The Definition of Icing-Chapter One

We are now only THREE DAYS from the release of my second Dallas Demons Hockey Romance, The Definition of Icing! I’m so excited to bring you Nate and Kenley that I’m going to share Chapter One with you all today to get you ready for Wednesday. Enjoy!

 

 

 

Chapter One

Soufflé: A light, airy, fluffy dessert that is perfection—unless it falls and collapses while baking — Kenley

 

I think I’m melting.

I have my car air conditioner going full blast, but the temperature never feels comfortable. My back is sweaty against the leather seat of my car, and the outdoor temperature reading I’m getting is 107F. Ah, another delightful August afternoon in Dallas, with clear blue skies and the ever present sun beaming down on the city.

High rises surround me as I navigate my way to the office building I’m seeking. And I hope I find it soon. I’m not sure my cargo will last much longer when my car feels like the inside of a convection oven.

Finally, I locate the address I need. I swing in through the parking garage and push my sunglasses up on my forehead so I can see in the dark light, and wind around and around until I find a spot. Nerves get the better of me as I arrive at my destination, so I reach for my phone after I put the car in ‘park’ and dial Lexi, my best friend and roommate.

“Okay, I’m here, Lexi,” I say. “Tell me I can appear cozy and romantic when I’m sweltering. Tell me I can pull this off.”

Because the brutally scorching day is not in the least optimal for the Valentine’s Day photo shoot I’m doing for the Dallas Details magazine February issue. But it’s hard to think of cozy winter nights wrapped in a sweater in front of a fire and being romantic when it’s so hot outside that you feel as if a hair dryer is blasting you the second you open your car door.

“Kenley, you’re going to be fantastic,” Lexi says confidently. “Now how are the chocolates?”

I reach across the passenger seat and lift the lid of my cooler. My cargo—exotic chocolate bars, truffles, and chocolate-dipped strawberries—are in pristine, chilled condition.

“They’re good,” I say, relieved. “The Confection Consultations woman will not display melted, warped chocolates in this photo shoot.”

Thank God for that. I started Confection Consultations six months ago, and my business of teaching people about the art of chocolate confections and elegant desserts is beginning to grow. Someone on the editorial staff took one of my classes on chocolate tasting last month, and I got this phone call out of the blue to be featured in Dallas Details. Getting to showcase my business in Dallas Details—in a Valentine’s photo shoot with some Dallas Demons hockey players, no less—will be a huge publicity generator for Confection Consultations.

I bite down on my lower lip as an anxious feeling sweeps over me. I hope they see the chocolate, I think, gripping my steering wheel as I peer at the tall glass building where the shoot is taking place. Please let them hear what I’m saying. I want them to ask about my background, how I’ve spent the past year of my life studying chocolate making in Europe and that I’m educated—

“Hey,” Lexi says, interrupting my thoughts, “don’t worry about things you can’t control. They’ll see your intelligence. They will.”

I smile. Lexi Stewart knows me inside and out. She knew what doubt was running through my head before I could even say it aloud. Apparently being friends since we were six does that to people.

“Okay,” I say, nodding. “Well, I’m going to go in now.”

“Good luck. Call me the second you’re out. And if you get to see Harrison Flynn with his shirt off, I will hate you forever,” Lexi declares.

I laugh. “He’s the ginger one, right?”

“Seriously, Kenley, how do you not have him memorized?”

“Because I’m not into hockey players,” I say. “Don’t they have missing teeth?”

“Arrrgh! You’re wasting the biggest opportunity ever,” Lexi declares. “I’m sitting here working on a graphic design for a boring bank, and you get to spend the afternoon with hockey players. And you don’t even think they’re hot. This is a tragedy of epic proportions.”

I can’t help but laugh at her dramatic interpretation. “Um . . . I’m sorry?” I offer.

She laughs with me, and I end the call. I drop my cell into my tote and pull down the visor, checking my appearance in the mirror one more time.

My appearance, which has been a blessing and a curse throughout my 24 years.

I see the light-blue eyes, the long, golden-blond hair with the natural beach-style waves, the warm skin that appears sun-kissed even when it’s not.

Ever since I was a little girl, people have fixated on my appearance. “Kenley is such a beautiful little girl,” they would say when I was small. As I grew older, the attention came from boys and men, and I was always noticed for my appearance.

The beautiful girl.

The flawless girl.

And that was where a lot of people stopped.

Nobody wanted to know what I thought. What my talents were. I couldn’t possibly have a brain because I had beauty. I was the girl the guys wanted to get with, to claim as a trophy, to show off that they had. But I wasn’t the girl they wanted to have a conversation with or truly get to know on a meaningful level. And this pattern repeated itself over and over, right down to the last relationship I had two years ago.

Yes, I know I got lucky in the genetics lottery. But I have flaws, plenty of them, as a matter of fact. And a lot of people assume that life is problem-free if you’re blessed with what others perceive as beauty, and nothing could be further from the truth.

Yet what draws people to me is also an obstacle as far as seeing the person who exists under the surface.

