“Is this a joke?” Maeve asked. “Because it’s not a funny one.”
“Don’t think you can steal my idea.” Passive-aggressive had flown out the window today, apparently. That had to mean Jassie was stressed about the competition — she wasn’t even attempting to keep up appearances. “You’ve already lost.”
A microphone squealed. One of five judges had risen from the table on the center dais —a gray-haired man, tanned, and energetic-looking, dolled up in a dark suit and bowtie.
“Welcome, everyone, to the HealthNut Baking Contest. My name is Arthur Jacobson, CEO of HealthNut, and I hope all of you are ready to compete. The first round will begin when the buzzer rings. You’ll have to cook and complete your product in the allotted hour, no exceptions. When the hour is up, there will be two rounds of judging: a preliminary taste test to eliminate products, and a secondary round to find our winners. The third round of judging will determine which of the eliminated contestants produced the best product for a bonus fourth place prize.”
Maeve’s heart skipped a beat. There was more than just first prize, but those second, third and fourth places wouldn’t net her enough money to open her bakery.
“Are you ready to go?” Arthur Jacobson beamed at them.
Jassie looked as if she’d just taken a face full of pie.
Maeve applauded and cheered along with everyone else.
The buzzer sounded, and she flew into action. She got the rest of her pre-measured ingredients out in a flash, set the oven to the correct temperature for the cake, and started with the jam.
She caught Jassie’s eye only once, when she poured the blueberries into the pot. Jassie was clearly furious that Maeve managed to get around her little raspberry trick.
Ha. Nice try, Jassie.
Maeve forced herself to ignore her nemesis — to ignore everything — and just do the thing she loved most.
But even though she could shut Jassie out, she kept wanting to talk to Baker.
Kept imagining the dog lying next to the counter as she beat the batter.
Kept wondering if the version of vegan blueberry roly-poly cake that Emma had helped her create last night was the same version she would’ve arrived at if Baker had been the one to help.
A huge digital countdown had been erected next to the judge’s table, and she kept her eye on it, her stomach quivering every time she looked up and saw that another minute had passed.
There were only ten minutes to go by the time her sponge cake was out of the oven, and four minutes when the battery-operated fan had cooled it enough to spread with the jam and roll into a log. Hands shaking, Maeve cut the log into neat slices, arranged them on the presentation plate, and garnished with shredded coconut.
The buzzer went off.
“All right, time’s up!” Arthur Jacobson announced. “Great work, everyone. If you haven’t managed to finish your product, I’m afraid you’re eliminated. Please move to the spectator area on the far side of the tent.”
A groan rose from several tables, and dozens of people start walking — about a quarter of the contestants hadn’t managed to finish on time. Unfortunately, Jassie wasn’t one of them.
Maeve peered at Jassie’s counter out of sheer curiosity.
Her eyebrows lifted. No way.
She’d made cookies. Not a fancy double-tiered cake. Maeve opened her mouth, but decided better against asking — Jassie was too busy making eyes at the judges and smiling brightly to pay attention to Maeve anyway.
“All right,” Arthur said. “Let the judging begin.”
The judges came down in a group and walked among the tables, tasting each entry and marking off things on their clipboards. They worked their way through the hall clockwise. The closer they came to Maeve’s counter, the more nervous she got.
She wiped my sweaty palms on her apron.
“Ew, try not to be totally gross,” Jassie hissed.
“Leave me alone,” Maeve snapped back.
The judges arrived at their counter, and they both lit their million-watt smiles.
“What do we have here?” Arthur asked.
“Well,” Jassie said loudly, immediately drawing all the attention, as usual. “I made a completely healthy carob-chip cookie.”
“That sounds interesting,” Arthur said.
Seriously? She made a carob-chip cookie. Anyone can make one of those. That’s boring!
Maeve couldn’t help the internal monologue. It was just … she’d spent so long worrying about this roly-poly and working on it and now, this? She prayed the judges would share her opinion.
But they tasted one each and made appreciative noises as they ate. Not a good sign. Jassie grinned broadly. “I made extras in case you wanted to take some home,” she said, drawing another sheet from the countertop to her left.
“We have to save space for the other contestants,” Arthur said, and moved on to Maeve. “What have you baked for us, Contestant 987?”
“I’m Maeve, and I’ve made a blueberry jam roly-poly for you to try. Gluten-free, allergen-free, vegan, containing four superfoods.”
She’d had to list the recipe on the form when she’d checked in, so they'd know whether her treat fit the nutritional profile they’d specified in the rules.
“Wow,” said a female judge. “That’s impressive.”
“Thank you.” Maeve fiddled with her apron.
They picked up their desert forks and each took one bite. The female judge seemed particularly enthusiastic. But more than she’d been for Jassie’s dumb carob cookies? Maeve wasn’t sure.
A camera crew followed behind the judges, and Jassie was already primping and preening for it, smiling and fluttering her eyelashes. Maeve did her best to smile and nod as the cameras and the judges moved on.
Afterward, she slumped.
It was over. The rest of the contest was officially out of her hands, and now Maeve could breathe.
