A Teaspoon of Trouble

by Shirley Jump

  He slowed the blade, then dropped a measuring cupful of chocolate chips into the batter. “Is that it?”

  “White chocolate chips, too. They help balance the flavors.”

  He glanced at the amount on the recipe, then added half as many white chocolate chips as he had chocolate. The mixer struggled with the thick batter, so he turned it off. “Done. Right?”

  “Awesome,” Carolyn said when he had finished adding both kinds of chips. “Now we just drop them on the cookie sheets and let them bake. Remember, try to keep all the cookies close to the same size so they bake evenly. Don’t feel like you need to rush on the day of competition. This test run went perfect and we’re doing great on time.”

  He pulled two cookie sheets off the shelf, then a tablespoon from the drawer. He dropped even lumps of dough onto the cookie sheets.

  “Wait, before you put them in the oven, I forgot the secret ingredient,” she said, handing him a container of sea salt. “Last thing to add.”

  The thought disappointed him. Once he was done mixing, she’d be done helping. And despite everything, he really enjoyed having her right next to him. A part of him could imagine them making dinner together, or whipping up pancakes on a Sunday morning.

  “Just sprinkle it lightly on the cookies,” Carolyn said. “The salt brings out the flavors and is the perfect finishing touch.”

  He made the motions, doing what she had said, but his mind kept returning to picturing a future that wasn’t going to happen. She was leaving in a few days. And this little interlude would be over.

  “Okay, great job. Now just pop them in the oven and in a few minutes, we’ll have competition-worthy cookies.” She shot him a smile. “Roscoe’s behaving better; your cookies are going to be amazing. Success all around.”

  But when she left his house a few minutes later, Matt didn’t think of success. His kitchen carried the scents of chocolate and vanilla, but he had soured on the taste of the sweet desserts.

  Chapter Ten

  For the second time since Carolyn arrived back in town, Matt woke up nervous. Not because he was going to be on a stage baking today—without Carolyn as a crutch—but because he knew this was pretty much it. Once the Bake-Off was over, there was only a matter of hours before Carolyn left town again.

  He was an idiot, doomed to repeat history. He hadn’t talked to her since the mini baking lesson on Wednesday afternoon, though she had replied to some of his text messages. Her tone always business-like and devoid of the flirtiness he’d seen in his kitchen. Clearly, she was putting distance between them before she put actual miles in that space. He’d pushed her again, pushed her into staying here—and what had she done?

  Left again. Left the restaurant, and maybe even left town. He’d asked her last night if she was going to be at the Bake-Off and she hadn’t answered him.

  Matt sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, a copy of the recipe he was baking today, and a long list of regrets. Harley plopped down beside his master. Matt gave the Lab a good ear rub. “I should learn to just stick to dogs,” he said.

  Harley woofed. Matt wasn’t sure if that was in agreement or not. He decided not to choose.

  He did some paperwork for the rest of the morning, then gathered up the few supplies Carolyn had left on his list and headed for the high school. Week One of the Bake-Off was being held at the high school, with subsequent weeks at other destinations in town, like the old Graff Hotel.

  And the worst part? Matt had signed on for all three weeks of the competition, which meant he was going to have to learn to bake a pie and a cake. Why he’d let himself get talked into this thing…

  But he knew why. Because Harry deserved to be remembered. To have an impact on the town he loved so much. When the renovations were done and Harry’s House opened, any discomfort Matt felt baking in front of a crowd would be a forgotten memory.

  And would the time they spent together be a forgotten memory for Carolyn, too?

  Not a productive thought. He parked in the back of the high school, grabbed the bin of supplies from the back seat, then headed inside, through the rear of the building. He sent a nod toward the other guys settling in at their baking stations. They all looked more than a little clueless.

  The cafeteria was filled with booths and a handful of early spectators. Signs advertising the silent auction were being hung around the room by an army of volunteers, while others set up chairs for the audience. From the looks of things, this kickoff event was going to be well attended.

