All’s Fair In Love and Cupcakes

by Betsy St. Amant

  “Doesn’t it?” His eyes narrowed, and she never realized how gray they were up close. Probably because she’d never been this close to Thad before, and shouldn’t be. Was this even allowed, her talking to a judge during the show, before the results were announced? It seemed . . . shady.

  Maybe Lucas had a point.

  Man, she didn’t want that to be true. But Thad was definitely pushing the boundaries of what was appropriate here.

  Especially now that he’d taken another step closer to her.

  “I really don’t know what you mean.” She edged toward the door, wondering how to make an escape that wouldn’t leave them both feeling awkward. He was still a judge, after all—and the owner of the shop where she was hoping to bake for the next year. She needed to keep a level of professionalism between them even if he’d forgotten that. Surely he wasn’t coming on to her—just enjoying his spontaneous smoke break company, attempting to encourage her, give her a compliment.

  Stella would know what to do. This was practically her life.

  “I think you know exactly what I mean.” He exhaled another puff of smoke, and then brushed the back of his hand down her arm. His knuckles grazing her bare forearm sent a shiver down her spine.

  But not the pleasant kind.

  “Don’t make me spell it out, Kat.” He grinned, then flicked his cigarette on the ground at their feet. “I was always better at math.”

  She crossed her arms, effectively moving her arm from his touch even as her head raced to catch up to his implications. She sidestepped toward the door, stomach fluttering with indecision. Run for it and embarrass them both? Play dumb? Call him out on his misbehavior? “You’re a judge.”

  “Exactly, Ms. Contestant. And the owner of Bloom.” He tugged at a strand of her hair, and then brushed her cheek with his hand as he moved another inch closer. “Sure wouldn’t mind baking with you every day.” Now he had her against the brick wall, not blocking her movements, but too close for comfort.

  Way too close. His eyes were darkened with subtext, and his hand—now he was trailing it back down her arm, tugging at her fingers, pulling her toward him. “Could make that happen, you know. Real easy.”

  Was he actually propositioning her in exchange for a win?

  Indecision over, she shoved Thad away from her with both hands on his shoulders. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” Her heart thudded heavily in her chest, and she blindly reached for the doorknob, unwilling to turn her back on him to leave.

  He pulled another cigarette from his pocket, eyes hard and cold as he lit it. “I don’t have a clue what you mean.”

  So it was going to be like that. Figured. “Then we’re in agreement.” She wrenched open the door and stalked inside, kicking the small wooden prop out of the way and letting it click shut behind her in pointed exclamation.

  She’d barely looked up before barreling straight into Piper.

  “Watch it.” Kat bounced off the girl, surprised at the aggression in her own tone, then even more surprised at Piper’s lack of catty response.

  The younger contestant simply backed up a step and raised both hands in the air in innocence. “Oh, I’m watching.” She grinned, which didn’t exactly make sense, but Kat didn’t have time for childish mind games. Piper wouldn’t psych her out this close to the judges’ announcement. She was too late—Kat had enough on her mind already. She could handle that task herself.

  She clenched her hands against her chest as she hurried to the lounge, her thoughts replaying the unlikely events of the last ten minutes, hating that she hadn’t done or said more sooner. Hating that she might have just ruined her chances of proceeding to the final round.

  And hating most of all that Lucas had been so very, very right.

  twenty-two

  Don’t judge a book by its cover . . .” Lucas’s voice trailed off as he held the taxi door open for Kat. “But I thought we both could use a taste of home.” He pointed to the lettered sign above the restaurant.

  She slid carefully out of the cab, careful not to wrinkle her black dress, and joined him on the sidewalk, her gaze finding the tired words scrawled in cursive against weathered wood. “The Gumbo Bowl.” She snorted. Then bit back a snicker, then let loose with a full laugh. “That actually sounds fabulous.”

