by Ana Ashley
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, I just missed you and wanted to give you a hug, but if this is the reception my hugs get then maybe I’ll keep them to myself.”
She put an arm over mine, tightening our embrace, and I fist-pumped Troy in victory.
I spent the next couple of hours learning all about the ratio of butter to flour to sugar and how to make a creamy batter that would rise evenly.
Half of it I wouldn’t have ever understood if we weren’t doing it at the same time, but when the cake came out of the oven a perfect color and smelling delicious I couldn’t stop smiling.
Even Dad had come down from the bedroom at some point to observe what was going on.
Making buttercream was another challenge, especially when I added too much powdered sugar to the butter and ended up surrounded by a sweet white powder cloud.
Dad left us again, claiming that breathing sugar wasn’t allowed on his new post-operation diet, and Troy joined him, likely because he didn’t want to be drafted for clean-up duties.
With the cake nearly cool and the buttercream done I started washing up the cake tin and all the utensils. I didn’t remember my mom ever having this much to clean up whenever she’d made cakes before.
“So, are you going to tell me why you’re entering the competition?” my mom asked.
She had a knowing smile on her face. One I couldn’t understand.
“Mom, have you seen the stores accounts lately?”
Her smile left her lips, but she didn’t seem mad that I’d brought the topic up.
“I know, Wren. Things have been hard and we’ve prioritized expenses we feel are essential, but we’re still in the black.”
“Yes, Mom, but for how long? All you need is something going wrong with the store and you’ll have a bill you can’t afford to pay.”
She put her hand on my arm and squeezed. “Sweetheart, I don’t want you to worry about it. Everything is in hand. I am so happy you are here though, we all missed you.”
A pang of guilt hit me. I rubbed my knee and wondered if it would be so bad to tell my parents about my injury.
I’d noticed that around the house there were still photos of me with various sporting medals and with the football team in our Chester High kit, but the medals themselves as well as the cups were no longer on top of the kitchen cupboards or on the hallway sideboard.
Instead of feeling sad that my parents had moved on from worshiping the victories of their teenage son, I felt relieved that they had. I’d always known they only cared for football because I did. They hadn’t missed a game, even when they’d had to take it in turns to attend with the other looking after Troy, and they’d talked the ear off anyone who’d brought the topic up in the store.
I opened my mouth to ask my mom about the medals and trophies but she spoke instead.
“Come on, let’s ice this cake. I could do with a slice and a cup of tea.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, and, honey? I think this competition is just what you need.”
I narrowed my eyes as her knowing smile returned.
It was strange being back at my old high school, not to mention that I’d never in a million years imagined I’d be back there, especially not to participate in a baking competition. It was bittersweet because while I had great memories of all the achievements, friendships, and even to a certain degree the classes, there was part of me that always felt like it wasn’t complete.
I hadn’t knowingly hidden my bisexuality, but I certainly had ignored it to a level where I hadn’t even been sure I was bisexual at all. I’d put it down to spending so much time with guys on the football field, locker rooms, and even hanging out as friends, rather than genuine attraction to the same gender.
The sports hall hadn’t changed one bit. The bleachers were slowly filling up with people on both sides of the court. Some were holding up signs and cheering for people I didn’t know.
An unsuspecting visitor would easily assume everyone was here for a basketball game, but today at the center of the court there wasn’t a team, a group of cheerleaders, or a mascot. Instead, a row of tables covered in white cloths occupied the center of the court. Some had cake boxes lined up in front of little cards.
“Excuse me,” I said to a woman I saw holding a clipboard.
“Oh hi, you must be one of the contestants. Pick a random spot on the tables and place your cake with the box lid covering it. Write your name on the card in front of the cake and face it down.”
“Thank you.”
Everyone seemed to have placed the cakes in order from left to right, so I went to the nearest empty card and put my cake down as the woman had explained. All the other cakes were covered, so I had no idea what my competition looked like. I also didn’t know who the other contestants were.
With so many random groups of people hovering on the sides of the court, it was hard to know who was a contestant and who was supporting.
I picked a seat on the front row and took my cellphone out.
Wren: Would you believe me if I told you I’m back in high school?
Aiden: *shudders*
Wren: You didn’t like high school then?
Aiden: I didn’t go to high school. I went to a private school, but it’s not a memory I want to revisit. What are you doing at school anyway? I thought you passed your reading test years ago.
Wren: Funny. I entered a baking contest.
Aiden: You don’t need to be embarrassed about your literacy shortcomings. I love you despite of them.
Wren: Thanks Nora Roberts. And I’m serious, fuck you very much.
Aiden followed with a shocked woman GIF that made me laugh aloud.
“Wren?”
I looked up to see Tom standing in front of me looking every bit the sexiest man I’d ever seen in my life.
He had a burgundy three-piece suit on that fitted him like it had been sewn directly onto his frame. Unlike the other night when he’d worn what could have been considered normal plain clothing, today he was more like what I expected from him.
Not that he hadn’t looked sexy as fuck in just jeans and a white shirt, but there was something more in his eyes when he dressed up.