  Matt almost turned around and left. He hadn’t thought about all the people watching him cook. People he knew. People he worked with. People who brought their pets to his practice. He saw his assistant Sheryl come in and send him a little thumbs-up. He gave her a smile of confidence he didn’t feel.

  Matt selected the first open countertop. The other men were already starting to set up, most of them looking as bewildered as he felt. He sent a nod at Tyler Carter, Avery Wainwright, new guy in town Zac Malone, sometime resident Wes St. Claire and local attorney Jake Price, along with Warren Hunt and Daniel Brer. They all seemed about as comfortable in a kitchen as Matt. Good to know he wasn’t alone in his abject fear of burning down the high school in the name of charity work.

  Matt pulled the recipe out of the box first. He’d brought home a plastic sleeve from work yesterday and set the recipe inside the clear protector, because knowing him, he’d end up with dough on the paper and not be able to read the directions. Then he hefted Carolyn’s mixer out of the box, followed by the ingredients for the cookies—including the dry ingredients he had sifted last night. A task he still thought to be a total waste of time, but considering Carolyn had a degree in culinary arts, and he didn’t, he was going to defer to her judgment.

  The clock ticked closer to four. He saw Sheryl across the room, helping Sage Carrigan set up a display of chocolates to sell. Next week, Sheryl would bring a basket she’d assembled for the Chinese auction, a selection of dog and cat toys and treats sponsored by his office, but this week, the fundraising came from auctioning off the winning creations and whatever the local merchants raised at their miniature shopping booths. No pressure, Matt thought. Sheryl gave him another wave of confidence. He swallowed his nerves, and placed his hands on the countertop. He could do this.

  Probably.

  A part of him, though, was disappointed. He’d really thought Carolyn would be here. She’d promised, after all, and he’d been so sure she would keep that promise. Had she left town? Gone back to New York already?

  The back door to the cafeteria opened and Carolyn rushed in. Relief washed over Matt, and a goofy grin spread across his face at the sight of her. Her face was flushed, her hair a little mussed but she still looked as beautiful as ever. Emma was right beside her, hurrying to keep up with her aunt.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be late, but Emma didn’t want to eat her snack—”

  “I did so, Aunt Carolyn. And Roscoe did too. But you wouldn’t let me share my snack.” Emma parked her fists on her hips and raised her chin. Her blond curls bounced on her shoulders.

  Carolyn waved at Emma, in a see what I mean gesture. She turned to her niece. “Roscoe can’t eat people food. It’s not good for him.”

  “That’s right,” Matt said, crossing the room to them and trying not to show his joy that Carolyn had arrived at last. Good Lord, he was turning into a romantic fool. This was a bake-off, not a sign that Carolyn still cared about him. He bent down to Emma’s level. “People food can make Roscoe sick. That’s why dogs get their own special food.”

  Emma lowered her gaze. “Okay.”

  “How about, when we are all done here, I can give your aunt a recipe for some doggie cookies you can make?” Matt said. “They’re just for doggies, not for little girls.”

  Emma laughed. “I don’t eat doggie cookies.”

  “And doggies shouldn’t eat little girl cookies. Okay?” When Emma nodded, Matt tapped her nose. He liked
Emma a lot. She was a sweet girl, with good intentions, and an affable manner. He could see a lot of both Sandy and Carolyn in Emma—she had her mother’s friendliness and her aunt’s determination. “You’re a great dog owner, Emma. Roscoe’s really lucky to have you.”

  “T’ank you. I love him. He’s my puppy.”

  In the little girl’s eyes, Matt could see how much the dog meant to her. For Emma, Roscoe wasn’t just a pet. He was a tie to a past that was irrevocably gone. He was the one thing that straddled her old world, with a mom and dad and a house in Wyoming, and her new world with her aunt. A world that would very soon be housed in the busy concrete of New York City.

  A reminder Matt needed to keep uppermost in his head, especially when he looked at Carolyn and his memories drifted back to kissing her. Holding her.

  Wanting her.