  “Figured we could use a change.” Lucas smiled down at her, the blue of his dress shirt doing dangerous things to his eyes, and offered his arm. She hesitated, then curled her hand around his bicep as she’d done a thousand times in Louisiana. Tonight would be perfect, if only because they’d already agreed to avoid any controversial, argumentative discussions. If that meant they discussed nothing but the weather and the new shoes she’d bought with Rachel to go with this new dress, it’d still be just fine.

  Because they were together, they were going to the final round of Cupcake Combat, and in a few days, this entire nightmare of a dream would be over.

  And now, there would be gumbo.

  The outside of the restaurant had seen better days, likely due to the proximity to the ocean winds coming off the Pacific, but the inside showed creativity and promise. They ducked inside the dimly lit lobby and made their way to the hostess stand, which held a tea light candle that barely illuminated a stuffed crawfish perched atop the seating chart. Mardi Gras masks and beads hung from the wall above the stand, along with a bulletin board that boasted scenic postcards from Baton Rouge, New Orleans, and Shreveport.

  It wasn’t Bayou Bend, but it was as close as they were going to get in California. The college-aged hostess smiled, silver alligator earrings dangling from her ears. “Two?”

  At their nods, she led them to their table, near the raw, wood-framed window at the back of the restaurant, currently void of other customers. Either it was early for dinner or this place wasn’t as promising as Lucas had hoped. But Kat was so relieved the day was over, as long as she didn’t get food poisoning, she almost didn’t even care.

  Lucas pulled her chair out for her, and she settled in, tugging the hem of her dress over her knees. She didn’t remember it being quite this short. Rachel would be proud. She pulled her napkin into her lap self-consciously as Lucas took the seat across from her. The hostess handed them menus. “Enjoy.”

  “Thank you.” Kat took a breath of hope as the hostess left them alone. They’d try to enjoy themselves, anyway. As long as the awkward factor that kept circling her and Lucas like vultures didn’t actually land, they’d be fine. All they had to do was stick to the script. Nothing about dreams, nothing about their kiss, and definitely nothing about the show or Thad—

  “I’m really glad you made it through to the finals.”

  Her gaze collided hard with Lucas’s, and he offered a sheepish grin that hitched higher on one side than the other. She shook her head. “Wait a minute. We said no—”

  “I know, but seriously. I was sort of a jerk today in the kitchen, and I’m glad that didn’t hinder you.” Lucas leaned forward, toward the table, toward her. “You really came through—all by yourself. You earned this round, Kat.”

  No, no. She smiled her acceptance of the compliment, but inside, her stomach shifted. He was doing it again, weaseling beneath her guard, warming her with his words and assurance and compliments that still mattered—too much. How could she ever be truly independent and free of her need of him if her insides tangled up with every word of his approval?

  The worst part was, he didn’t even know he did it.

  “Nice night out. Not too windy.” She was actually resorting to discussing the weather, but those were the rules, and they’d set them for a reason. Someone had to play by them.

  Leave it to the coach to bend them.

  Lucas narrowed his eyes at her before plucking his menu from the tabletop. “I know what you’re doing.”

  “Is it working?” She couldn’t resist the flirty edge to her voice, the one that sprang out of nowhere but exactly on cue, like a cast member waiting in the wings.

  He shook his
head at her, but couldn’t contain his smile. “No.”

  “You getting steak or gumbo?” She stared at the menu so she wouldn’t have to remember to avoid his eyes, which kept threatening to suck her in and make her forget all the reasons she was supposed to be on guard. Stay distant. Keep her wall up.

  “Gumbo.”

  She nodded. Safe enough. “Me too.”

  “Dessert?”

  “Cheesecake.” They said it at the same time, and she relaxed. They were back. Somewhat. Close enough, anyway, for now. It would have to do.

  The waitress took their drink orders and then returned with their sodas and a basket of toasted bread. While Lucas placed their orders, Kat fiddled with her napkin, covering more of her legs, halfway thinking she needed to grab a picture of the evening at some point to prove to Rachel she actually wore the dress.

