Sugar and Spice (The Glitter and Sparkle Series Book 3)

by Shari L. Tapscott

  Knowing I’m being obtuse on purpose, he almost smiles. “The one where you admitted you’re in love with me.”

  Well, that was direct. But I’ve never accused the boy of being subtle.

  I stare at him for a full five seconds before I stand, snapping the magazine I was browsing closed. Then I walk past him. “Tell Sadie her chocolate linzer cookies will be fine.”

  He grasps hold of my arm before I’m away. “Harper—”

  “Was in love with you, Brandon,” I snap. “Was.”

  His eyes widen, and his mouth drops open. Taking advantage of his surprise, I pull away from him and walk out the front door.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Harbinger is packed. The actual tryouts will take place in their huge, gleaming commercial kitchen, and there’s enough room and ovens for five teams to work at the same time. Sadie and I are in group three. There are twelve groups and a total of fifty-eight teams. Fifty-eight. And that doesn’t include the teams that auditioned in other parts of the country. There are auditions all day today and tomorrow, and we’ve been here since six this morning.

  According to the light-haired producer from the network who spoke to us while we were all gathered in the ballroom, two teams will be chosen tomorrow evening. With the two each from New York, Florida, Illinois, Texas, and California, there will be twelve teams at the beginning of the actual bake-off.

  Still in the ballroom, Sadie and I wait for our turn in the kitchen. Television crews, both from our local news station and the HBN network, make their way around the room, interviewing contestants and their families. It’s almost amusing to see how people follow them, practically begging for their fifteen minutes of fame.

  The contestants are easy to spot as we’re all wearing white aprons with the HBN logo stitched on the front. Our team number is pinned on my chest like a name tag and reads Group Three, Team Twelve.

  “Group Three, five minutes,” a man says over the intercom. “I repeat, Group Three, this is your five-minute warning.”

  Sadie, who has her multi-toned, blond hair pulled up in the cutest bun you’ll ever see, clasps her hands in front of her chest. Even though it’s a million degrees in the room, she shivers once as if she’s cold.

  “Nervous?” I ask.

  She grins. “Terrified, aren’t you?”

  I shrug.

  “I wish I had your confidence.” She gives me a warm, wavering smile. “I feel like my heart is going to leap from my chest.”

  “Best keep it contained. I’m pretty sure that would be considered a health violation.”

  She blinks at me for a moment, mystified, and then finally grins. “Right. You’re funny, too.”

  Before I can think of an answer for that, Riley rushes through the crowd, practically pushing people aside to get to us. “I just heard! You’re almost up! Are you ready?”

  She’s bouncing like a squirrel in an espresso warehouse, and I knock her hand away when she tries to adjust my hair.

  “What if you see Mason?” she demands, hands falling on her waist.

  I roll my eyes. “He’s not going to be here, Riley.”

  “He was at the Florida auditions—I watched them. Three times.”

  “Where is Linus?” I ask, vaguely remembering that her boyfriend was supposed to fly in this morning. He’s as unflappable as she is high-strung, and we could use him right now.

  She narrows her eyes and gives me a thin smile, knowing exactly why I’m asking. “His flight was delayed. He’ll be here tomorrow.”

  I wrinkle my nose, knowing how eager she is to have him here. Since Linus goes to college in Colorado, she hasn’t seen him since Thanksgiving. “I’m sorry, Riley.”

  Her exuberance fades, and she huffs out a breath. “I know—me too.”

  “Group three to the kitchens,” the man says over the intercom.

  Sadie just about jumps out of her skin. She grabs hold of my arm. “Where’s Brandon? I was hoping he’d get back before we went in.”

  He answered a call from his coach about fifteen minutes ago, and we haven’t seen him since. Standing on her toes, Sadie scans the room as she bites her bottom lip.

  “Go!” Riley shoves us both toward the door, where the other four teams are already heading.

  I shoot Riley a look and turn to Sadie. “Come on, my obnoxious sister is right. If we don’t hurry, they’ll disqualify us before we even start.”