However, when I talk about chocolate and get people to taste it, they suddenly hear me. They get lost in the pleasure of chocolate, the sensation of eating it, the way it makes them feel. They don’t see me as the beautiful blond girl, but rather the woman who knows about chocolate and can teach them about it. And that is why I love my business and want to make it successful.

I get out of my Volvo, and oh, yes, we’re at hair dryer level high today, and shut the door. I go to the passenger side and retrieve my cooler and my tote, as well as the hanging garment bag I had in the backseat. Now that I’m saddled down like a mule, I head toward the building.

I’ve lived in the Dallas area my entire life—and only went as far as Fort Worth to go to TCU for college—but today’s heat is bad even for a native. I can’t imagine what someone new to Dallas must think of it here. Other than the heat rivals that of the sun. Ugh.

I’m sweating by the time I reach the door, and a businessman sees me struggling and holds the door open for me.

“Thank you so much,” I say, flashing him a smile.

“You’re welcome. Do you need any help?”

“No, thank you, though,” I say confidently.

And I make it to the reception desk before my tote bag oh-so-elegantly drops right off my shoulder and to the crook of my elbow. Of course, I can’t fix that until I put down my garment bag and cooler. Shit, I totally should have taken that guy up on his offer, as everything is about to land on the lobby floor.

“Hi,” I say, smiling at the receptionist while I try to keep from dropping one of my bags. “I’m here for—”

“The Dallas Details photo shoot?” she says knowingly, grabbing a visitor’s badge.

I wrinkle my brow and rest my garment bag on the countertop.

Okay, for all she knows I could be here to have a podiatrist check out a hideous wart on my toe.

“Yes,” I say, ignoring her instant—yet correct—assessment of me. “Kenley Hunter with Confection Consultations.”

She nods and verifies my information in her computer. I sign in, get my visitor’s badge, and she directs me to an elevator bank across the marble lobby.

I reload my stuff and walk across the tiles, my heeled sandals clicking against the floor and echoing loudly. Okay, this is it. Huge career opportunity. I need to go in there and be myself. I’ll present my knowledge as a chocolate consultant in the photo shoot the best way I can.

I reach the floor for the photo studio and get off. I check in again, and a woman greets me. She’s in her late-40’s, I’d guess, with short pixie hair and huge, round oversized glasses. She’s wearing a simple white shirt, but accessorized with a giraffe-print scarf. A pair of designer skinny jeans and high heels complete her outfit.

“Hi, I’m Jillian Daniels, creative director,” she says, smiling at me. “We’re so excited to have you take part in our shoot today. Come on back.”

“Nice to meet you, Jillian. And I’m happy to be involved,” I say.

I follow Jillian back to the studio, where a photo shoot is going on right now. First, I notice it’s freezing in here. Music from the band Muse is blaring loudly. And then I realize who I’m watching. The photographer is taking pictures of Harrison Flynn. I know it’s him because of the infamous red hair and the jersey he’s wearing. Lexi is going to totally freak.

A pretty brunette with a black sheath dress and a vintage-style red and pink hearts apron is with him, her tape measure wrapped around Harrison as she pretends to pull him closer to her.

“As you can see we’re shooting Harrison and Kylie Flynn right now,” she says. “They’re our Valentine’s Day couple for the spread. Kylie is an apron designer, so we thought this would be a cute photo for them to do.”

I nod as I watch them. Harrison has his hand around his wife’s waist, and they’re laughing and joking and I can see how much he loves her when he looks at her.

For a moment, I wonder what that’s like. To have a man gaze at you with nothing but love in his eyes. I thought I’d experienced that before, but not really. Not love for the real me, the inside me—

“Kenley, if you’ll come this way, we have some outfits for you to try on,” Jillian says, interrupting my thoughts.

I follow her to an area and see a few other people milling around, no doubt other participants in the shoot.

“I brought an outfit,” I say. “It’s a pink cashmere cardigan, very Valentine-ish, and—”

“Oh, we have something special for you,” she says breezily, moving toward a rack and flipping to a tag that says ‘Kenley’ on it.

“Hey, Jillian, after you review the Flynn pictures, do you want to do Nate Johansson next?” the photographer yells out.

Jillian reaches for a hanger. “Yes, Todd, that sounds excellent.” Then she turns to me. “While you go into wardrobe and makeup, we’ll shoot Nate, and then you’ll be up.”

I nod, although I have no idea who Nate is other than some hockey player. I remember Lexi being very excited about him being traded here two months ago. But I couldn’t pick the guy out of a lineup if I had to.

I wonder if he has all his teeth, I muse.

“Here’s the concept,” Jillian says, whipping out a miniscule black slip dress. “You’re going to be the Seductress of Chocolate.”

“W-What? What do you mean?” I ask.

“Kenley, you’re gorgeous woman. When we first heard of you, of how breathtaking you were and how you worked with chocolate, we immediately knew we wanted to play that up as part of our feature.”