I gestured for him to take a seat next to me. He moved slowly as though he was reluctant to do it but then relented.
All the cards on the tables now had a cake behind them and the lady with the clipboard was going around the room asking people to take a seat.
“You’re here reliving high school memories?” Tom asked.
I chuckled. “Not quite.”
“Supporting a contestant you know?”
“Not that either.”
Tom’s brows furrowed and for a moment I got lost in his eyes until I remembered he was waiting for my real reason for being here.
“I erm, entered the bake-off,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck.
“What?”
A few people turned their heads when Tom’s shriek was heard over the quieting hall. He looked upset, no, angry.
I pointed at the tables. “I’m one of the contestants. What are you doing here? Do you know someone entering?”
“No, I’m one of the contestants too.”
I should have been upset that we were competing against each other, but Tom’s cute pout made it hard.
I chuckled. “Looks like we’re rivals then.”
“Looks like we are,” he said, crossing his arms and facing forward.
Benny and Momma Ruth from Benny’s Diner were two of the judges, who were now removing the box lids and revealing the cakes underneath. I didn’t recognize the other two.
A tall well-built man wearing a dark-gray suit walked into the hall as soon as all the cakes were on display. He was holding a microphone.
“Welcome. It is my pleasure as the mayor of Chester Falls to kick off our yearly Pride festival by welcoming all the contestants of our most popular event: the Pride bake-off.”
Everyone cheered. The mayor put hi
s hands up to ask for silence.
“Now, we know why this is the more popular event, but I’d like to keep the town’s liability insurance cost down, so please all be safe and enjoy the festival. I will now hand over to the judges who are testing these wonderful cakes blind to pick the six contestants who will go to the live rounds.”
It took a good hour until the judges had tasted and scored all the cakes. Every time they’d moved on to a new one someone in the crowd had shouted out their support for the contestant.
From where we sat all the cakes looked pretty much the same. The brief was to make a chocolate fudge cake, and all the cakes looked fudgy to me.
“This is great, just great,” I heard Tom muttering under his breath.
What was his problem?
“Looks like they’re ready to announce who goes to the next round,” I said.
Tom replied with a huff.
I looked at him, trying not to laugh. “Are you going to set me on fire?”
“I’m making no promises.”
11
Tom
I couldn’t believe what had just happened. I balled my fists and walked out of the hall as soon as the judges had announced the six contestants that would go through to the live rounds.
The two miles from the high school grounds to the town center weren’t enough to walk off my anger, but I wasn’t thinking clearly anyway so by the time I walked into Spilled Beans I wasn’t just fuming.
I was close to tears and even angrier with myself for feeling this way.
“I’m going to fucking kill him. How dare he? How is he even allowed?”
I paced the length of the coffee shop, feeling like a ball of nerves ready to explode.
Indy stepped in front of me by the door and put his hands on both my shoulders to stop me.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. His indigo-colored hair looked bluer in the light than when he was behind the counter.
I looked around and saw an old lady get up and pick up her handbag to leave.
“Fuck, shit I’m so sorry. I’m just so… I didn’t even see if you had any customers.”
“Don’t worry about it. Mrs. Donner had been nursing the same empty cup of coffee she ordered three hours ago while she read the free paper, so I’ve not lost any business with your dramatic entrance.”
Indy’s dark-blue eyes searched my face for some kind of answer for my current state.
“What’s the matter? Did you not…”
I shook my head. “It’s not that.”
“You mean you went through to the next round?”
He beamed at me and I couldn’t help reacting. I’d run out of the hall so quickly I hadn’t given myself the chance to celebrate.
“I’m shocked you’d think I didn’t,” I teased. After my vanilla cake attempt I’d decided to practice under Indy’s supervision, and he’d spent the last couple of nights watching me as I’d tried to perfect a chocolate fudge cake recipe I’d found online.
“If you’d seen your face when you walked in you’d understand. So what’s made you so angry then?”
“Wren is in the bake-off too.”
I didn’t know what kind of reaction I was expecting from Indy, but no reaction was not it.
“You knew?”
Indy grabbed my arm and led me to a table.
“Do you want coffee or something stronger?”
“Both. And it’s going to be on the house.”
He laughed but went behind the counter. A minute later he placed a black coffee and a marshmallow-filled cupcake in front of me.
“Extra reinforcement,” he clarified.
“You mean apology.”
He shrugged. “Cupcake, muffin. All cake.”
“I don’t understand what he’s doing there.”
“It’s a public competition, Tom.”
“I know, but why him? Isn’t it enough that he’s in the store all day, and now he’s part of this too? I mean… I…”
Indy held my hands and brought them up to his mouth and placed a kiss on my knuckles.
“Sweetie, can I ask you a question?”
My hands felt a little clammy in his.
“Do you have feelings for Wren?”
He looked so concerned I couldn’t not tell him the truth.