  Sadie nods, obviously disappointed. Riley gives me a quick hug for luck, and then we’re walking toward the tall, dark-haired woman with the clipboard.

  “Sadie,” Brandon says from behind us as he miraculously appears. Quickly, he pulls her into his arms and gives her a tight hug that’s so sweet, I’d melt right here if I weren’t instantly nauseous. “Good luck, sweetheart.”

  She grins and pulls out of his arms. He glances at me as she scurries away. Hesitant, he says, “Good luck, Harper.”

  “Thanks.”

  He looks like he wants to say something else, but he ends up giving me a pained smile and turns back to the crowd.

  I hurry after Sadie. We are the last ones through the door.

  The woman with the clipboard leads us through several short halls, and then we’re in the kitchen. Though we had a chance to walk through it earlier today, the size of the room and the sheer amount of stainless steel is daunting. Sadie and I have been assigned to station two, and we quickly take our places.

  There are even more cameras in here, and bright lights right along with them. I’m not a nervous person by nature, but it’s enough to give even me a little stage fright.

  Of course, the chances of making it on television at this level are slim to none. There are so many of us competing for a spot. Most of the footage from today will probably be scrapped. In fact, I know from watching the show every year that the people who they’ll show on today’s audition episode are the ones who make fools of themselves—the ones who get too zealous with the knives and cut themselves, slip on the floor, or can’t work the mixer. It’s my goal to be as inconspicuous as possible.

  The room goes silent as Tammy, the producer from the network who oversees the whole show, steps to the front. She’s a chef herself, and I’ve seen her so many times on television it’s a little surreal.

  She resembles a ballet instructor more than a pastry chef. Her black hair is pulled back in a tight, sleek chignon, making her seem very intimidating. She looks like the type who carries a ruler about the kitchen, smacking knuckles whenever someone incorrectly whips their egg whites or fails to properly cream their butter.

  “Again, welcome,” she begins. “We are very pleased to have you here. The ingredients you’ve requested are at your workstations. If you should find yourself missing something, please find one of us right away. You have ninety minutes to complete and decorate one dozen cookies, but you should be able to complete the task in half the time. If you cannot, I guarantee you won’t make it far on the show. We have a lot of auditions to get through today and tomorrow, so let’s keep things moving.”

  Sadie nods sagely as Tammy speaks, and a quick glance around the kitchen shows me that most of the contestants are wound as tightly as my partner. A few teams wear professional-looking chef attire under their aprons, and I recognize the woman who owns a local pastry shop.

  “You may begin,” Tammy finally says, and the portable, digital clock they’ve brought with them begins to count down our ninety minutes.

  Because Riley is some freakish taskmaster, Sadie and I have practiced our recipe no less than twelve times. It took nine to get the recipe just right, and then another three to perfect our decorating technique. Without a word, we jump into our tasks. Sadie begins measuring the wet ingredients for the dough while I sift the dry. I’d never used a flour sifter in my life, but on batch number six, we learned that it did a better job of incorporating the cocoa powder. Plus, according to Riley and Lauren, it makes us look extra “culinary.” I roll my eyes just thinking about it.

  “Nice
technique,” a man says from my side.

  Startled because I didn’t hear him walk up, I glance over to tell him to mind his own business and get back to his station. Then I drop the entire flour sifter on the counter. Like a horrid flashback to the other day at Brandon’s house, the mixture of flour and cocoa powder goes everywhere—on me, on our workstation, and on Mason Knight…Mr. Forever Now himself.

  And of course, because they were probably trained on him from the second he walked into the room, the cameras catch the whole thing.

  “Oh my word,” I breathe. And I really hope everyone in the kitchen thinks it’s because of the mess I made and not because my brain just short-circuited.

  I’ll tell you a little something. Mason Knight is attractive on his album covers and on the talk shows, but nothing can prepare you for the man himself. For one, he looks older. Instead of the teenager on the posters in Riley’s room that I associate him with, he’s all grown up. And he’s not “cute” or “hot.” Oh no. He’s full-out, make-your-knees-weak, start-naming-your-future-children handsome.

