an Italian sweet wine from the Rhone Valley,” he said, pouring the gorgeous rose-pink wine into a glass.

The sweet wine has a little effervescence and a dry fruit finish. It pairs perfectly with desserts.

Lance held his glass up for Carlos to fill. “Yes, I believe they call it a
muscat blanc à petits grains,
is that right?”

“Well done. You know grapes.” Carlos clapped him on the shoulder. “But this is a
muscat rouge
—see the beautiful color?”

Glad that they hadn’t noticed me, I hurried past the bar and toward the front door. The Professor, Thomas, and Mercury sat at a high bar table. They appeared to be having a serious conversation. I had to admit that I was curious, but I didn’t want to risk hanging around and getting sucked into the wine tasting.

I pushed open the front door and stepped out into the cold night air. The snow had died down. It fluttered in light tiny flakes. The wind had ceased as well. Hopefully that meant the roads were being cleared and we could all leave tomorrow, on schedule.

In the distance I heard the sound of a howl. I picked up my pace as I trudged through the powder to my cabin. The only light was from the flashlight I’d brought along. I’d forgotten that none of the cabins had generators. The rest of the resort was plunged in darkness.

Maybe I should have stayed in the toasty lodge and indulged in some wine tasting after all. I illuminated my feet. The cabin was straight up the hill, but I found myself winded after only a few feet. Breathing was a struggle in the thin air.

Once I made it to my cabin, I shook snow from my boots and stomped on the welcome mat. Without even thinking, I reached for the light switch. Nothing happened.

No power, remember, Jules? I scolded myself and shone the flashlight into the kitchen. Where were the matches?

I tripped over Carlos’s slippers. Just like old times. He used to leave his slippers in front of my side of the bed on the ship. It used to drive me crazy. Tonight it made me smile.

I found a box of matches above the stove, and lit two candles on the kitchen counter. Then I fumbled through the cupboards to see if there were any more candles. I couldn’t find any, but I did find a lantern like the ones Thomas and the Professor had at the marina, in the hallway cupboard. I turned that on, too, and placed it on the coffee table in the living room.

Despite the flickering candles and glowing light from the lantern, the cabin still felt like a freezer. I knew I needed to start a fire.

Mercury and Gavin had supplied the cabins with extra firewood, blankets, and flashlights earlier in the day, but for some reason it looked like they’d forgotten to stock mine. There were two pieces of firewood stacked next to the fireplace. I moved the lantern to the top of the woodstove in order to allow for better light.

I crumpled up newspaper and tucked it into the stove, then I placed the two pieces of wood like an X above the newspaper and threw in a match. The newspaper caught fire immediately. Hot flames warmed my face and danced across the wood-beamed ceiling. However, they quickly died out as the newsprint disintegrated into tiny ashes.

Crud. That didn’t work.

Better try again, Jules.

Building a fire wasn’t a skill of mine. There was never a need on the ship, not to mention that none of the staterooms or staff quarters had wood-burning fireplaces.