Joss Wood - If You Can't Stand the Heat...

Ellie looked out of the sash window to the beach and the lazy ocean beyond it. It had been a day since she’d been slapped with the news and she no longer had butterflies about Pari’s, the bakery that had been in her family for over forty years. They had all been eaten by the bats on some psycho-drug currently swarming in her stomach.

‘Why can’t we just rent from the new owners?’

‘I asked. They are going to do major renovations to attract corporate shops and intend on hiking the rents accordingly. We couldn’t afford it. And, more scarily, Lucy—’

‘The estate agent?’

‘Mmm. Well, she told me that retail space is at a premium in St James, and there are “few, if any” properties suitable for a bakery-slash-coffee-shop-slash-delicatessen for sale or to rent.’

After four decades of being a St James and False Bay institution Pari’s future was uncertain, and as the partner-in-residence Ellie had to deal with this life-changing situation.

She had no idea what they—she—was going to do.

‘Have you told your mum?’ Merri asked quietly.

‘I can’t get hold of her. She hasn’t made contact for ten days. I think she’s booked into an ashram...or sunning herself in Goa,’ Ellie replied, her voice weary. Where she wasn’t was in the bakery, with her partner/daughter, helping her sort out the mess they were in.

Your idea, Ellie reminded herself. You said she could go. You suggested that she take the year off, have some fun, follow her dream... What had she been thinking? In all honesty it had been a mostly symbolic offer; nobody had been more shocked—horrified!—than her when Ashnee had immediately run off to pack her bags and book her air ticket. She’d never thought Ashnee would leave the bakery, leave her...

‘El, I know that this isn’t a good time, especially in light of what you’ve just told me, but I can’t put it off any longer. I need to ask you a huge favour.’

Ellie frowned when she picked up the serious note in Merri’s voice.

‘Anything, provided that you are still coming back to work on Monday,’ Ellie quipped. Merri was a phenomenal baker and Ellie had desperately missed her talent in the bakery while she took her maternity leave.

The silence following her statement slapped her around the head. Oh, no...no, no, no! ‘Merri, I need you,’ she pleaded.

‘My baby needs me too, El.’ Merri sounded miserable. ‘And I’m not ready to come back to work just yet. I will be, but not just yet. Maybe in another month. She’s so little and I need to be with her...please? Tell me you understand, Ellie.’

I understand that I haven’t filled your position because I was holding it open for you—because you asked me to. I understand that I’m running myself ragged, that the clients miss you...

‘Another month?’ Merri coaxed. ‘Pretty please?’

Ellie rubbed her forehead. What could she say? Merri didn’t need to work, thanks to her very generous father, so if she forced her to choose between the bakery and Molly Blue the bakery would lose. She would lose...

Ellie swallowed, told herself that if she pushed Merri to come back and she didn’t then it was her decision...but she felt the flames of panic lick her throat. They were big girls, and their friendship was more than the job they shared—it would survive her leaving the bakery—but she didn’t want to take the chance. Her head knew that she was overreacting but her heart didn’t care.

She had too much at stake as it was. She couldn’t risk losing her in any way. She’d coped for over six months; she’d manage another month. Somehow.

Ellie bit her top lip. ‘Sure, Merri.’

‘You’re the best—but I’ve got to dash. The Princess is bellowing.’ Now Ellie could hear Molly’s insistent wail. ‘I’ll try to get to the bakery later this week and we can talk about what we’re going to do. Byeee! Love you.’

‘Love you...’ Ellie heard the beep-beep that told her the call had been dropped and tossed her mobile on the desk in front of her.

‘El, there’s someone to see you out front.’

Ellie glanced from the merry face of Samantha, one of her servers, peeking around her door to the old-fashioned clock above her head, and frowned. The bakery and coffee shop had closed ten minutes ago, so who could it be?

‘Who is it?’

Samantha shrugged. ‘Dunno. He just said to tell you that your father sent him. He’s alone out front...we’re all heading home.’

‘Thanks, Sammy.’ Ellie frowned and swivelled around to look at the screens on the desk behind her. There were cameras in the front of the shop, in the bakery and in the storeroom, and they fed live footage into the monitors.

Ellie’s brows rose as she spotted him, standing off to the side of a long display of glass-fronted fridges, a rucksack hanging off his very broad shoulders. Week-long stubble covered his jaw and his auburn hair was tousled from finger raking.

Jack Chapman. Okay, she was officially surprised. Any woman who watched any one of the premier news channels would recognise that strong face under the shaggy hair. Ellie wasn’t sure whether he was more famous for his superlative and insightful war reporting or for being the definition of eye candy.

Grubby low-slung jeans and even grubbier boots. A dark untucked T-shirt. He ran a hand through his hair and, seeing a clasp undone on the side pocket of his rucksack, bent down to fix it. Ellie watched the long muscles bunching under his thin shirt, the curve of a very nice butt, the strength of his brown neck.

Oh, yum—oh, stop it now! Get a grip! The important questions were: why was he here, what did he want and what on earth was her father thinking?

Ellie lifted her head as Samantha tapped on the doorframe again and stood there, shuffling on her feet and biting her lip. She recognised that look. ‘What’s up, Sammy?’

Samantha looked at her with big brown eyes. ‘I know that I promised to work for you tomorrow night to help with the petits fours for that fashion show—’

‘But?’

‘But I’ve been offered a ticket to see Linkin Park and they are my favourite band...it’s a free ticket and you know how much I love them.’

Ellie considered giving her a lecture on responsibility and keeping your word, on how promises shouldn’t be broken, but the kid was nineteen and it was Linkin Park. She remembered being that age and the thrill of a kick-ass concert.

And Samantha, battling to put herself through university, couldn’t afford to pay for a ticket herself. She’d remember it for for ever...so what if it meant that Ellie had to work a couple of hours longer? It wasn’t as if she had a life or anything.

‘Okay, I’ll let you off the hook.’ Ellie winced at Samantha’s high-pitched squeal. ‘This time. Now, get out of here.’

Ellie grinned as she heard her whooping down the stairs, but the grin faded when she glanced at the monitor again. Scowling, she reached for her mobile, hastily scrolling through her address book before pushing the green button.

‘Ellie—hello.’ Her father’s deep voice crooned across the miles.

‘Dad, why is Jack Chapman in my bakery?’

Ellie heard her father’s sharp intake of breath. ‘He’s there already? Good. I was worried.’

Of course you were, Ellie silently agreed. For the past ten years, since her eighteenth birthday, she’d listened to her father rumble on and on about Jack Chapman—the son he’d always wanted and never got. ‘He’s the poster-boy for a new generation of war correspondents,’ he’d said. ‘Unbiased, tough. Willing to dive into a story without thinking about his safety, looking for the story behind the story, yet able to push aside emotion to look for the truth...’ Yada, yada, yada...