She thumbed a quick text to Rachel, asking for prayer for God’s favor. She sort of had the feeling she’d need it today.
The set was exactly the same as they’d left it yesterday. Except this morning a dark expectancy hung over the air that hadn’t been there before. The remaining teams seemed almost gloomy, a feeling as thick and heavy as the fog that hovered over the studio and frizzed Kat’s hair until she finally white-flagged the entire mess into a ponytail.
She waited on the set near her workstation, wishing she could just get the assignment for the day’s baking already and get on with it. Her hands itched to hold a wooden spoon, her arms ached to stir icing and pound dough and cut fondant. She needed a project. Needed to be busy.
Needed to channel everything stirring in her heart into a creation, into something edible and desirable, into an inverse version of how she felt. She shifted her weight, grateful for her sneakers already that morning, and bounced anxiously on her toes with the knot of her flour-streaked apron pulling taut against her back. She wiped them down each night after taping, but somehow, the flour always came right back. Across the room, Piper and Amanda whispered furtively with furrowed brows, while Tonya and Tameka paced their cooking station and talked in hushed tones. Chops and Michelle drummed their fingers on the countertops and murmured, their black-and-white handkerchiefs tied low on their biker foreheads.
Even Lucas seemed on edge, performing push-ups off the side of the counter. Yet she couldn’t be sure if it was the unresolved tension between them or the text he’d read in the taxi that had elicited a heavy huff and a long pause before he finally responded to it.
Lucas, not wanting to talk? Shocker.
She held back the sigh begging for release. The sarcasm wasn’t fair—even internally—but this was getting ridiculous. If he would just tell her how he felt, she could feel secure enough to do the same. Hadn’t she sort of laid it all out there in kissing him in the first place? The least he could do was step up now and show some masculinity.
She darted a glance in his direction, at his five o’clock shadow that just wouldn’t shave away, at the way his muscles corded in his arms with each push-up, the way his dark hair fell over his forehead with every rotation.
Even in a stinkin’ apron, the man broadcasted more masculinity than an old-fashioned Marlboro ad.
That was definitely not the problem.
No, if she thought about it long enough, the problem actually resided in the fact that she wanted Lucas to do what she herself lacked the courage to do.
She still wasn’t as strong as she wanted to be. Meant to be.
Needed to be.
And that was the most maddening part of all.
How could one man complete her and destroy her all at once?
“Bakers ready!” Sam clapped his hands as he approached the set, all gloss and shine and fake tan. “Let’s do this.”
Yes, by all means, let’s. She avoided Lucas’s eyes as he straightened from his impromptu workout and adjusted his apron. This one baker was most certainly ready. Ready to bake. Ready to win.
And ready to run.
seventeen
He might never appreciate the scent of vanilla again.
The smell of raw eggs made his throat close.
And if he had to dig flour out from under his fingernails one more time, he might run screaming onto a football field like a bat out of—
“Lucas! Did you hear me?”
Kat’s frantic cry interrupted his mental train wreck of complaints. No, he hadn’t heard her, because the set was alive with panic. It was nearly a tangible pulse at this point. And the tension between him and Kat wasn’t helping his nerves, already shot from keeping a wary eye on Piper and trying to turn a deaf ear to Tameka’s louder-than-our-inside-voice protests to her sister.
“The cupcakes. Did you turn them?”
No. He’d almost forgotten. Scratch that, he had forgotten. Like a robot on auto-command, he quickly turned an about-face and rushed to the ovens. Because of the cheesecake cream center, this particular creation of Kat’s needed to be rotated halfway through the baking time to cook evenly. Something apricot and pear and cinnamon—autumn in a cupcake, according to Kat.
At this point, he was almost ready to miss vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate.
He’d always been her biggest fan, but the stress was getting to him, making him miss the time when Kat wasn’t so focused on her career and had more time for him. Needed him. Needed his compliments and support as much as she needed her paycheck. Maybe more so.