  And I’ve been reduced to Riley. I blink at him, at a complete loss for words.

  He watches me with a polite smile on his face, apparently used to girls making fools of themselves in his presence. His eyes though…they’re amused. They crinkle at the edges, just like they did in his clothing store ad. And though his dimples aren’t showing yet, I can see them lurking, making me think he’s trying hard to suppress a grin.

  And what do I do? Absolutely nothing but stand here and gawk at him.

  Finally, as if he can’t take it anymore, he leans in close like he wants to say something he doesn’t want the cameras to pick up. Maybe propose marriage. That would be all right.

  “You know,” he whispers in a voice that is sure to melt all the chocolate in the room, “I’ve had fans throw some strange things at me, but I think this is the first time I’ve been pelted with flour.”

  “I’m not a fan.” My mouth forms the words, but not with my brain’s permission. “I’m sorry.”

  His eyebrows shoot up, and his amusement grows. “You’re sorry because you’re not a fan? Or because of the impromptu food fight?”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, we’ll pretend it’s for the flour, and I’ll work on the other part.”

  Slowly, my brain sparks back to life. I cock my head to the side, narrowing my eyes. “And how exactly would you go about that?”

  He gives me a slow smile. “Oh you know—the usual. Write you a song, sing to you on stage. Before you know it, you’ll be holding a handmade poster with my name on it.”

  And dang it, though he looks as earnest and wholesome as apple pie, his eyes give away that he’s teasing. And wouldn’t you just know it, sweet, dry humor is apparently my kryptonite when it comes to cocky musicians.

  “Decorated with hearts and puffy paint,” I say, matching his expression.

  His grin is fast and devastating. “Naturally.”

  Sadie clears her throat. “Um, Harper? We kind of need…”

  With his gray eyes still locked on mine, Mason says, “I’ll let you get back to work.”

  I rip my gaze away from his, nodding, and he ambles away.

  Sadie leans close, her eyes bright. “Oh. Wow.”

  I only manage to nod. Now that it’s over, I feel like an idiot, especially considering the cameras caught it all.

  She nudges me in the side like we’re actually friends and gives me a knowing look. “So…do you want on the show now?”

  And though I frown at her, and though I’ll deny it until I’m blue in the face, I do want on that show. Oh, do I ever.

  Avoiding her knowing eyes, I begin to clean up my mess. “We need to hurry. We’ll never finish if we talk all afternoon.”

  ***

  “Let’s watch it again, shall we?” Riley asks, restarting the awful video. I shake my head, my cheeks hot with embarrassment.

  My entire family—and all of Brandon’s as well—has gathered in our living room to witness Sadie’s and my national television debut. Thankfully, our parents watched once, laughed and cheered, and then wandered into the kitchen to chat, taking my often-obnoxious, twin, eight-year-old brothers with them.

  You’d think Riley would let it go, considering Linus showed up a few hours ago, but she happily perched on the floor, snuggled next to him, and continued her torture.

  Watching it is worse than living it. I come off as a ditzy, wide-eyed groupie.

  At least, appearance wise, I look good. Somehow, I managed to mostly miss myself when I dropped the flour sifter. My hair is perfect, and my makeup is in place. I was afraid the lights would make me look shiny, but thank goodness, I don’t have to deal with that embarrassment on top of everything else.

  The clip ran tonight on HBN’s bake-off coverage, and it’s gone crazy on YouTube. I’m even more popular than the girl who caught her hair on fire while toasting coconut.

  “Oh, here’s a caption for you,” Lauren says from next to me on the couch. She has her computer perched on her lap, and she grins at me before she reads, “More than cookies are baking up on this year’s Christmas Cookie Bake-off. This afternoon, sparks and flour flew between guest judge, musician heartthrob Mason Knight and contestant hopeful Harper Newton. Is love in the air? We don’t know, but we’ll be yuletide cheering them on.”

  Before I can comment on how corny the caption was, Brandon makes a scoffing noise. Lauren catches my eye and raises a brow in question. Sadie, looking slightly uncomfortable, looks at her hands.

