On Thin Icing (3 page)

Before I could say anything else, he snatched the box of pastries from his desk and walked away.

I sat for a moment, lost in thought. Catering OSF’s executive board retreat might push me out of my comfort zone, but it was exactly what Torte needed.

What a welcome surprise, I thought as I hurried back through an icy rain to the bakeshop. I couldn’t wait to tell Mom and the rest of the team. A new corporate account would certainly give our bottom line an extra boost.

Torte was humming when I returned. The heat from the oven had significantly raised the temperature. The ice on the windows had begun to melt, and dripped down the single glass panes. I needed to remind Stephanie to wipe them down soon.

“Hey, Jules, you look excited,” Sterling said, as I stepped inside and shrugged off my coat. He wore a gray hoodie that matched the sky outside.

“I am.” I grinned, and glanced around the bakeshop. A couple sat at one of the booths in front of the windows, and two of the bistro tables were taken. Otherwise the shop was quiet. “You two want to take a quick break, and come hear my news?” I said to Sterling and Andy.

They agreed and followed me into the kitchen. Stephanie stopped the blender, and Mom turned the sauce she was simmering on the stove to low. “Look at the gig we just landed, you guys,” I said, placing Lance’s agenda on the island.

Andy snagged a cinnamon muffin from the cooling rack. He ate nonstop. Playing football for Southern Oregon University had him burning calories around the clock. No wonder he likes working here, I thought, as he devoured the muffin in two bites and grabbed another. Mom has always had an “eat whatever you want policy” for staff. We used to joke on the ship that you could tell who the newbie baker was by how much they ate. Once you’ve been around a bakeshop for a while, the lure of consuming every tasty morsel in front of you tends to dissipate. That wasn’t the case for Andy.

“Lance wants us to cater an executive retreat at Lake of the Woods next weekend,” I said, passing around the file.

Mom dusted her hands on her apron. Her walnut eyes lit up as she read the agenda. “This is great news, honey!” She paused and looked concerned. “But this is a big order. You can’t do it yourself.”

I nodded. “It’s a big order. It’ll mean preparing every meal for all forty guests.”

“And more dough, right, boss?” Andy said through a mouthful of muffin.

“Right, and I have a plan.” I turned to Sterling. He stood next to Stephanie, their arms almost touching. “I’m wondering if you want to be my sous chef for the weekend?”

Sterling took a step back. “Sure. I can do that.”

“Perfect!” Mom clapped. “Andy, Stephanie, and I will keep Torte in tip-top shape while you two are away.”

“You better.” I pointed my index finger at her.

She grabbed a dishtowel and flicked me with it. “If our fearless captain here will let us little people help, who has suggestions for the menu?”

I found a pad of paper in the top drawer by the whiteboard and started taking notes as everyone started talking at once. Mom is a genius at collaboration. I loved that she had instilled that in our young staff. It was something I tried to model, too.

“Breakfast is easy,” Andy said. “You guys can just do all our standard morning pastries, right?”

“Yes, but you know Lance. His exact words were that he wants us to
dazzle
the board members with our food.” I mimicked Lance’s dramatic speech pattern.

“But he wants comfort food?” Sterling asked. “Dazzling and comfort don’t exactly go together.”

Mom picked up the dishtowel again and flung it at him. “Sterling, how can you say that? Isn’t dazzling comfort exactly what we make here at Torte?”

Sterling held up the towel in surrender. “You’ve got me there, Helen.”

“I heard good things about your lasagna last weekend,” Stephanie said.

“Okay.” I scratched notes on the paper. “We start with morning pastries. Maybe one day we can do a warm egg dish. Lunch should be easy. We can do sandwiches on homemade bread.”

“And stew,” Mom said.

“Yes, and definitely stew.” I made a note, as we mapped out a menu and supply list.

I spent the remainder of the morning feeling the familiar jitter of a new challenge. I hadn’t been to Lake of the Woods since I was a kid. Spending the weekend at a remote high-mountain lodge and putting my culinary skills to the test sounded perfect.

Only I would soon come to learn that much more than pastry was on the menu for the weekend.

