Love is What You Bake of it Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Effie Kammenou

  All rights reserved.

  First Edition

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data TXu 2-172-450

  Kammenou, Effie. Love is What You Bake of it

  Cover Design by Deborah Bradseth - www.tugboatdesign.net

  Author photo by Daniel Krieger

  Contents

  Meraki

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Blueberry Scones

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Karithopita

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Cherry Chocolate Chunk Cookies

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Pistachio Madeleines

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Galaktoboureko

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Red Velvet Cupcakes

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Epilogue

  Excerpt

  About the Author

  Meraki

  A small Greek word with a complex definition. In essence, it means to put your soul into something—anything done with great passion, absolute devotion, and undivided attention—a labor of love.

  In dedication to my husband, Raymond, for your patience, encouragement, support and love.

  Acknowledgements

  To my husband, Raymond, and my daughters, Eleni and Alexa, for your never-ending support and encouragement.

  To my sisters, Kathy and Jeanine, who inspire me with their compassion and kindness.

  To Valerie Gildard, my most trusted beta reader—the first set of eyes on my manuscripts. Thank you for your attention to detail.

  To Rett Tyler, author and critique partner / beta reader. I value and respect your opinions and suggestions.

  To Marisa and Chris Raptis, who brainstormed a subplot in the storyline for this book with me.

  To Aphrodite Papandreou, who supplied me with much-needed facts and shared personal accounts of a tumultuous time period in Greece.

  To my editor, Katie-bree Reeves of Fair Crack at the Whip Editing, a master at her craft and a pleasure to work with. Thank you for always pushing just that little bit more out of me.

  To Deborah Bradseth of Tugboat Design, for this beautiful cover, as well as all my past covers.

  To my publicists, Drue Hoffman and Debra Presley of Buoni Amici Press, for your professional management on the publicity for this new release as well as for The Gift Saga.

  To all my friends, too many to name, who have and continue to support and inspire me—you know who you are. You may have even found traces of yourselves within the pages of my books.

  To my parents. To my father, who amazes me every day. I pray I have inherited his longevity and sharpness of mind. And to my mother, no longer with us but never forgotten. If not for her, my first book would have never been written, much less this fourth one.

  “Food brings people together on many different levels. It’s nourishment of the soul and body; it’s truly love.” Giada De Laurentiis

  Prologue

  Kally

  July 2011

  Gravel crunched under the soles of Kallyope’s espadrilles as she stepped from the car. Shielding her eyes with both hands to protect them from the glaring sun, she squinted up at the clear blue sky. Golden rays radiated streams of light in what might be interpreted as joy shining down from the heavens. It was the kind of day Long Islanders dreamed of, as summer weather in the Northeast was often unpredictable.

  But today, Kallyope cursed the sun smiling down upon her. Taunting her. Reminding her that everyone but she was brimming with joy as they frolicked at the beach or walked hand in hand by the pier with their special someone. Kally begged for the gloom, some rain perhaps, or even a damn hailstorm. Anything for a drop of sympathy from above.

  Even the cemetery didn’t hold the air of despondency it should have. The grass was lush and the branches on the magnolia trees hung low, dense with shiny green leaves. Kally made her way down the row of stone markers. Halting before one, she fell to her knees; the moist soil and prickly blades of grass staining her skin. With shaking hands, she ran her fingers along the engraving on the polished granite, the date a blatant reminder that today was only one day after the first-year anniversary of his death. She couldn’t bring herself to come here yesterday for fear of who else might have been visiting or at the risk of any questions as to why she, a strange woman, was crying at his gravesite. The evidence before her proved that many had indeed come to grieve him. Fresh flowers covered the grave. Notes, flags and a miniature model motorcycle adorned his final resting place, bringing life and love to the otherwise cold stone.

  Collapsing over the lifeless monument, Kally broke down into racking sobs. “Why? Why would you do this to me? How could you leave me with so many unanswered questions?” she wept, her shoulders shaking with the agony of it all.

  Hunched over the stone, her mass of long, dark curls draped over her, covering her face as she continued to cry privately. Or so she thought, until a hand rested softly on her shoulder, startling her.

  “Are you okay?” a voice from behind asked sympathetically.

  Kally turned quickly, relieved it wasn’t anyone he had known. Not sure how to answer, she looked up at a set of kind, brown eyes and nodded. Climbing to her feet, she brushed off the blades of grass stuck to her knees and faced the young woman.

  “It’s a difficult day for me. I guess we all have them,” Kally stammered. “Otherwise we wouldn’t both be here.”

  “I’ve had many days like you’re having now.” The young woman nodded in understanding as she guided Kally over to a nearby bench. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Honestly, I wouldn’t know where to begin. It’s been a year and I’ve been through more emotions than I can count. Shock, sadness, anger …” — Kally sighed, averting her eyes from the stranger, — “… regret.”

