Smiling, she glanced at the thermometer. “This is ready.”
Aunt Jo was there in a second. She turned off the heat and slid the pan to a trivet. With a smooth, practiced move, she added the waiting cup of cream, vanilla, and salt she’d readied earlier. She stirred it all together and then poured the entire mixture into a waiting bowl to cool.
Ella cut a stealthy glance at Aunt Jo. She didn’t notice—
Aunt Jo frowned. She bent down and sniffed the caramel. Her eyes narrowed. “Ella Dove, what have you done?”
Oh no. Swallowing hard, Ella reluctantly pointed to the cardamom jar.
Aunt Jo’s eyebrows lowered. “You don’t add things without asking.”
“I know, but—” Ella gave a helpless shrug. “It was needed.”
Grumbling loudly, Aunt Jo fished a spoon out of a drawer. She took a small scoop of the caramel and blew on it, muttering, “I should have been watching,” between breaths. After the caramel had cooled enough, she slid the spoon between her lips.
Her eyebrows knitted as her gaze returned to Ella. “How much did you add?”
Ella mimicked a pinch.
“Well, I’ll be. It’s good.” Aunt Jo licked the spoon as she shook her head in wonder. “Perfect, even. You have a gift for flavors. I—” She chuckled, her gaze suddenly soft. “My momma used to make chocolate-covered caramels when I was a tiny thing. She made them every Easter and the whole house would smell like this. Like happiness.”
As Aunt Jo smiled, Ella’s heart eased even more. Somehow, she knew the gentle memory was because of the cardamom.
“I declare, but I haven’t thought of that in years.” Aunt Jo gave a final chuckle and dropped the spoon onto the counter. “I remember those days so well now. The memories are so vivid, so real. It almost feels like I’m really there, like I’m hearing her voice and smelling that—” Her gaze fell on Ella, and she stopped, her eyes widening. “Ella! We may have found your special ability.”
Ella blinked, her mind jangling with a thousand thoughts. Maybe, just maybe, she was special after all.
One of Aunt Jo’s timers rang and they were pulled back into the rhythm of their baking. They spent the next hour finishing up, every moment busy and peaceful. Afterward, Aunt Jo made them grilled cheese sandwiches from homemade sourdough bread and thick slices of cheddar. While they ate, Ella thought about all the things she might be able to do with her gift, and wondered what it might mean for her future.
Later that night, after the Moonlight’s order had been wrapped and the kitchen cleaned, Ella put on the big T-shirt Aunt Jo had lent her to use for pajamas. Too excited to sleep, Ella had leaned against the guest room window. She pressed her cheek to the cold glass, her breath making a perfect circle of fog. Something had changed. She still missed Dad, but the emptiness had lessened. In its place was the promise of something new, a beginning of a sort. In Aunt Jo’s kitchen, Ella had found her place.
When she grew up, she would bake things in ways no one ever had, and people would pay her hundreds of dollars just to taste her desserts. Then she’d be free to travel and find real happiness somewhere out there in the world. Somewhere away from the memories that weighed her down here in Dove Pond.
But she had a lot to learn before that time came. Stifling a yawn, Ella turned from the window and climbed into the soft, creaky bed. She snuggled into the pile of pillows and pulled the blankets up to her chin. For now, she’d enjoy being here, in Aunt Jo’s house, which was filled with warmth, a jumble of bright colors, and the delicious smell of caramel apple cake.
CHAPTER 1 ELLA
Food brings people together, warms the heart, and feeds the soul.
The Book of Cakes, p. 21
Written: 1792–2019
Ella Dove came home on a lazy, scorching, bee-buzzed evening. As she turned her rental car off Interstate 40, her phone rang. Sighing, she hit the answer button on her car screen. “Hi, Tiff. What’s up?”
Tiffany Harper, a fresh-faced social media whiz, had been Ella’s assistant for five years now. Tiff and her team of production experts were worth every penny of the hefty amount Ella paid them too. “Are you home yet?” Tiff asked in her way-too-perky voice. No matter the circumstances, she always sounded as if she were about to announce she’d just won the lottery.
“Almost.” Ella turned onto a small country road and rolled her aching shoulders. The last eighteen hours had been brutal. Just this morning, she’d stuffed as much as she could into her two largest suitcases, handed the keys to her Paris patisserie with its adorable apartment upstairs to its new owner, jumped into a cab, and headed for the airport. From there, she’d flown for ten long and bumpy hours to Atlanta, where she’d picked up the rental car Tiff had reserved, a feisty red Lexus. Now, after five hours of driving, Ella was almost home, jet-lagged to the bone, and already jonesing to leave. “I need a nap.”
“I bet,” Tiff said with sympathy. “But I thought you’d want to know that Matt from Ferndale Farms called. They’re worried about your content now that you’ve moved stateside.”
Ella grimaced. She would be so glad when her contractual obligation to Ferndale Farms was over. The name “Ferndale Farms” might make people think of cozy little farms set in the sunny countryside, but it was actually a huge multinational food syndicate. When Ferndale had bought her small Ella Dove Pie Company for a price she couldn’t refuse, they’d offered a huge bonus if she agreed to do a brand partnership with them for two years. In the beginning, the extra social posts had seemed harmless enough—especially because she already had Tiff and her team to help produce content for her growing accounts—but sheesh, Matt was a pain. “How much longer are we obligated to them?”
“Let’s see. This is August fifth, so… six months, one week, and two days.”
Ella smiled. “You knew I was going to ask.”
“Who wouldn’t? I told Matt his target audience—your over two million followers on the Gram and four million plus on TikTok—would love the new content. Small towns are ‘in’ right now.”
“It is a pretty town,” Ella admitted grudgingly.
“Charming. Speaking of content, what do you have planned? We need something fresh.”
“Content. Right. I’ll make a cake first thing tomorrow.” Just the thought of baking eased the tension in Ella’s shoulders. Tired as she was, her soul itched to get back into the kitchen. “Maybe a lemon pound cake.”
“And?” When Ella didn’t answer, Tiff sighed. “What do I always say about content?”
Ella tried not to roll her eyes and failed. “ ‘Cakes alone won’t do it. You have to share bits of your life, too.’ ” She hated that, but Tiff was right. The metrics didn’t lie.
To be honest, Ella couldn’t believe she could make so much money just by sharing videos of her making cakes mixed with casual glimpses of her so-called baking life. Ella had made a small fortune thanks to the sponsorships Tiff and her team had managed to line up, which had allowed her to develop her brand far more quickly than other bakers. “Maybe I could do a time lapse of me setting up the kitchen at my old house with my favorite kitchen tools.” At this very moment, a large yellow suitcase in the trunk of her car held her favorite cookbooks, three special aprons, a crazy-expensive Japanese knife, her favorite rolling pin, some unique cookie cutters, and more.