Chapter Three

The next week passed quickly. I had plenty to do with getting ready to cater Lance’s retreat and managing Torte. Mom promised that she had things under control. I knew she did. I just didn’t want to burden her. One of the best things about coming home had been that I was able to lighten her load a little. During some of the leaner years after the recession hit, Mom had struggled to keep Torte afloat. Her kind heart and generosity were a strength, but they could also be a weakness when it came to money.

I had learned last summer that Mom had lent money to half of the town. I appreciated how much she cared about her friends and fellow business owners, but I also knew that if we wanted Torte to see another thirty years it meant that we had to cinch our purse strings a bit tighter. Catering clients and Sunday suppers were both helping to put our profit margin back in the black.

Sterling took an active role in preparing for the weekend. I took him along to meet with our vendors so he could get a feel for the business side of running a bakeshop. By the end of the week we had amassed enough fresh fruit, vegetables, herbs, meats, and cheeses to pack the back of Mom’s car. I did one final check of our supply list, before taking Mom’s keys. She sent us on our way with a bag of hot-from-the-oven snickerdoodles, and Andy made us snowflake lattes to go.

I offered to drive. It had been years since I’d taken a road trip. I remembered the winding route to Lake of the Woods from my childhood. My parents used to bring me to the resort every Labor Day weekend. They would arrange for friends to run the shop for the weekend, and we’d pack our station wagon and head out to the lodge for the final days of summer.

Lake of the Woods sits at almost five thousand feet above sea level. The lake was formed from a volcanic eruption thousands of years ago. Getting to the high-altitude lodge was an adventure in itself. The most direct route from Ashland would take us on Dead Indian Road. I told Sterling to buckle up as we pulled out of town and made our way toward the winding road. The road cuts through the Siskiyou National Forest, twisting past sharp corners and down curves without a shoulder. Its name pays homage to the Native Americans who belonged to the land long before white settlers made their way west. I couldn’t help wonder as I navigated the dangerous road if there was more to its meaning.

“This is a crazy ride.” Sterling broke my concentration as I slowed around a hairpin turn.

“I know. I’d kind of forgotten how scary it is.” My fingers clenched the steering wheel. They were all bare, even my ring finger. I hadn’t worn my wedding ring for months, but I still caught myself feeling for it sometimes.

“You want some tunes to distract you?” he asked, removing his phone from the front pocket of his hoodie. Sterling’s wardrobe consists of hoodies and jeans no matter the weather.

“That would be great.” I couldn’t imagine driving the narrow road at night. Towering evergreen trees barricade the sun from view. There were no streetlights, cabins, or even signs of movement as we twisted our way up the mountain. Sterling plugged his phone into the car’s sound system and chose a melodic mellow band. It helped relax my nerves.

“Who is this?” I asked. I appreciate music, but I’m far from a connoisseur. On the ship I used to listen to Carlos’s Latin rhythms. I’d given that up, along with any thoughts of trying to figure out where he and I stood.

“It’s a band called Orange. They just released this demo. I think it has a good vibe. Listen to the lyrics. It’s really powerful stuff.”

We listened in silence as I kept my focus on the road. My ears popped as we climbed higher and higher. The landscape transitioned from forest to high grasslands. Open-range cattle farms occupied the space on both sides of the highway. Signs warned of cattle crossing.

“I like them,” I said to Sterling, pointing at the radio.

“Yeah, I thought you would.” He caught my eye. I’ve never gotten used to Sterling’s startling blue eyes. They look like bright blue ice, yet are equally warm and welcoming. It’s a unique mix, and just one of the reasons he has a following among Ashland’s teen girl set.

“How’s your poetry coming?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I have anything to say.”

“Of course you do. You’re one of the wisest twenty-two-year-olds that I know. Mom calls you an old soul.”

“I love your mom.” Sterling sighed and looked out the window. He had lost his mom young, and went through a period of turmoil after her death. I didn’t know him then, but I did know what it was like to lose a parent. Sterling and I had bonded over our lingering grief. I was impressed that he’d found a way to overcome his struggle and turn his life around. Especially because he’d done it all on his own.

“She loves you, too.” I reached over and touched his arm. “Really. She does.”

“I feel that.” Sterling met my eyes. “I’m really glad things worked out, and you guys took a chance on me.”