“What are you so nervous for, Maeve?” Jassie asked softly. “It’s not like you had a chance to win.”
Maeve resisted the urge to snap back at her. The acceptance letter had been very clear that she would also need to have the demeanor HealthNut expected in someone representing them. Starting a cat fight before they’d even finished round two would disqualify her.
She could worry about getting last words in later, after the results had been announced.
It took the judges loads of time to make their way around the tent, and while they did, others entered: people taking seats in the spectator section, and family or friends who’d snuck in to offer encouragement to contestants.
No one would come for Maeve today. Emma was busy, and Maeve had pretty much isolated herself from everyone else after what happened with David. It had been difficult to show her face to her old friends after they heard everything about the breakup from other people first.
Still, that wasn’t important. Maeve was here to win and start her life anew.
Finally, the judges returned to the main stage.
Arthur Jacobson took up the microphone and the chatter quieted.
“We’ve got our winner, our second place finalist, and our third place. After the announcement of the top three, we ask that you all remain in the hall for the awards ceremony, followed by the party for all participants.
Breathe. Just breathe. You’ve got this.
“The following contestants are in the top ten. Contestant 752.”
Jassie erupted in a tirade of giggles and excited claps. She had made it through.
Arthur rattled off another six numbers, but none of them were Maeve’s. Then another. And another one. There was only one spot left, and it wasn’t her. It couldn’t possibly be. Her roly-poly had failed after all. All her dreams—
“—Contestant 987.”
“That’s me!” Maeve yelled, and a few people laughed. “Oh my gosh, that’s me.”
Maeve had made it to the top ten. Her bakery was still in reach.
Jassie rolled her eyes. “Don’
t get your hopes up.”
“Careful, the cameras are watching,” she said, even though they were actually trained on Arthur and the other judges.
Jassie instantly straightened and put up her winning smile, twirling a length of curly brown hair around her finger. Then she realized no one was looking and broke into a scowl. “Funny.”
Maeve ignored her.
“All right, time for the fun part,” Arthur said. “In third place, with a frankly delicious mini tarte Tatin, is Contestant 366, Martin Krieg!”
A smattering of applause rang out, and a man on the other side of the hall cheered and whistled, then did a silly dance. Nearly everyone laughed.
“Very well done, Martin. We found it perfect, but perhaps a bit too complicated for our product line,” Arthur said, then cleared his throat. “In second place, with a blueberry roly-poly cake, contestant number 987, Maeve Watts!”
Maeve’s stomach dropped, but she forced herself to smile and clap along with the others. Second place. She had gotten second place. That was good, but it wasn’t enough to start her bakery. Still, it was a cool ten grand she could use to pay off a big chunk of her debts. Maybe that would improve her credit score enough to somehow qualify for a loan? That cheered her up even more, and her cheeks felt suddenly warm. She waved and curtsied at the judges, which brought another round of applause from the crowd.
“And in first place, with the most delicious carob-based treat we’ve ever tasted, is Contestant 752, Jassie St. Clair. Congratulations.”
Jassie shot Maeve a long, spiteful look and then threw her arms above her head and cheered.
How could this have happened? A carob cookie? Carob was an inferior substitute for chocolate — and chocolate was a superfood, so why hadn’t she just used that?
Maeve Googled it surreptitiously. It looked like chocolate had something called oxalates in it, which could cause kidney stones, but carob didn’t.
Jassie had done her homework. Or more likely, paid someone to do it for her.
Beaten by a carob cookie.
It had to be some kind of fluke.
Or maybe Jassie had beat her fair and square.
It was enough to make Maeve believe that David might be right. Maybe she should give up on baking and do what she was good at.
Right after she figured out what that was.
Maeve struggled to keep a pleasant expression as the reality sunk in. She lived in a world where Jassie St. Clair’s carob cookies were deemed better than her blueberry roly-poly cakes.
“Thank you everyone for participating. As requested, please wait at your counters for the awards ceremony as we complete our final round of judging for fourth place. And congratulations to all of you — only a few of you could win, but we tasted so many amazing healthy treats today. You can all be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”
Arthur Jacobson set down the microphone and was off to judge the final round.
“I win again,” Jassie said, sneering. “I guess I am better than you.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Maeve set about cleaning up her station and packing the remains of her ingredients back into her wicker basket. She didn’t have a sink to wash anything in, but from the looks of it, the other contestants were leaving their bowls, pans and utensils for someone else to take care of.
Not having to clean up for once was kind of nice.
“It was just such a simple thing to do,” Jassie was saying, at her counter next to mine. The camera crew had swept in to interview her as the winner. “Carob is the perfect replacement for chocolate, and super healthy, too. My cookies are suitable for any diet — vegan, vegetarian, Paleo, keto — everyone can eat them.”
Maeve forced herself to keep a straight face, but it was torture listening to her brag about winning with a concept that had been around since the 1970s.
“Maeve!” The cry came from the front opening of the tent.
Maeve rose on her tiptoes and craned her neck. Emma waved as she pushed her way through the crowd that milled around the tables.
“You came,” Maeve cried, waving back at her. She hadn’t expected it.