  “I know those emotions well. But it gets better. I promise. The ache in your heart will always be there, but it changes into something more manageable.” She quietly laughed, self-mockingly, under her breath, shaking her head at her own words. “Here I go acting as though I have all the answers. After all, I’ve only recently discovered how to allow myself to be happy after loss.”

  “May I ask who you lost?” Kally asked.

  The young woman sighed. “My father died when I was ten, but I’m here to speak to my yiayiá. She was who I always went to when I needed to talk or get advice.”

&nbs
p; Kally looked at her quizzically. “Your yiayiá?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, my grandmother.”

  “I know what a yiayiá is. I have one myself,” Kally said with a small smile.

  “Huh, you’re Greek. My yiayiá used to say the Greeks have a natural magnetic pull toward each other, and that if we were tiny fish in an ocean of sea life we’d still find our way to each other.”

  Kally’s mouth curved up slightly. “There’s a lot of truth in that.”

  “And speaking of finding people,” she said, blowing out a nervous breath, “I’m leaving for Kefalonia tonight to hopefully win back the affection of someone I’ve been pushing away for years. I just needed a little hug from above before I go. I’m Evvie, by the way.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Kallyope—Kally.” She liked this woman. There was a kindness about her and Kally could see her concern was genuine. “Tell me about this man. I could stand to hear something positive at the moment.”

  Kally listened as Evvie told her briefly of her relationship with Zak, the man she was determined to win back. She had done everything in her power to protect her heart from falling in love so as not to risk losing another person who meant the world to her.

  “But then I finally realized that, like the song says, I had learned to live half alive. And I couldn’t do it anymore. It’s more painful to be without him. So, what was I really protecting myself from? It only took me forever to figure out I was fooling myself into a false sense of security. I just hope it’s not too late.”

  Kally shook her head adamantly. “It’s not. If he’s anything like you say he is, he’ll understand. You have a chance. A good one, too, because he’s out there and you can find him. It’s not like that for me. Jaxon is dead and I’ll never get the answers I need from him.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Evvie said.

  “It doesn’t matter. We wouldn’t have ended up together anyway. That song? It must have been written with him in mind,” Kally said bitterly. “Collecting his jar of hearts. I wish I had found out before the accident.”

  Evvie rested her hand on Kally’s shoulder, a look of sympathy reflected in her features. “I think you should put this behind you. It doesn’t sound like he was worthy of you. Don’t look back and cry over his grave. He doesn’t deserve it. You need to move ahead with your life.”

  “I just wish I had the answers to my questions.” Kally sighed. “But you’re right, he doesn’t deserve my tears.” She clasped Evvie’s hands in hers. “But you! Go convince that man he can’t live without you.”

  Both women rose to their feet and hugged. “Thank you for taking the time to cheer up a stranger,” Kally said with a smile. “I’d love to find out how your story ends. When you get back, you should stop by my dad’s restaurant. I help out a few days a week. I’ll give you the address.”

  “We can do better than that. Give me your number and I’ll text you.”

  Kally pulled her phone from the back pocket of her shorts. The girls exchanged numbers, promising to keep in touch. When Evvie walked away, Kally made her way back to Jaxon’s grave.

  For a moment she stared at the stone, her eyes calm as she considered the past buried there. “I won’t be back,” she said resolutely. “And I’ll never forgive you.”

  Chapter 1

  Kally

  September, 2018

  The village of Port Jefferson was still bustling with activity two weeks after Labor Day. While most harbor towns and tourist villages on Long Island quieted after the summer ended, this quaint little town never seemed to die down, not even in the dead of winter. A commuter ferry system ran yearlong, crossing the Long Island Sound to reach Connecticut and, in the summer, tourists passed through, many on their way to other destinations.

  The main streets were lined with boutiques, novelty shops, restaurants and cafés. There were more ice cream parlors than one could possibly imagine in such a tiny town, the most popular being a small stand at the end of a row of stores in Chandler Square. On any given day or evening, the line would stretch from one end of the strip to the other.

  Kally had lived in Port Jefferson her whole life. Unlike her sisters, who had dreams of moving to more exotic places, Kally loved this corner of the world—her corner of the world. In her mind, it had everything she needed—the pier for strolling along and admiring the sunset, a variety of restaurants, Fetch Doggie Boutique to spoil her Yorkie, Emma, and the Greek Orthodox church she attended as often as she could manage.