“Me, too.” I returned my gaze forward as we passed snowmobile trails like “Old Baldy.” The higher we climbed, the more snow was piled on the sides of the highway. Fortunately the road was clear. I hoped that didn’t change. Mom told me there were chains in the back of the car, but I had no idea how to put them on and I was pretty sure that Sterling didn’t, either.

“Have you given any thought to going to Southern Oregon for writing?”

“I don’t know.” Sterling flipped to the next song on his phone. “I guess I’m good for the short term. I’m grateful I get to do things like this. I really appreciate you giving me a chance.”

I glanced to my left as an eagle circled above us. “Of course. But don’t sell yourself short. I know how talented you are, and if you decide you want to pursue writing Mom and I will do whatever it takes—write you a letter of recommendation, work around your schedule, whatever.”

“Thanks.” Sterling smiled. “You’re the best, Jules.”

There was another subject I wanted to broach with him—Stephanie. Things hadn’t been the same with them since last fall when Stephanie developed a crush on a Pastry Channel chef in town for a baking competition.

I decided to try a tactic that I’d learned from Mom, and ask a global question. “How’s everything else?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the rearview mirror.

“Good.” Sterling paused. I thought he was going to open up, but instead he tried the same trick on me. “What about you, Jules?” His voice was sincere.

“I’m fine.” I probably replied too quickly. “I mean, I’m still adjusting to being home, but for the most part it’s good. Weird sometimes, but good.”

Sterling paused for a moment. “Do you know anything about the Greek philosopher Heraclitus?”

“Not at all.” I laughed. “Let me guess, you do.”

He smiled. “Yeah, he’s known best for being the first philosopher to understand that change is a constant in the universe.”

“That sounds like my life.”

“Yeah, mine too.” Sterling gave me a sympathetic smile. “One of my favorite quotes is attributed to him. He says something like, ‘You cannot step twice into the same rivers, for fresh waters are forever flowing in upon you.’”

I inhaled deeply. “Wow. I love that so much.”

Sterling tugged at the strings on his hoodie. “It kind of seems like where you’re at. You know, you’re home, but you can’t really ever go back to things as they used to be.”

I placed one hand on my stomach, and drew in a long breath. “Yes! That’s exactly how I feel.” I couldn’t believe that he’d so eloquently voiced what I’d been struggling with. “You’re a decade younger than me, how do you have things so figured out?”

“I don’t, Jules. I just know where you are,” he said softly.

We both became lost in our own thoughts again as we sped past a fire station. In the summer months the station serves as a lookout and gathering point for firefighters battling forest fires, but it sat in a lonely winter slumber today. Next, expensive cabins came into view. We were only about five miles from Lake of the Woods now.

Sterling was right. I was home again, but I was an entirely different person. Fresh and salt waters had been flowing in upon me for years. That was it. Change. The universe was alive with change. I had changed. Home had changed. Neither of us were the same. And for the first time since I’d been back, I understood that was exactly as it should be.

Chapter Four

Lake of the Woods Resort was originally built as a fishing retreat in the 1920s. At just under five thousand feet in elevation, the natural lake is a popular destination all year round. During the summer months vacationers swim off the lake’s shallow banks, fish for rainbow trout, and tool around on party boats. In the winter the lake freezes over, making it a prime location for ice-fishing.

I navigated off Dead Indian Road and over a bumpy one-lane road toward the resort. A fresh blanket of snow coated the tops of the evergreen trees. They looked as if they’d been frosted with buttercream. Mounds of dirty snow had been pushed to both sides of the road. As we rounded a bend the lake came into view. The midmorning sun cast a warm glow on the frozen lake. It was hard to imagine that there was water under its smooth surface.

Sterling pulled a knit cap from his backpack and positioned it on his head. “Looks like it might be colder up here.”

“You think?” I laughed as I maneuvered the car over the snowy road. Spaces in front of the rustic lodge had been plowed. I parked in one of them and we both got out. Sterling was right. The mountain air was much cooler here than in Ashland. Good thing I packed extra layers, I thought as I took in the view.

The lake sat directly in front of us. To the right, smoke puffed from the lodge’s chimney. A deck wrapped around the two-story lodge. Its exterior was painted brown to blend in with the forest. Snow covered its slanted green metal roof. Note to self, don’t stand underneath the overhang. I could imagine an avalanche of snow landing on my head.