  I don’t have time to overthink Brandon’s response because my phone rings again for the billionth time. It’s incredible how a viral video showcasing you stammering over a “musician heartthrob” will have friends and acquaintances crawling from the woodwork.

  This time, I don’t recognize the area code, much less the number. I ignore it and pretend to go through my email.

  “And this is the part where Harper fell in love,” Riley says, muting it so she can narrate—as she’s been doing the whole evening. “And this is when every female in America decided they hate Harper.”

  I can’t help it—I glance at the TV because I know she’s talking about the part when Mason practically whispered in my ear. Butterflies flutter in my stomach at the memory. Living it was intense enough; watching it is almost too much.

  “And this is where Harper started flirting,” Riley continues.

  Growling under my breath, I look back down.

  “And now we’ve come to the end, where Mason smiles wistfully at Harper when he thinks the cameras aren’t on him.”

  I didn’t know about that part until the video debuted. Did it make my jaded, Grinch-like heart a little mushy? Maybe.

  Brandon scoffs under his breath, probably irritated that our families have basically ignored the fact that Sadie was in the camera shot too. Barely in the shot, as the cameras were focused on Mason. And Mason was focused on me.

  Sadie, however, doesn’t seem to mind. She sits with us, happy as can be, sweet smile on her face.

  We did well yesterday. Our cookies turned out as planned despite our rough start. They tasted great, the texture was perfect, and they looked beautiful. As Sadie described them on the mandatory judge’s questionnaire, they’re an old-fashioned favorite with a scrumptious, modern twist.

  Now, all we can do is wait. Unlike on the show, we don’t meet judges at this stage. All the cookies will be tasted, marked, and then the producers will inform two lucky teams that they’re going to the actual bake-off at HBN’s holiday lodge in Colorado.

  Two teams out of fifty-six.

  Sure, our cookies were good. But I’m not holding my breath.

  I’m startled from my thoughts by a text. It’s the same area code as before, but the phone number is different.

  Lauren leans over. “You have the strangest look on your face. Who’s the text from?”

  I angle the screen toward her so she can take a better look.

  �
�Will you think badly of me if I admit I pulled your number from the entry forms?” she reads aloud and then looks up, an incredulous look on her face. “You don’t think it’s…”

  “No.”

  Riley stops the video and looks back at us from over the arm Linus has slung over her shoulder. Her eyes are as wide as an owl’s. “You have to answer it!”

  “Fine.” And though I try my best to appear calm and collected, my skin is humming with delightful anticipation. What if it is Mason?

  And why do I care? Good grief—I spoke with him for thirty seconds.

  I ask who the anonymous texter is, and then I set my phone in my lap like I don’t even care if Mason—or whoever the person is—answers.

  Twenty long, agonizing seconds later, my phone chimes again.

  The man whose poster you’re surely decorating at this very moment.

  Oh. My. Word. No one else heard us, and I haven’t told a soul. Those words were between us alone. It is Mason.

  But no.

  No.

  “Well?” Riley demands.

  All I can manage is a blank stare. My mouth works, but I don’t seem to be talking.

  “It’s him!” Riley squeals, jumping up and dragging Linus with her.

  She jumps up and down with her arms wrapped around his waist, and he laughs. With a brow raised, he asks, “Should I be worried?”

  She grins and leans in close, whispering something in his ear. He turns bright red and glances at us to see if we heard. When he realizes he’s in the clear, he whispers something back, and she laughs, hugging him.

  I look away and turn my phone over and over in my hands. They’re so happy.

  Jealousy—it’s a nasty creature.

  “Aren’t you going to answer it?” Riley demands.

  “And say what?”

  She growls—actually growls—and snatches my phone away from me. “It needs to be something flirty—”

  “But not desperate,” Lauren interrupts.

  Riley nods, and her thumbs fly over the screen. Before she can send the message, Brandon pulls the phone from her hands. Smiling, but somehow not, he gives my sister a stern look. “He messaged Harper. You don’t even know if she wants to respond.”