Despite the chaos, Kat was blossoming under the set lights, and it stung a little more than he’d anticipated. Well, no, he hadn’t anticipated it, to be honest. She was surprising him, and he was two parts proud to one part disappointed.
Great, now he was even thinking in cooking measurements.
He had to get out of this kitchen.
He remembered an oven mitt seconds before he grabbed the scorching hot trays and shoved the cakes back into the oven after a half-turn. Leave it to the show to make this round the “love is war” round—with the scoring focused mostly on creativity. Kat was busy cutting tiny cannons out of gray fondant, her collection of black fondant bombs with yellow hard-candy fuses already spread across the decorating table.
Talk about timing—and weapons of mass destruction. Things were still up in the air between them, after the kiss and the lack of discussing it. And on top of that, Tony had let him know the other buyer had countered once more. If Lucas’s most recent offer wasn’t accepted, he was going to lose his land. His plan.
His dream.
The thought of those ten acres belonging to someone else made his chest tight—sort of like the way he lost oxygen every time Thad’s pinstriped-suited-self looked at Kat longer than necessary. There was something inappropriate about that man’s attention, but at this point, he had no idea if Kat noticed or if he was possibly blowing the entire thing out of proportion because of his own inner chaos.
At this stage of the game, anything was possible.
He shucked the oven mitt and tossed it on the counter, turning to punch in a few minutes longer on the oven timer. They’d be ready in about seven minutes, but would the icing? And the decorations?
Did he even care anymore?
What was he doing?
He just wanted to go home. Back to the football field, back to his boys, and back to Bayou Bend, where he could at least feel like he had some control over what was happening to his desired property. He’d lost home-field advantage by traipsing off across the country, and his competitor probably knew that. Whoever he or she was.
Kat was making him crazy. Turning him into some sort of dough-speckled sous chef.
This wasn’t him.
What if it was her?
What if he just let the cupcakes burn?
The thought snuck in like a cornerback blitz, and he jerked, tried to shake it off. Too late. The idea might have blindsided him, but it was in his sights now.
Kat was busy; she’d never notice his mission. She’d never assume he let it happen on purpose—it would look like an honest mistake.
Except it wouldn’t be.
Still, one slight misdemeanor for the greater good? He didn’t belong here, and if he didn’t, then Kat didn’t. Because they belonged together. Not in LA. Not in New York.
In Bayou Bend.
Kat wouldn’t really be happy in New York, anyway, away from everything she knew, away from him. Sure, it’d be a break from her family and their drama, but that would follow her long distance. No one could fully escape blood.
Unless they died.
And even then the ghosts lingered as memories, as potential regrets and what-ifs that were more haunting than any creaky door or flickering light. What if he’d failed his mother as a son? What if he’d not done enough to take care of her over the years? What if he’d let her down?
The doubts could hang around for days, if he let them.
But no, this
wasn’t about his mom. Not anymore. This was about him and Kat.
And about him making the right choice.
He glanced at the cupcakes, then away, their gooey edges teasing him from inside the tiny window.
Could he do it? A few jabs of a few buttons on the oven and this whole ordeal could be over. Done. They could get through the elimination, he could dry Kat’s tears, and they could go back home. She’d get over the loss quickly enough, once he told her about his plans for their ten acres, his plans for her heart.
His heart rate quickened as the roots dug deeper and began to sprout. Didn’t Kat always tell him that he knew her better than she knew herself? And didn’t she trust him to make good decisions for her? That’s what he was doing here.
The excuses sounded petty, even in his own head, but he couldn’t stop the drumming of his pulse, the adrenaline coaxing him to the dark side. Not that dark, though. He wasn’t cheating—it was his own team. What Piper had tried was inexcusable, but was self-sabotage still considered poor sportsmanship?
His head stuttered off an immediate answer, but he shook it back. The kitchen and the football field were two totally different elements. You couldn’t compare them. Besides, this wasn’t about cupcakes or a competition anymore. This was about his future—and Kat’s. What was more important? Clearly, the bigger picture.