  “Kat?”

  “Yeah?” She looked up then, right into his eyes, and regretted it immediately. His gaze warmed as hot as the flickering tea light on their table.

  “You look really beautiful tonight.”

  No, no, no. Her heart couldn’t take it. She calmly smiled, as if the simple sentence didn’t swell to capacity and rip her insides apart. “Thank you.” The dress—that awful magic Rachel had sensed but Kat had denied—must be working somehow. Had to be the dress; she didn’t get compliments like that without it.

  Though there had been Thad . . .

  Speaking of. She let out a reluctant sigh. She owed Lucas the truth. He was all-in tonight, putting himself out there, trying to reinstate their friendship and get them back to normal, and yet she was the one holding back. Refusing to admit he’d had a point. It wasn’t fair.

  She gathered her courage and shoved away her pride. “I need to tell you something.”

  He leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised, no visible sign of anxiety over her pending announcement except for the steady tapping of his index finger against the tabletop. “What’s wrong? Did I say something wrong? Because you do look great. I meant it. That dress . . .”

  Well, that at least cleared that up. Her heart sank a little. “No, it’s not about the dress.” Which she would promptly burn after tonight. “You were right about Thad.”

  He straightened suddenly in his chair, elbow nearly knocking his bread off his plate. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re surprised you’re right?”

  “Surprised you’re admitting it. If you are, something must have happened. What happened?” He leaned forward, his dark-brown eyes a mixture of suppressed anger and compassion. He was already checking out, though, the anger taking over. She could clearly see him imagining what had gone on, and what he was going to do about it.

  She had to stop it.

  “It’s nothing major, relax. He just . . . let on that he was interested.” Hey, if Lucas got a little jealous during the confession, all the better. Maybe it’d be good for him to know someone found her attractive in regular clothes.

  “Interested how?” His eyes narrowed, and she was saved from answering by the arrival of a couple at a nearby table.

  She fiddled with her napkin again. “It was nothing.”

  Lucas waited until the couple’s chairs finished scraping and the hostess left before pinning her down with a lowered voice but the same steady gaze. “How, Kat?”

  There was that voice she knew not to argue against. Completely no point. “He was outside smoking again, and—”

  “I wondered where you went. Did you meet him out there?” His voice was rising, his tone more intense, and the obvious surge of jealousy ignited a spark of something dangerous in her stomach.

  “Keep your voice down! Of course not! Not intentionally. He came after me.” True enough. Thad had sought her out. How about that? Pride lifted her disappointment a notch. So rare.

  “This isn’t something to brag about, Kat. This is serious.”

  Bubble burst. Now she got the condescending tone, the coach voice that silently screamed, I know best so don’t even try!

  “It’s nothing. He came on to me a little, I shot him down. The end.” Sort of. There had been that gleam in Thad’s eyes that alluded to worse things, things like revenge.

  Lucas braced his arms against the table, muscles tense. “Are you going to report it?”

  “Like what? File for sexual harassment?” At his serious nod, she laughed, but it rang hollow. “That’s ridiculous. He didn’t touch me.” Well, no, he had, just not aggressively. Did that still count?

  She shook off the doubt. “He didn’t push me past what I couldn’t handle. Trust me. I think he was just being flirty and took it too far. That’s probably just his personality.”

  But it’d been more than that. He’d had an obvious agenda: his vote in exchange for her . . . attention, or whatever you wanted to call it. Not to mention that when she’d survived the round and Classy Cupcakes had been sent home, Sam had made sure the contestants knew that the decision hadn’t been unanimous. Had Thad voted against her because she hadn’t fallen into his trap? Or was she overreacting, or overthinking the entire exchange?

  She had no proof.

  And she sure didn’t want Lucas snooping around to find it.

  “Let’s just let it go. I only brought it up to apologize to you for not believing you about Thad.” She reached across the table and rested her hand on Lucas’s wrist, hoping the contact would calm him.