  Most of all, there was her very own establishment—the one she’d dreamed of opening for years. The Coffee Klatch was a café that promised new experiences while providing a welcoming, friendly atmosphere with its open design, soft pastel colors and floor to ceiling window front. A book nook with cozy couches and armchairs dominated one corner of the space, while tables filled the rest of the area. Glass cases boasted artfully decorated pastries and the countertops held cake-filled glass domes and jars brimming with candy. With several other cafés and tearooms in the area, it had been important for Kally to find a way to distinguish hers from the others. And she accomplished that by offering an international flair. A range of unique caffeine-induced beverages were made available. Greek coffee, frappé, cappuccino, café-au-lait, café de olla, and even English high tea were just some of the drinks on offer. And the pastries Kally created to complement each beverage put the icing on the cake, so to speak.

  It was Sunday afternoon. Kally had locked the doors to the café at four o’clock and sent the staff home, staying behind to settle the receipts for the day. Satisfied that everything was in order, she gathered her bag and a pile of soiled aprons and headed to the front entrance.

  A warm breeze tickled her skin. Closing her eyes, she lifted her face to the sun, smiling at the pleasant afternoon yet regretting that she had no time to enjoy it. Today was her sister, Mia’s, name day and Kally was expected for dinner. The Greeks celebrate the feast day of the saint they were named after rather than their birthdays, but here, in the States, they celebrated both. Double the obligations. Double the family time. Not that she didn’t love her family, but sometimes they could be too much, too intrusive, just too …

  Briskly, she crossed the street and walked up the block to the cottage she’d proudly purchased the year before. It was another thing she’d had her eye on for a long time. The fragrant lilacs surrounding the stark white house had always appealed to her. When it fortuitously went up for sale, she snapped it up before the real estate agent had a chance to stake the sign into the ground.

  “Emma, I’m home!” she called. “Come on girl, let’s go out.”

  * * *

  “It’s about time,” George said as Kally walked into her parents’ home.

  “Kalispera to you too, Baba,” she answered in a deadpan tone, one eyebrow raised. “Aren’t you in a welcoming mood,” she added sardonically.

  “My pastry chef quit on me last night. I wouldn’t have that problem if you didn’t leave me.”

  Not that again, Kally thought. “I’m sorry.” And she truly was, but her father’s guilt trip for every decision she made was getting old. “I’m sorry you lost your pastry chef. I’ll call my contacts and see what I can do for you.” There was no point in defending her decision to branch out on her own. It would just end in another argument.

  “Good! You’re here,” Melina said, glancing out from the kitchen. “The food is on the table. Elate.”

  “Hi, Mom.” Kally kissed her mother on the cheek, handing her a bakery box from The Coffee Klatch.

  “Theo, Krystina!” Melina called out. “Ela. Come down for dinner.”

  “Where’s Mia?” Kally asked.

  “I’m right here,” Mia gargled, padding from the kitchen with a half-eaten potato wedge in her hand.

  “Hronia Polla! Na haíresai ti yiortí sou. Happy Name Day, Mia!” Kally handed her sister a small Kraft paper gift bag tied with a pale blue satin bow.

  “Should I open it now?” Mia asked.

 
“Absolutely!” Kally replied.

  A high-pitched, fast-paced, heavily accented voice from the kitchen grew closer. Swinging her trusty koutali—wooden spoon—frantically in their direction, she scolded, “Ela tóra. To fayitó kryónei.”

  “We’re coming now, Yiayiá. Trust me, the food is still piping hot,” Mia said. “I almost burned my mouth on the potato.”

  Thunderous, uproarious thumps caught everyone’s attention as Theo and Krystina stomped down the staircase.

  “Did I hear my favorite word? Food?” Theo asked, breezing by without even a greeting and heading for the back porch.

  Kally shook her head with a smile. Nothing ever changes, she thought with a sigh.

  The temperature had dropped to a pleasant sixty degrees as the sun began to dip lower. Brushstrokes of marigold, rose and lilac peeked through the tall, green foliage that surrounded the Andarakis property, the sky above transforming from sunshine to moonlight without a single cloud to impede the view of its celestial beauty.

  Every morsel of food had been consumed—grilled herb lamb chops, Greek sausage called loukaniko, grilled branzino with skorthalia, lemon potatoes and a horiatiki Greek salad.

  “So, when are you coming home for good?” George asked Mia suddenly.

  “Yióryios!” Melina scolded. She only called him by his Greek name when she was mad at him, which was often.

  “How many times are you going to ask me that? I like living in the city. I work there,” Mia replied.

  “The train station is a mile away,” he said, pointing his pudgy finger at her. “It’s convenient. You can get to work from here.”

  Mia glared at her father. “It’s a two-hour commute for me to get downtown.”

  “A girl is supposed to live in her home until she gets married!” George slammed his hand down on the teak table so hard that his dish jumped. “That goes for you too.” He shifted his focus to Kally.