  Carolyn bent down and took Emma’s hand. “Come on, Em. You need to go sit with Grandma while I talk to Matt. I’ll be there in a second.”

  Emma glanced up at her aunt. “Can I have one? Cuz they’re people cookies, not doggie cookies.”

  Carolyn grinned and ruffled Emma’s hair. “He’s not supposed to, but I bet you can persuade Matt to save you one. Okay?”

  Matt nodded. “I’ll definitely save you one. But you have to be good and quiet while we’re baking.”

  Emma beamed. “Okay. I’m gonna be real good.”

  Carolyn gestured toward her mother, who had taken a seat on the right-hand side of the cafeteria. Emma scampered off, and climbed onto the seat beside her grandmother. She soon began chatting with Marilyn about making cookies for her dog.

  “Is your dad coming too?” Matt asked. “Looks like your mom saved another seat.”

  Carolyn sighed. “That’s because my mom is an optimist. No, my dad won’t be here. He barely even comes out of his workshop these days.”

  Before Matt could press her, Carolyn straightened and plastered a bright smile on her face. “Are you all finished setting up? Once the bell goes off, that hour to bake is going to go by in a flash.”

  Back to all business. The window of emotion had closed and Carolyn had shifted gears. Already, he could feel the distance between them, as if she was halfway down the road back to the East Coast. He should just accept that and move on. Forget her.

  But when she turned and he caught a whisper of the dark floral notes of her perfume, a scent he would always associate with her, his brain stuttered and his pulse hurried. And all his perfect resolutions disappeared.

  “Yes, I’m ready. Thank you for being here,” he said, leaning in close and lowering his voice. He watched the pulse tick in her throat and tamped down the urge to kiss her. “Part of me thought you weren’t going to show up.”

  “I wasn’t going to let you down, Matt.”

  He realized then that he had been judging her by the people they had been in the past, the immature decisions they had made at eighteen. This Carolyn was stronger, more confident. And this Carolyn had kept her promise. “I appreciate that.”

  She propped a fist on her hip and arched a brow. “You thought I was halfway to New York, didn’t you?”

  He gave her a please-forgive-me grin. “Is this where I’m not supposed to say past history predicts the present?”

  “A smart man wouldn’t.” She smiled at him, too, a shared connection that said both of them were remembering that moment in the high school parking lot, and for a second, his chest felt lighter.

  Jane McCullough bustled over. The slim brunette was a powerhouse of energy, and brought a high level of enthusiasm whenever she helped out with special projects. She’d been a great addition to the Chamber of Commerce before she married Sam McCullough and left to raise their twins. “Are you about ready?” Jane asked. “We’re getting started soon.”

  Matt glanced at Carolyn, his coach, his friend, his…nothing more than that. “Am I ready?”

  She held his gaze for a long moment. “I think you are, Matt.”

  But he really didn’t want to ask about the baking. What he truly wondered was whether Carolyn was ready for whatever might happen after he was done on this stage. Ready to see where this still-existent attraction between them went. He didn’t ask those questions—

  Because he wasn’t so sure he wanted to hear the answers.

  He slipped into place behind the stainless steel counter. Jane hurried back over and handed Matt a black apron. “Don’t forget your apron!”

  Big pink letters said Bachelor Bake-Off across the front. He could see the media at the back of the room, snapping pictures. Matt groaned. “Really?”

  Carolyn leaned close to him. “Wouldn’t want you getting flour all over that nice shirt and tie. Especially since you’re looking especially handsome today.”

  He arched a brow. Had she just complimented him? And what had happened to her attitude last night, when he’d thought things were over? Had something changed in Carolyn’s heart?

  He pushed that thought from his mind. Her heart might have changed, but in another day, geographically, she was going to be a world away. Her life in New York was diametrically opposed to his quiet, small-town life here. As much as he wanted to make a long-distance relationship with Carolyn work, he knew better. Their worlds were hundreds and hundreds of miles apart.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Good luck.” She shot him another smile, then headed off the stage and over to her seat.