  Nope, all it did was stir her up. She brought her hand back to her lap. “Everything’s fine. We’re going to the finals.” She forced a bright smile, hoping he would too, but his expression remained grim.

  “I still don’t like it, Kat. I think you should tell someone.”

  “Why make everything awkward? Now I know to keep my distance. After the next round, I won’t have to see him again.”

  “Unless you win.”

  So he did think her still capable of it. She nodded. “Unless I win.”

  The statement stretched before them, an endless timeline of opportunity and possibility, both negative and positive.

  They stared at each other across the flickering candlelight, and Kat wished Lucas would put into words what even just one of his changing expressions meant. Regret? Longing? Could he even consider coming with her if she moved to New York?

  Could she even consider asking?

  He opened his mouth, head tilted, considering her, and she held her breath, hoping. Expecting.

  Needing.

  “Gumbo for two?” The waitress interrupted the moment, clanging down bowls laden with crawfish, shrimp, and sausage floating in a dark roux.

  Kat stared down at her bowl as the waitress deposited crackers on their plates. She wasn’t nearly as hungry as she’d been moments before. Because as surely as she knew how to peel a crawfish, she knew there was a distinct possibility that her immediate future would require gumbo for only one.

  Unless . . .

  She risked a glance at Lucas as he unwrapped his napkin, picked up his spoon, tested a bite of the gumbo, and reached for the pepper. There was no way she could go an entire year not sitting across from him at dinner, not barking orders at him in a kitchen, not fighting over the remote control. There had to be a way to convince him to come with her if she won.

  Wasn’t she worth it?

  Is he worth staying in Bayou Bend?

  Ugh. That voice again. Was it God’s prompting or her own conscience? Maybe both. Maybe neither. She just knew in her heart that she could never be truly content unless she exhausted every possibility to break out of Bayou Bend and show herself—and her family—what she could do. What she was made of. What she was worth.

  So there was really only one solution.

  Convince Lucas that New York held just as much—if not more—opportunity for him than Bayou Bend.

  She’d come clean with him, and now it was his turn. Kat deserved to know about his dreams, the land, the offer he’d placed and increased twice now because it was too important to let go.

  Like sh
e was.

  He hadn’t told her yet because he wasn’t sure how to tell her the things of his heart without admitting she was its very beat.

  But at the rate this was going, if their friendship was headed down in a fiery crash anyway, he might as well put it all out there. What was the point in holding back? Things were changing between them, for better or for worse, and he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t hold it back. It was like trying to lasso a hurricane. Impossible—and dangerous.

  No, they had to ride this storm out and see where it deposited them. And after Kat’s confession and all the drama of the last few days, it probably wasn’t wise on his part to keep anything a secret anymore. If she found out his plans before they came out of his own mouth, well—by now he’d learned enough to know she didn’t like secrets. Or secondhand information, for that matter. She deserved the truth.

  It was just up to him to determine how much of it he doled out tonight.

  The cheesecake had come and gone, another hit had been made on his credit card, and now they were strolling on the beach. Kat’s shoes were dangling from her fingertips, and the hem of her dress fluttered around her legs as she walked barefoot. He’d left his shoes on, a choice he was now regretting. But they were already full of sand, so taking them off now seemed sort of pointless.

  They walked in silence, listening to the wind, the lights and cries of the Santa Monica Pier fading behind them as the crowd thinned and the roar of the waves took ownership.

  “The gumbo was good.” Kat’s voice, thin against the crash of the ocean, barely registered in his ears. She was reaching now, desperate to fill the silence between them, same battle he’d been fighting. It was like, lately, if they weren’t bleeding their hearts out to each other, they couldn’t communicate at all.

  “It was great—for California, anyway.” He nudged her, and she laughed, but none of it felt sincere. It was all a façade, a fabricated version of reality to hide the undercurrent that kept dragging them both under.