My hopes—of being seen as something other than the hot girl—are folding like a soufflé gone wrong. Collapsing all around me as I realize they want me to be sexy and slutty and nothing more than a pretty prop.

“Excuse me, I have to see these pictures for a moment,” Jillian says, thrusting the dress in my hand.

I put down my cooler and tote, then hang the garment bag up on the rack. I hold out the dress.

Christ, it’s miniscule. Who could fit into this?

Claire could, I think, visualizing my niece. But she’s four.

I stretch it out, and there is no way my boobs are going to stay in place in this thing. And I’m only a B-cup!

The music changes to DJ Snake and Lil Jon and Jillian returns.

“I don’t think this dress reflects who I am as a businesswoman,” I say, using the calmest, most rational voice I can muster. “I do, however, have a pink cashmere cardigan from J. Crew that would work perfectly with my Trina Turk dress with a flared skirt.”

Jillian twists her lips in thought. “Well, that’s not the vision we had in mind. Let me have Todd explain it to you.”

“No, I understand perfectly fine,” I say, my voice growing firmer. “I’m simply telling you I have reservations about this dress.”

Or lack of it.

Jillian acts as though she doesn’t hear me, and we walk over to Todd, who is showing pictures to Harrison and Kylie.

“Todd, I’m so sorry to interrupt, but this is Kenley Hunter of Confection Consultations,” Jillian says, her voice taking on a soothing tone.

“Ah, the chocolate lady,” Todd says, grinning at me. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” I say, shaking his hand.

“You’re Kenley,” Kylie suddenly says, her brown eyes sparkling at me. “I’ve been dying to meet you.”

Suddenly I’m distracted. “Me?” I ask.

“She’s been stalking your website,” Harrison teases.

“Please don’t scare her,” Kylie says, grinning at Harrison. Then she extends her hand to me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. And I seriously think you have the best job in Dallas.”

I feel a blush sweep across my cheeks. “Thank you. I have to admit it’s a lot of fun.”

“My gorgeous wife is slightly obsessed with chocolate, so she was psyched you were going to be here. I’m Harrison Flynn, by the way.” Then he holds out his hand to me.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, shaking his hand, and I’m still surprised that they know who I am.

And they know who I am because of my work.

“If y’all can excuse Todd for a minute, he’s going to talk to Kenley about her shoot,” Jillian says. “Now, Todd, please give Kenley the vision we have for her picture.”

“Here’s what I see,” Todd says, his eyes popping open behind his glasses, “a super sexy blond who is the seductress of chocolate. I see you in that LBD, with a mixing bowl of melted chocolate and you lifting it up with a spoon, licking it off, you know, that kind of sex kitten meets chocolate vibe.”

Bam! My soufflé just collapsed right in the middle.

They don’t want to show me as a serious business woman.

They want me to be a piece of eye candy.

Well they can’t have me that way.

I won’t do it.

“I came here prepared to be shown as a Confection Consultant, here to give tips for Valentine’s Day,” I say, my voice now taking on an angry edge. “I did not come here to be the Good Slut of Chocolate.”

Suddenly I’m aware of people watching me, but I don’t care. I’ve worked too hard and too long to be shoved back into that box again.

And I won’t let them do it.

“Now, Kenley, nobody is implying you act like a slut, oh, no, no,” Jillian says, trying to diffuse me.

“Then why can’t I wear something professional?” I challenge.

“But the vision is for you to bring sexy to Valentine’s Day,” Todd interjects.

“Chocolate is sexy in itself,” I counter. “You don’t need me to sell it.”

“But you’re a sensual woman. Why don’t you use that to your advantage?” Todd appears confused as to why I’m not going along with this plan.

“My knowledge,” I say, “is my advantage. My year studying chocolate making in Europe is my advantage. My beauty is not. So I won’t do this shoot in that dress. And that’s non-negotiable.”

“Now, Kenley, maybe you should try it on. See how you feel in it,” Jillian coaxes.

“Is eye candy what you want from her?”

I turn around and see that a Dallas Demon is walking toward us.

“Is it?” he repeats.

I stare at him in shock. Is this player, a complete stranger to me, coming to my defense? He stops in front of them, his eyes locked right on Jillian and Todd.

“Nate, um, we’ll be with you in a moment,” Jillian says, giving him a fake smile.

“That wasn’t my question,” Nate says. “Do you want her for eye candy? Is that why you’re trying to force her to do something she is making very clear she doesn’t want to do?”

Wait a minute. This is Nate Johansson. Superstar hockey player. And now he’s standing up on my behalf?

“I’ll tell you what,” Nate says, stopping right in front of us. He reaches for the bottom of his jersey and jerks it off, revealing the most ripped abs I’ve ever seen, along with a tattoo sleeve up his muscular left arm. “I’ll be your eye candy if that’s what you want, but Kenley is now going to be a part of my shoot. She’s free to dress as she pleases. But if she goes, I go with her. So what’s it going to be?”

 

You can preorder The Definition of Icing here: myBook.to/Icing