  He slipped on the apron, gave a nearby photographer a grin, then posed for a few group shots with the other bachelors. Then he returned to his station and gave everything a double check.

  Jane went to the front of the room and introduced Jodie Monroe, Harry’s mom. Jodie took the stage, and delivered an emotional welcome that talked about her son, all he had done for this town, and how much seeing this would have meant to him. The entire room was a little choked up, and took a moment of silence before Jodie cleared her throat, and started explaining the rules of the Bake-Off.

  Each bachelor was creating a signature cookie dish this week, followed by pies and cakes on the following weekends. The desserts would be auctioned off to earn extra money for Harry’s House and points would be awarded to each bachelor on taste, presentation, and creativity, with winners announced at each event. Today’s winner received a whole lot of free promotion, something any small business could always use—a free 1/4-page ad in The Courier for ten weeks, the winner’s company name as a sponsor on the Chamber website for a year, as well as the company name printed on a banner across Main Street for the Marietta Stroll and the Rodeo.

  The one prize Matt most wanted, though, was the sponsor brick outside Harry’s House. Even if he didn’t win, he intended to buy one of those. Anything he could do to support the cause was top of his list. Jodie introduced the panel of judges—pastry chef Ryan Henderson, fire chief Langdon Hale, as well as Sage Carrigan and Rachel Vaughn. While Jodie did the introductions, Matt shuffled the ingredients around until they were in order of usage. He scanned the recipe and for a second, panicked, sure he was going to screw this up.

  Then he caught Carolyn’s eye. She nodded, as if to say, I’m right here, and you’ve got this in the bag.

  A simple smile from her and the room disappeared and all he could think about was taking her in his arms, hoisting her onto this counter—

  He reined his thoughts in. He was liable to burn his hand off if he kept on letting his mind derail like that.

  “Okay, bachelors, start your cookies!” Jodie rang a little bell, then stepped to the side and waved at the kitchen with a flourish.

  Beside him, personal trainer Tyler Carter had that deer in headlights look, all panic and uncertainty. From the looks of what was on his counter, he was baking simple chocolate chip cookies. Of course, Matt had no room to talk. A week ago he couldn’t have baked a batch of cookies if his life depended on it.

  The other guys looked just as nervous. There was silence for a few moments, as each of the men tried to figure out what to do. A hum of conversati
on started up in the audience, punctuated by the snap of the cameras watching their every move. Those damned nerves ramped up in Matt again.

  He moved on autopilot, repeating everything from Wednesday, except without the beautiful assistant beside him. He preheated the oven, mixed the wet ingredients, then chopped the nuts and stirred the dry ingredients together.

  Down the line, he saw the other guys doing the same. A couple of them were still struggling with mixing the dough, which kept the crowd murmuring about time and burned cookies. He could feel the pressure of people watching him, the unfamiliarity of being so far outside his comfort zone, he might as well have been on the moon.

  Matt swiveled his attention back to Carolyn. She gave him a soft, private smile, and in an instant, his nerves calmed and the rest of the room dropped away. He returned her smile, then refocused on the cookie dough, dropping more or less equal-sized lumps of dough onto the sheets.

  He started toward the oven, then heard Carolyn’s voice in his head. Don’t forget the secret ingredient.

  He detoured back to the counter, added the sprinkling of sea salt, then slid his cookies into the oven. With time to spare.

  He busied himself with cleaning his kitchen space and watching the other bachelors finish their cookies. Ten minutes later, he checked the cookies, decided they needed another minute—he was really getting pretty good at this—then pulled them out again after the time had passed. They slid off the baking sheet and onto the cooling racks easily. He set them on plates for the judges, then stepped back.

  Jodie said something about the bachelors doing a great job. There was a round of applause, then the finished treats were collected for judging. Just like that, the whole baking part was over. Relief flooded Matt. Two more weeks of this craziness. Two more recipes he’d have to make without Carolyn’s help.

  As if he’d conjured her up by thinking about her, Carolyn rose and entered his kitchen space. “Hey, great job. The cookies looked and smelled fantastic.”