Ed waved the waiter over and ordered five, signaling that all was forgiven.
Danielle said, “Did you see the improv show last night?”
Talking comedy was the best possible way to Ed’s heart. Before our beverages even arrived, the two of them were chatting like old friends about the show I’d missed the night before and the stand-up contest Ed would be hosting later in the week. Seeing everyone get along put my mind at ease.
Craning my neck, I scoured the room for Tammy Rae, hoping to get a chance to say hello before the bake-off. Finally, I spotted her on the other side of the room, being led toward us. Under the table, I crossed my fingers, silently begging the waiter to bring her to one of our empty seats.
Tammy Rae (never Tammy, although I didn’t know if Rae was her last name, part of her first name, or an affectation) fronted an all-girls pop band from 1984 to 1988. At nineteen, she quit the band to go to college, and mostly vanished until the cast of Totally ’80s Bake-off went live a couple of years ago.
Nearly twenty years after the height of her fame, Tammy Rae still sported her trademark long blonde hair and big blue eyes, although at some point, she ditched the perm. A wise choice, indeed. She looked much older than I expected, which shouldn’t have surprised me since she’d been famous before I was born. From what I could see, her music videos must’ve been filmed either wearing platform heels or using special camera angles to increase her height. Her head bobbed along only a few inches above the waiter’s elbow. Perhaps I should’ve worn flats; even I would tower over this woman.
To my chagrin, the waiter sat her beside Ariana and Dominic at a table across the room. I hadn’t noticed them sitting there until the waiter swerved away from us, winding his way toward the far windows. That made it impossible for me to go introduce myself to Tammy Rae, like I’d planned. The idea was to befriend her, butter her up, find out what she wanted in exchange for the secret ingredient, then figure out how to give it to her.
Unfortunately, if Ariana suspected I wanted information from Tammy Rae, the poor woman would probably find herself locked in a closet for the rest of the trip. Still, I kept one eye on the table, searching for my opening, while half-heartedly participating in conversation about everyone’s plans for the day.
Justin, always a good sport, told animated tales from his final semester in law school, knowing I’d heard the stories and didn’t need to listen to laugh at the right places. In response to my grateful look, he leaned over and kissed my cheek. I lingered over breakfast as long as possible, trying not to obviously stare but also never letting Tammy Rae out of my sight. Ed and Connor gave up waiting for me and went to find the pool. Rachel and Danielle soon followed, with a promise to message me their location once they got settled.
Eventually, two glasses of water and a pot of hot cocoa caught up with me. The ship’s layout turned me around twice on the way to the restroom, which for some reason wasn’t connected to the dining room. By the time I found my way back, Tammy Rae’s table sat empty. Dominic and Ariana were gone, but so was she.
My shoulders slumped. I’d missed my chance.
* * *
There wasn’t much time to dwell on missing Tammy Rae at breakfast. Leanna swept me, Justin, and the other judges to the salon for hair and makeup before the baking competition started. Then she isolated us from the contestants by banishing everyone to an empty seating area. It didn’t seem prudent to remind her that one of the contestants was my close friend and Justin’s cabinmate. Avoiding Ed now after we ate breakfast with him seemed illogical to me, but it wasn’t worth arguing.
Not that it mattered. We’d agreed to judge because Sweet Reality needed the publicity. Ed loved cooking but had zero experience as a baker; he was doing the contest more to increase visibility and entertain the audience than to win the actual prize—dinner for two at one of the private onboard restaurants. Justin, Ed, and I all knew he wasn’t likely to win, and that was fine. Voting for my friend’s creation if it wasn’t amazing would only convince people I didn’t know what delicious baked goods tasted like. Not exactly the impression I wanted to convey right before inviting people to purchase food from my bakery.
It was bad enough that the audition video of me burning cookies still got hits on YouTube. No one cared how many times I made cookies while on the show, or how good they turned out. None of my prior baking experience, or the fact that the oven knob came off in my hand, made a difference. All that mattered was, the first time I filmed myself baking, I set off the fire alarm while talking about how much I liked making cookies. After The Fishbowl became available on Netflix, that clip went viral. Someone auto tuned it.
