Page 3 of Crack the Ice

CECILIA

Present day - May

Cecilia age twenty-six

Mav age thirty

Sweat clings to my forehead, and I quickly wipe it off with the towel draped over the tie of my apron. No sweat on the cupcakes. This batch is perfect.

I hum softly to the tune of “John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt,” as I pipe the frosting on the last cupcake. I’m still unsure where I picked up this particular stim, only that it has some magical power that helps me concentrate.

Today marks one week until the grand opening of my new hockey-themed bakery, The Penalty Box. A nod to my brother and his teammates who have kept me in business longer than this was even an idea I dared to dream of. Wanting things for myself rarely works out well. I’m hoping this is going to be what changes the tide.

Lana, my best friend and now bakery operations manager, was supposed to have a few blind taste testers come in to give their honest feedback. However, when Lily, my favorite twelve-year-old, dropped a bomb on me after the Hawks game the other day, things got a bit more personal… And anxiety-inducing, because if they’re coming, so is he. Despite my best efforts, I’ve failed to mentally prepare for him being so close after all these years.

I can’t give the people what they want if I can’t get my nerves to settle enough to make them, though. So, focus, Cecilia.

This is batch four of these cupcakes. They’re s’mores, with a graham cracker crust on the bottom of a chocolate cupcake. A tiny bit of peanut butter filling, and marshmallow frosting on top. I finish it off by torching the frosting, giving it that bit of a crunch and rounding out the campfire feel.

It’s haunted me for years, begged me to make it in my dreams, but it’s always intimidated the hell out of me. Probably because they remind me of the person who got me into baking in the first place.

I grab the torch and move it over the frosting on the last cupcake, exhaling a sigh of relief when I step back. They look perfect. They’re not sunken in, they aren’t dry, and the marshmallow top is holding its shape… unlike the last two batches.

My eyes sweep across my full prep table. From cookies to a loaf of regular sourdough, then a rosemary and basil loaf, to croissants, muffins, rosquillas de San Isidro, or San Isidro donuts, one of my favorite desserts from Spain. And of course the cupcakes I’ve spent all morning making.

I’m proud. I did this myself. I took a leap of faith, and it feels like this is the start of something great. Or horrible. I could crash and burn and tuck tail, never to show my face in Tampa Bay again, but I won’t know until I try, right?

The door jingles, and I know it’s Lana because the door was locked, and the two of us are the only ones with a key. I smile when I hear her pointing out the different things around the bakery.

She starts with the walls that have been hand-painted to look like an ice rink, then moves on to the pink counter, pointing out all the little hockey sticks and pucks I had engraved on it, and finally ending at the display case that will soon be filled with the yummy creations just waiting to jump from my mind to someone’s plate.

Wiping my hands on my apron, I wait for them to push through the kitchen door. “This is amazing, Lan.” A feminine voice I know all too well says.

“It looks almost as good as it smells.”

Mav.

My eyes flutter closed as I beg the steel bars I built around my heart when it comes to him to hold.

Mierda.⁠*

His head of chestnut brown hair walks past the kitchen window, but he doesn’t look in. “What do you think, Lily?”

I don’t hear her answer, because I’m too focused on his voice. That voice does things to me that I don’t even want to admit to myself. That voice belongs to the man I’ve actively tried to stay away from since I came back from Spain five years ago.

I mean, I guess I knew my luck would run out at some point, considering he’s Lana’s older brother, and my brother’s team captain… who also happens to be one of his best friends. Yup, life decided to bend me over and screw me multiple ways with this one.

My eyes widen when all three Reed siblings walk in, followed by Cade and Lily, all cute in their school uniforms. A knot forms in my throat when they stand right next to Mav, looking every bit like the family they are.

He’s got everything he ever wanted, Cecy. I remind myself.

Kelsey, the oldest, stands at the end. She’s going to be the first woman to be the head coach of a Premier League Lacrosse team. Mark my words: The Tampa Tornadoes will promote her from assistant coach to head coach in the next year or two. A badass in every way.

Then there’s Lana. My best friend is the youngest of the three. She looks so much like her sister, with the same light blue eyes and blonde hair, except hers ends at the shoulders.

Which leaves Maverick, the middle child, and the only man who’s ever held a piece of my heart. His hair sticks out of the back of his backward Hawks hat, and damn it, he looks good, too good. His eyes hold mine, something heady passing through them that makes me nervously shift on my feet.

My eyes catch on the Jackson kids, a smile forming on my lips as I take them in. At twelve and sixteen, they’ve lost more than any kid their age should. Despite all that, they’re still two of the best kids I know.