The Secret Recipe of Ella Dove

Real magic came from finding just the right type of chocolate to make your favorite cookies with. It came from that ease and comfort you got when you walked down a street you really, really knew. It came from eating hot biscuits with honey butter with your sisters at the same kitchen table you'd sat at when you were five. And it came from waking up with the man who made you smile.

It isn't about perfection, but about richness. It isn't about sweetness, but about love. It isn't about the prettiness of the decorations, but about sharing something you made with your own hands with those you love the most. Those are the qualities of a truly memorable dessert.

There, on her fingertips, was a faint slash of strawberry frosting drawn into a tiny heart. "What's that?" Gray captured her hand and lifted it so the porch light shone on her fingers. "That's strawberry frosting." She nodded. "That's my favorite. Every year, for my birthday, Mom bakes me a cake with strawberry frosting." She looked down at the frosting, her eyes widening. Oh my gosh. It wasn't Angela at all. It was Gray. She closed her hand over the small heart, and her fingers tingled. When she opened her hand, the frosting was gone.

Every time he saw her, every time he thought about her--- every time he smelled vanilla or caramel or chocolate--- she was the food that fed his desires. Her kisses tasted of pralines, her thick blond hair smelled of coconut cake, and her shoulders made him think of white chocolate macarons.

Cinnamon, cloves, and..." Angela tilted her head to one side. "Ginger?" Darn it. "You didn't listen to a word I said, did you?" Using her fork, Angela pointed to the cake. "Fresh peaches too." Ella sighed. "The Piggly Wiggly just got a shipment from Georgia. That's what made me decide to make that cake to begin with." "It's delicious. This is the first upside-down cake I've had with pralines." Angela licked her fork, her expression softening. "John loved peaches, but I told him he didn't know good peaches until he'd had one right off the tree, made sweet by the heat. They should be soft, but not too much, and smell like..." Angela closed her eyes and took a deep breath as if she could smell those fresh peaches. "One summer, I had Jules bring tree-ripened peaches with her when she came to drop off the boys in the Hamptons for their vacation. You should have seen John's face when he bit into that first one. You'd have thought he'd seen a glimpse of heaven.

It's good to take chances. That's how all great discoveries are made. But do so armed with thought, caution, and an accurate measuring cup. Better to overprepare than to underwhelm.

This time it was a strawberry shortcake with homemade whipped cream. If Angela closed her eyes, she could still remember the fluffy perfection of the shortcake, the ripe flavor of the strawberries, the sweet thickness of the cream. But more than that, she remembered a summer day from her childhood that the cake made her recall. She'd been only seven years old, and on the hottest day of the summer, she and Daddy had gone down to Sweet Creek, which ran right through town, meandering behind houses and through the park, until it emptied into Dove Pond itself. Daddy had loved creeks, and there was nothing he liked better than to roll up his pants and walk barefoot over rocks worn smooth by cool, shimmering water. She'd learned to love that same experience herself. That summer day, the heat of the late afternoon had dissipated as the coolness of the water washed over their feet. They'd held hands as they walked, and had laughed and talked as they splashed and scared off more fish than she could count. Oh, how she relished that memory. And Ella's cake had made it so immediate, so real, that when Angela had finished swallowing the final bite, she'd had to wipe away happy tears. That had been one of the best days of her life. But then that was the beauty of an Ella Dove cake. It wasn't just the flawlessness of the bake, or the richness of the flavors, although they were something to behold themselves. It was the unexpected memories of those perfect combinations of flavor and texture stirred. The glimpses of special, exquisite moments from one's past were astoundingly real and, oh, so precious.

There were three things Italian and Southern women had in common: a firm grasp of the importance of family, a love for a really good homemade sauce, and the beauty of hair teased, sprayed, or tortured to just the right volume.

Over the past four months, she'd been plagued by annoying dreams in which she was chased by a giant, silver-papered cupcake with strawberry frosting. In every dream, the huge cupcake chased her through the tree-lined streets of Dove Pond to the highest point of Hill Street. The dream always ended with her standing alone and terrified in front of the Stewart house. She might have been able to ignore those dreams, but every time she had one, sometime after the dream ended, strawberry frosting would appear somewhere on her arms or legs. Sometimes it showed up as a plump rose, perfectly made, as if ready for a wedding cake. Sometimes, like just now, it showed up in a long, delicate curlicue. The frosting was always pink, always smelled like strawberry, and was always annoying.

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.

Madison always said Aunt Jo's house was as colorful as a box of crayons. She wasn't kidding; every room was a different color. The living room was a bright, warm shade of peach, the hall yellow, and the dining room green. Added in was a colorful assortment of chairs, pillows, and rugs. It really was like a box of crayons.