Which, okay, that video totally cracked me up when Brandon showed me. I may have saved it on my phone to watch whenever I needed a laugh.
Once the sun set, our waiting area would house a nightclub. A bar lined one wall, and a dance floor sat in the middle. Neon strips in several colors crisscrossed the floor. There was no TV in the lounge, but the other judges scattered around the room. The windows provided glorious ocean views with no sun, wind, or rain. If other people knew this spot existed, they’d pack in like sardines every day.
Justin wound his way through the room to a spot near the rear window. I went to grab a couple of waters someone set out on the bar before going to join him. He stood stiffly, brow furrowed. When I held out his water, he took it and set it on a nearby table with a mumbled, “thanks,” his eyes never leaving the water.
I wrapped my arms around his waist, planting a soft kiss on the back of his neck before leaning into him. “Everything okay? I know the view is glorious, but it hasn’t changed much since we spent two hours looking at it last night after dinner.”
He sighed and turned in my arms, kissing the top of my head gently. “I’m sorry. I’m worried about my mom. She’s not much older than Tammy Rae, you know. And Tammy Rae is vibrant, larger-than-life, running around making reality shows on a cruise ship. Mom’s confined to a bed, so full of tubes and medication she barely remembers me.”
My heart went out to him. “I’m so, so–”
He placed one finger against my lips. “Shh. You know how I am with public sympathy. Say something else.”
“Want to go have sex behind the bar before the bake-off starts?”
“Yes!”
“Sadly, we can’t,” I said. “Anyway, do you want to beg internet time off the producers so we can email Sarah for an update?”
“Thanks, but no. Sarah would get upset if she knew I was worrying instead of relaxing out here.” He sighed. “I wanted to wait until we got home to tell you this, but Sarah and I think it’s time to move Mom into full-time hospice care. I wish we didn’t have to, but caring for her on our own is really taking a toll, and ever since Dad broke his back, he’s not much help. He needs surgery. It could be months before he’s back on his feet.”
I started to tell him again how sorry I was that he was going through all this, but stopped myself. “We’ll work everything out when we get home.”
He smiled at me. “Thanks. I’m trying not to worry about them. But my phone’s battery still isn’t charging, which means I can’t call Sarah while we’re in the ports like I promised.”
“You can use my phone.”
“I love you.” He kissed me briefly before returning to the view. In the distance, a few splashes reminded me we weren’t alone out here in this ocean. A bird swooped out of the sky, plucking a fish from the ocean and veering away from the ship.
Still staring out the window, Justin smoothed his fingers over the pocket of his cargo shorts. He’d been doing that a lot the past few days. Maybe it was a subconscious gesture, but it always took my thoughts back to that day in the shop.
Was he carrying the ring around with him on the ship? When would he pull it out? Before the bake-off? After? What did it mean if he didn’t propose at all this week? Was the botched proposal a bad omen? Or was he just looking for the right moment?
It killed me that I couldn’t
ask what he thought about this very important topic. But I didn’t want to ruin whatever surprise he planned. Not a second time.
“If anything goes wrong, the producers will tell us. I gave Sarah the emergency number for the ship.”
“I know. That’s not all of it.” He hesitated, biting his lip. “I told you the bar results are being posted Friday?”
It was Monday, meaning he had four long days to worry before finding out his fate. Between his mom being sick, his failed proposal, and waiting for the results, his moodiness and distraction suddenly made perfect sense.
Leaning over, I kissed his cheek. “I’m sure you passed. You’re super smart, and no one could’ve studied more than you. Try not to worry about it.”
He pulled me close, murmuring a thank you into my hair.
What Justin really needed was to rest and relax for a week. He wouldn’t say it, but he also worried about whether the bakery would turn a profit. Our financial future had been a concern even before we found out about Patty’s Cakes. Justin wouldn’t rest and relax until I hurried up and got Tammy Rae’s secret ingredient.