He inched toward the oven, which was counting down the seconds, and glanced over his shoulder at Kat.
Flour smudged on her cheeks, food dye staining her fingers, and hair tousled in a haphazard ponytail, she darted around the work counter like a bee around a hive. Focused. Determined. And graceful as always. His heart twitched. What was he doing here, he had wondered earlier? Easy. He was helping her. Like he’d done for years.
Like he’d always do.
Regardless of the cost.
Even the cost of losing her.
What had he almost done?
He darted away from the oven like he’d already been busted, guilt a heavy-handed companion. That had been close. Too close. At least Kat would never know the level to which he’d almost stooped. He disgusted himself.
And yet . . . resignation weighed like a tackling dummy on his back. Sabotaging the round wasn’t the answer. But helping her all the way to New York for a year didn’t feel any better. Talk about a no-win situation.
The timer ticked down the minutes, as did the clock on the wall ushering the contestants to the end of the round. Kat looked up, panic in her eyes, and then her gaze collided with his. Help, she mouthed.
He stood frozen a moment longer than he meant to, unable to convince his body to betray his heart. Then he took a deep breath and hurried to her side. “I’m here.”
Where he belonged.
No matter what.
Someone had set the clock on the wall to fast-forward, she was sure of it. Kat tried to ignore the numbers ticking away and focus on her decorations. Replays of the last round and Piper’s sneaky attempt—and near success—to eliminate her paraded in her mind, destroying her concentration. She gripped the icing bag tighter in her sweaty hands as she finally scooped the rest of the buttercream inside. She was ready to ice, just as soon as Lucas got the cupcakes out of the oven.
Which should have been several minutes ago. Where were they?
She scanned their workstation, but all she could see was Lucas, busy finishing up the white fondant angel wings they would pair with a set of crossed pistols for the cheesecake cupcakes. The effect would hopefully be enough to impress the judges. It wasn’t easy trying to make a war theme attractive. What was edible and fun about weapons?
And speaking of war . . . this had been the hardest round yet, maybe because the entire set seemed on edge. They were nearing the finish line, and this round mattered. There was only one more before the final event. Everyone knew it, and the niceties seemed to be over. Everyone was looking out for number one now, even Tameka and Tonya, who had so far been the most encouraging contestants on the set. It was an inevitable shift, but the atmosphere had plummeted all the same.
Where were her cupcakes?
She smelled them at the same time Lucas’s head jerked up from his workstation. A sugared pair of wings slipped from his fingers as his eyes widened. “Oh, no.”
Her nose told her the truth before her eyes confirmed it. She wrenched open the oven door and a thin stream of smoke seeped from the edges. Her should-be-golden-brown cupcakes were the color of charcoal.
Her apricot, pear, and cinnamon cheesecake cupcakes, the only recipe she’d been completely confident in this entire round—burned to a literal crisp.
She grabbed a mitt and yanked them out, despair and anger fighting their own war in her thoughts. She dropped the hot tray on her workstation and crossed her arms, the warmth from the mitt seeping through her apron and heating her skin. But she was already flushed. “How did this happen?”
The room stilled, even the judges hushing as they shifted on their stools to watch the unfolding drama. Somewhere in the back of her mind, her conscience urged her to reel it in, to take a step back. It wasn’t Lucas’s fault. But he’d been the last one at the oven. The last one to touch the cupcakes or mess with the timer at all. He wouldn’t have burned them on purpose. She knew better than that. But still—she had burned cupcakes, a ticking clock, and a tightening chest.
Something had happened, and she wanted to know what. Before she had a complete meltdown on national television.
Lucas stared at her, unmoving, like a deer in front of an oncoming eighteen-wheeler. “I set the timer. For seven minutes.” He blinked rapidly, his eyes darting from her to the ruined cupcakes as if he couldn’t register what they were. “I never even heard it go off.”