“I don’t have feelings per se. It’s more that my heart rate increases when he’s nearby, and my eyes have this nasty habit of following his ass every time he walks away from me. Then there’s his stupid blue eyes. I mean, who has eyes like that? They’re like a swimming pool on a summer day. Yesterday he unwrapped all the snow globes for me so I could put them on the shelf… I don’t like Bubble Wrap…” In my thinking about Wren I almost forgot I was speaking to Indy.
“So, no feelings, huh?”
“None whatsoever.” I grinned. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter since he’s straight. And now he’s my enemy too.”
Indy raised his eyebrows. “Look, it’s not my place to say this, but I don’t think everything is as it seems with Wren. Maybe get to know him a little better and you might find that you’re more compatible than you think.”
Did Indy mean what I thought he meant? No one had openly commented on Wren’s sexuality, his parents included, and I’d made my assumptions. Then there was the comment he’d made and then avoided when I’d asked him about it.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, standing up as a customer came into the coffee shop. “I need to see Tristan about the next challenge so I’ve got to go. Thanks for letting me barge in and behave like a crazy person and thanks for calming me down.”
Indy hugged me. “Anytime, gorgeous.”
I crossed the square, praying Tristan was at Bookmarked. My heart jumped for joy when I saw his car parked on the spot around the side of the bookstore.
“Hi, Ellie, is Tristan here?” I said.
“Tom! Hannah and I were talking the other day, you need to come over for dinner soon. We miss you.”
“You both miss my cocktails.”
“That too.” She giggled.
Ellie and Hannah, who was Charlie’s and Connor’s sister, had been married nearly a year. It was during the events of their wedding that Charlie and Kris had met and got together.
“You’ll need to take a ticket and join the line.”
“Damn Gina.”
I chuckled.
“Oh, you wanted Tristan. He’s in the storeroom with Ben having sex.”
“Jesus Christ, Ellie,” Ben said. “How many times do I need to tell you we’re not having sex every time we’re upstairs.”
Ben stood by the door leading to the storeroom, his hands on his hips. Tristan a little taller behind Ben with a grin on his face, nodding. Ben elbowed him.
“Babe!”
“I’m gonna need to move to a new town where there aren’t so many happy couples. It’s hard to be grumpy and miserable when everyone is so happy,” I said.
“Tom, you’ll find your guy,” Tristan said, looking at Ben, “and sometimes he finds you instead.” He wrapped his arms around Ben who literally melted into Tristan’s embrace. Okay, maybe not literally.
“Ugh, stop it. Tristan, I need your help.”
Twenty-four hours may have been enough for my anger toward Wren to decrease to a simmer, but that was only because I had a new plan.
Operation Drive Wren So Insane He Quits the Competition commencing.
“Agent Thomas Angel Jones reporting for duty,” I said to the reflection in my bedroom mirror.
I may not have been big and buff like Wren, but I had great assets, with emphasis on the ass, so I picked a pair of white skin-tight jeans I knew would not only show every single curve, but in certain lighting you could see what I had under it. I paired the skinny jeans with a loose crop top that fell off my shoulder.
“Damn, Agent Jones, you’re looking fine.” If Mason’s was my catwalk, I was going to own the fashion show.
Despite my choice of clothing, miles apart from my usual tailored and C
oco-approved look, I didn’t want to parade around town looking like a Friday night piece of meat looking for some fun.
The chill in the fall air made it more than comfortable to wear a coat that was long enough to cover what I didn’t want everyone to see.
“Morning, Indy, can I have the usual coffee and one of those sinful cupcakes, please?”
“Oh hey, hun, sure thing.”
He gave me a look as he took my payment card.
“I didn’t realize it was that cold outside, maybe we’re going to have one of those winters, hey.”
“Um, yeah, it’s pretty chilly out there.”
Just as I said that someone came inside Spilled Beans and took their coat off. “God, I’m so ready for winter. I hate this middle-of-the-road mild.”
My cheeks heated, knowing I’d been caught.
“What exactly are you wearing, Tom?”
I opened my coat and gave him my most innocent look. It always worked with Charlie and Gina so I had to try.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Tom, what are you doing dressed like that?” he whispered so his customers didn’t hear.
I shrugged and he shook his head.
“Well, whatever you’re up to, I want to know later because I bet it’s going to be so so good or really bad.”
I picked up my coffee and cupcake and gave him an air kiss before I left.
The storeroom was empty when I walked into Mason’s through the staff door. Now that I was here I started having doubts. Was this too much? God, I could lose my job.
I looked for a spare shirt that I kept hung behind the office door in case whatever I wore got dirty but then remembered I’d taken it home to wash because I’d already worn it recently. Crap.
Well, if I couldn’t do anything about it I may as well own it. It was with that attitude that I walked out into the store and right past Wren, who was checking out a customer’s purchase.
My first job of the day was the Pride window. I went over to the window and re-arranged the positioning of the armchair so it would sit in front of the fake fireplace.
“Tom, what are you doing?”
I stopped where I was holding onto the arm of the chair. Wren stood behind me, so I took some time straightening my back and turning around.