Chapter 8
Jen in the Guppy Gabber, Monday:
Things between me and Justin are great. Absolutely fantastic. Couldn’t be better. He’s just stressed out about work and his family and the bakery. Don’t worry about him. We’re here to cut loose and relax. Judging the bake-off is a great way to get started. I can’t wait to see what everyone comes up with!
And I can’t wait to try Tammy Rae’s special cupcakes. I hope they live up to the hype.
About half an hour later one of the production assistants, a tall woman with short, curly brown hair framing her heart-shaped face, appeared. She introduced herself as Janine and led us to the Lido Deck for the competition. I tried to assure her that we didn’t require an escort to go to the place we’d already visited about eleven times, but she insisted she’d get fired for letting us walk alone.
When we got to the pool area for the contest, people swarmed the deck. Having someone to lead me through the crowd suddenly seemed much better. Janine took us to Leanna, who pointed out a row of judges’ tables for us. Three tables. Tiny, one-person tables. One for Danielle, who hadn’t mentioned she was also judging, one for Wyatt from Season 2 of The Marrying Kind, and one marked “Jen and Justin.”
“Wait a minute. Why do we only have one chair?” Justin asked.
“Well, since the two of you are a couple, you’re acting as one judge.” Leanna said.
The two of us exchanged a look. “You mean, my vote’s only worth half as much as the other judges?” Justin asked.
“Look, the two of you together are a huge draw. Everyone loves Justin and Jen, the couple who ran away from the Fishbowl together. Apart, you’re not as exciting. It’s like the Q&A. More people come out to see the two of you. Sorry, but also, not sorry at all.”
With each word she spoke, my boyfriend’s face reddened more. He didn’t like losing his identity, and if we shared one chair, no one would see him with me perched in his lap.
“Is it really necessary to give us only one chair?” I asked. “I mean, even if we have to talk before voting, can’t we each have our own place to sit? That way, Justin can eat without dropping crumbs in my hair.”
Leanna sighed. “I can’t even. You two still like each other, right? But, whatever. If you can find another chair, you can have it. I don’t have time to deal with this.”
Justin left to grab a chair from one of the giant stacks less than twenty feet away, which told me the Network was just trying to stir up trouble. Clearly, they had enough chairs. Ah, ratings.
I started to say something to Leanna, but she’d already moved away, on to finish the setup. I stuck my tongue out at her back. Mature, I know.
The other contestants stood behind a second row of tables lined up beside the pool: Ed; the girl whose stroller Ariana was watching the first day; a thirty-something guy I didn’t recognize; and Tabby Rangoon. She stood out at the table as the only one wearing six-inch heels and a flaming red wig. Plus, who could forget an Asian drag queen named Tabby Rangoon? Not me. I found myself hoping her creation would be deep-fried, with cream cheese filling. My mouth watered as I thought about it.
Originally, I considered signing up for the contest to gain publicity for the bakery, but didn’t want Tammy Rae to bring up my audition video. Besides, Sarah was the baker in our little organization: my “old family cookie recipe” came preprinted on the bag of chocolate chips. But it had been used by several generations of Reid women, dating to whenever Nestle started printing recipes on their bags.
The judges’ smaller tables arced around the deep end of the pool, and beach chairs filled the rest of the patio area. To my surprise, I spotted Ariana on one of those chairs, sunning herself.
Finding her lying out tanning came as no surprise; she spent half her time on The Fishbowl doing exactly that. No, what struck me as odd was her skirt, which reached nearly to her knees. I also didn’t understand why she’d be at a bake-off in the first place when she wasn’t participating. From the look of her, she hadn’t eaten a bite in months.
A baby’s cry split the air, and I realized Ariana had been sitting with her friend from the elevator. Madison or something. At least Ariana hadn’t come to see us. If she knew Justin and I were judging, I hoped she wore something under her skirt. I wouldn’t put it past her to pull a Paris Hilton on my boyfriend.