“It didn’t.” Tonya piped up from her workstation. Her sister nudged her in the side, but she shrugged. “I’m just saying, I didn’t hear it either. Those alarms drive me batty, and there hasn’t been one to go off now in a good ten minutes or so.”
Lucas’s face waxed pale, and Kat frowned. Why did he look relieved? Had he felt responsible after all? Though she had given him the evil eye . . .
“The last cupcakes out of the oven before yours were Piper and Amanda’s.” Tameka pointed to the friend duo across the room, who were icing their cupcakes as if they couldn’t care less what had happened to Kat’s. Well, they probably didn’t. Not surprising. Still, it was like pulling your car over on the side of the road when a funeral procession drove by. Basic show of respect by acknowledging someone’s pain.
And this one hurt.
But there wasn’t time for that. Not yet. She could wallow later.
And wallow she would. First, though, she had a batch of cupcakes to remake.
She pulled off the oven mitt and began gathering her ingredients for another batch. Slowly, the remaining contestants around her began slipping back into work mode, too, and she tuned out the bustle. Let’s see, she’d have to skip the cheesecake element, but maybe she could add something special to the icing to give it an edge—if they would bake in time. She glanced at the clock and wished she hadn’t. Panic clenched her stomach in a vise and she drew a deep breath to counter the squeeze. She could do this.
Somehow.
She glanced up at Lucas for support, but he remained stock-still beside the end of the workstation. “Are you okay?” As in, move. Do something. Help. Not just stand there like a guilty—
Wait a minute.
“Me? Why wouldn’t I be? I mean, why would I be?” Lucas cracked his neck, the resounding pops making her stomach cringe. He slid the dry ingredients across the counter to her, and she began measuring them into a mixing bowl. The steadiness of her hands surprised her—but not as much as the shakiness in Lucas’s voice. How had their roles just reversed?
“This is bad, Kat. Really bad.”
So much for his words of encouragement like after Piper’s sabotage. Apparently there would be no pep rally this time. It was up to her to fix it.
And he was talking like a parrot.
Short and choppy and higher pitched than usual.
She spoke slowly, to defuse his crazy, her thoughts racing wild at the reversal of their usual roles. This didn’t feel good. “You can relax, Lucas. I’m not saying I blame you for this.”
“Of course you don’t. Why would you?” His voice cracked, and he gripped the edges of the counter with both hands, accidentally tugging on the wax paper that held their fondant cannons. He caught the lot of them just in time and slid the paper back to a safer place on the table. Her heart skipped and she glared at him, the relief of the near miss only skimming off the top of all she felt ready to boil over.
“Because you were the last person to mess with the oven.” Her accusing tone didn’t make sense with her declaration of his innocence, but she couldn’t stop the onslaught of emotion. “I should be blaming you.”
He hesitated, confusion highlighting his features. “But you’re not?”
She couldn’t fully determine if it was a question or a statement. “I don’t know yet. You’re being weird.” And useless. “Hand me the sugar.” Oops. “Please.”
She was slipping, forgetting her manners, being rude, turning into That Girl on the show she swore she wouldn’t be. How did any of the contestants handle this kind of stress with grace on the air? Or was it all the magic of editing?
Who knew how she’d appear once the show actually aired.
“You can at least line the pan again with muffin cups.” The words snapped off her lips, harsher than she intended, but they spurred Lucas out of his frozen state and into action.
She didn’t like herself much at the moment, but what she didn’t like even more was how she felt, and how much of that was Lucas’s fault. That dang kiss still hung over them, like dangling mistletoe that wouldn’t go away, and even when upset with him over something this crucial, she wanted to kiss him again. Fall into his arms and hear his reassurance that somehow she’d pull this off.
He’d encouraged her after Piper’s sabotage attempt. Why wasn’t he doing that now? Speaking life and truth over her instead of adding to her stress and chaos?
All’s Fair In Love and Cupcakes Page 15