“Uh, excuse me, the winner is, like, trying to do an interview,” Jassie said, then turned back to the man with the microphone. “Sorry about that. She’s just a runner-up.”
Emma came closer, holding something low at her side, her brown eyes practically glowing with excitement. “Congratulations on second place.”
Maeve shrugged, not trusting herself to say anything. Later, she would unwind with Em, and a good stiff drink or three, but for now, she wanted to be a good loser.
“Look who I brought,” Emma added, and lifted her arm. She held a leash, and at the end of it was Baker.
Tears rushed to Maeve’s eyes.
Baker looked positively forlorn. Her legs trembled, her ears hung low, and her gaze roved over the ground. The side of her leg had been chewed on, the fur there matted with some thick white ointment.
None of that mattered. It was her. Baker.
Maeve was taking her home.
“Did I do a good thing?” Emma asked.
Maeve nodded wordlessly, emotion building in her throat. She had been so afraid of this poor dog, and all Baker really needed was a bit of love. It had taken the misery of the past few days without her, and losing this contest, to realize that she mattered more than everything else.
“Baker,” Maeve said, her voice cracking.
Baker’s ears pricked up instantly, and she looked up toward Maeve. Her tail wagged weakly.
Maeve crouched down behind her counter and opened her arms. “Come here, girl.”
Baker hesitated. She wagged her tail again.
“It’s okay. Come here.”
She darted forward at last, letting out a terrific bark that brought a scream from Jassie.
She launched herself into Maeve’s arms, and for a brief moment, the old panic resurged, but she caught Baker and hugged her tight. The dog wriggled happily, licking everything she could reach — the side of Maeve’s neck, her cheek, her ear.
Maeve didn’t even care that she was crying.
Baker pulled back, wagging her tail so hard that her entire back end wiggled, and licked Maeve’s face. She froze, but Maeve didn’t. She stroked her head.
Then she kissed her dog, right between the eyes.
“There. All better.”
Baker barked again, and Maeve was sure it was agreement.
“Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“I have to get back to the shelter,” Emma said. “I’m not strictly supposed to be here. Want to keep Baker with you for a while?”
Maeve nodded so hard, it hurt her neck.
“Good. I’ll stop by with the adoption papers later on.”
With Baker snuggled up against her, nothing could bring her down. Not even losing to Jassie. Not even the possibility that she’d never own her own bakery.
This dog had shown her how to be happy, something she thought she’d never feel again after Mom died.
Maeve sat next to her counter and Baker crawled into her lap. She curled her arms around her and held her to her chest, stroking her head. They both let out a long, rough sigh.
“Dogs aren’t allowed here,” Jassie spoke above them. “It’s a health code violation. Probably.”
Maeve ignored her. Jassie hadn’t broken her after winning the competition, and she certainly wouldn’t now, not with Baker here.
“Do you see this? This is flagrant disregard for the rules,” she said to one of the cameramen. “I’m just going to go get the judges right now and have her disqualified.”
“There’s nothing in the rules about pets, so far as I know.” He pulled back from the camera and frowned at Jassie. “What’s the matter, lady? You don’t like dogs?”
“I do like dogs.” Jassie turned her frown upside down, really fast. “I love them, actually. I have two of my own, but I wouldn’t bring them to a baking competition. It’s just not the thing you do, y
ou know? There are people eating around here.”
“So? It’s not like the dogs are doing the baking.”
Jassie and the cameraman fell into a heated debate on whether animals should be allowed near food or whether Maeve should be disqualified. She didn’t listen. Poor Baker felt lighter than she should. Maeve couldn’t wait for this to be over so she could get her home and give her a big bowl of shredded chicken.
Plus, it would be fun to stand on that podium they’d set up on the dais with her, just to annoy Jassie even more.
The cameraman eventually gave up on Miss St. Clair’s snooty self and walked off.
Jassie huffed and puffed. “You get that dog out of here, or I’ll tell the judges.”
Maeve finally shifted Baker off her lap and stood. “You got what you wanted. There’s no need to be so mean about it.”
Jassie set about piling the carob cookies onto a plate, likely to go butter up the judges even more, or maybe distribute them to VIPs. Like Daddy’s friends.
“Whatever. I’m done spending time with losers.” Maeve's nemesis dumped the last of her cookies onto the plate. “I’ve got a photo-op to attend to. Enjoy hanging out with your smelly dog.”
At least my dog can’t be mistaken for a rat, Maeve could’ve said, but didn’t.
Because Jassie St. Clair was the least important person in her life.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Baker lay in the gap between the counters, wagging her tail at anyone who walked past. Maeve had forgiven her! She’d hugged her and kissed her and said she was happy to see her.
“Get out of the way,” the mean woman named Jassie said to Maeve.
Something heavy collided with Baker's rear end, and pain streaked through her leg. She yelped and sprung to her feet.
A plate cracked on the ground in front of her and cookies spilled across the grass. They smelled good, but different from the ones Maeve had let her eat the first time they met, at the shelter.
Baker’s stomach growled.
She hadn’t eaten since Maeve had dropped her off at the shelter.
“Baker,” Maeve called. “Are you okay?”
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