To my surprise, the older woman rose when the contestants were announced, her hands flying through the air with each word from Tammy Rae. Finally, I recognized the young girl as Madison, star of Deaf Teen Mother. The show was about to enter its second season. That explained both why she brought a baby on a cruise and why she ignored me in the elevator. She probably saw me and Ariana talking and didn’t want to interrupt. She couldn’t have known I’d been about to introduce myself. Ariana stayed with the baby, whose name I didn’t know, while Madison joined the competition and introduced herself to the audience.
The guy I didn’t recognize turned out to be Braden, from Season 3 of The Marrying Kind. He’d made history by changing his mind after the final episode, dumping the girl he originally chose and proposing to someone else halfway through the reunion episode. He and his bride, Amanda Something, were scheduled to get married on the air sometime next year. According to Ed, we’d probably all be invited, just to fill the seats with, as he called it, “Reality Royalty.”
Tammy Rae explained the rules: Each contestant had been allowed into the kitchens individually earlier to “shop” for ingredients. Now, they’d get access to a hot plate, a toaster oven, and a microwave. They would get one hour to create a delicious dessert for the three judging teams.
I glanced at Justin when Tammy Rae referred to us as a “judging team” rather than as two separate judges, and he raised an eyebrow at me. The Network’s ploy didn’t really bother me, since they were footing the bill, but I understood his frustration. I nudged his knee with mine under the table, and he kissed my cheek. Someone in the audience “awwed,” and I blushed. More than a year after our show ended, I’d forgotten how it felt to be constantly on display until we arrived onboard.
Tammy Rae further explained that, when she called time, we’d taste each of the final products and judge them, one at a time. Each creation would receive a score on a scale of one to ten, and the entry with the highest overall score won a bottle of champagne from the ship’s gift shop, plus dinner for two at one of the fancy restaurants onboard. Ed smiled when she announced the prize. The reality star cruisers were allowed in those restaurants, but only if we wanted to pay for the dinners, and most of us didn’t. Not when they offered free food all over the ship, including in our cabins via twenty-four-hour room service.
While the contestants measured, stirred, and worked the crowd, Justin pulled me close, his hands moving up and down my sides. His lips tickled the side of my neck, sending chills down my spine, before resting against my ear lobe. “Hmmm. Maybe sharing
a chair wasn’t such a bad idea, after all. Come closer.”
With a happy sigh, I leaned against him, still mostly sitting on my own chair. “It’s too late now. You ruined our chance.”
“I know. I’m dumb. It’s just that the idea of being only half a person bugged me. It’s like we don’t exist as individuals outside of this relationship. I’m no one without you.”
“Without me, you’re still Justin Taylor, loving son, world’s best twin brother, and devastatingly handsome lawyer-to-be.”
“This doesn’t bug you at all? I’d have thought you’d be pissed.”
I shrugged. “Maybe I should be, but this week is just a tiny slice of our life together. It’s not real. When we go home, none of this matters. The Network is trying to add drama to get better ratings. I’m trying not to let them profit at the expense of our relationship.”
“This is why you’re the smart one,” he said.
His words from before came back to me, and I realized what frustrated him. “This isn’t about the chair, right? You’re still worried about your parents? And the bar results?”
He nodded, keeping one eye on Tammy Rae for our cue to pay attention. When he spoke, his voice was low. “I’m trying not to worry, but what if I don’t pass? I’ll have to wait until February to take the test again, and I’ll probably get fired. Mom and Dad are living off their savings and Mom’s disability until Dad’s worker’s comp settlement comes in. How can I help if I lose my income?”
My heart went out to him. He had a lot on his mind. Keeping everything inside must be taking a huge toll on him. An overwhelming rush of love hit me. I moved closer, letting my breasts brush against his bicep as I pressed my lips into his neck. From the way his breath caught, he definitely felt the same jolt of electricity I did at the contact. If we didn’t find some alone time soon, our libidos were going to explode when we finally made it home.
Sweet Reality Page 8
