“Where are the fondant footballs?” Kat’s voice rose in his ear.
He shot what he hoped was a reassuring smile over his shoulder. She was too close to catch it, though, her eyes riveted on the brown lumps that should have been footballs but currently resembled something more akin to roadkill.
He picked one up and winced. “Working on them, boss.”
The look she shot him in return would have made him laugh if the stakes weren’t so high. But high they were—like the highest pole-vaulting bar at the Summer Olympics.
“I can’t have roadkill on my Mexican hot chocolate cupcakes, Lucas.”
Uh-oh. He hadn’t said roadkill out loud. That wasn’t good.
He clapped his hands, in full-out coach-mode. “Jack, let’s try to cut the fondant a little more oval, with pointed ends. I’ll handle the white grips.” He grabbed the paring knife, reaching for the wrong end before catching himself. “Gabe, how are the goalposts coming along?”
The tall redhead held up an example. “Great, Coach.”
They were, actually. His kids had more skills than he’d realized. If only they could put that kind of creativity into their game each practice.
He turned to Kat. “We’ll get it.”
Hopefully believing him, she moved to the end of their assembly line, closest to Lucas, and began heaping the green icing—for the football to perch upon—into a piping bag. Probably through gritted teeth. She’d always hated green icing. “Lucky break that our event to bake for is the Cowboys versus Saints charity football game, huh?” She looked up with a stressed smile.
They planned that on purpose, he was sure, after figuring out which hometown helpers to bring in for each remaining baking team, but it was sort of funny. “Talk about creating what you know. Maybe this time you’ll have to consult me in the kitchen.”
That earned him an eye roll. “At least we weren’t assigned the Los Angeles Ballet School’s fund-raiser for the homeless. My guys wouldn’t be nearly as helpful with tutus.”
That got a distracted short laugh out of her, which was as good as it would probably get right now. But he’d take it.
He went back to creating and supervising the decorations, unable to help but watch Kat work and remember those moments last night, the way she fit so perfectly against him. The way that for those few priceless minutes, nothing could keep them apart.
Nothing except a text from his realtor, that is.
The land was his. All he had to do was sign on the dotted line and he was a homeowner. Everything he’d wanted was falling into place, except for the key ingredient—Kat.
Although if she lost today . . .
He shaped another football, forcing himself to look away from Kat, swiping her hair out of her eyes with her elbow as she piped green grass like a crazy woman. A woman crazy about her dream. He couldn’t even begin to allow himself to wish she didn’t make the cut today. He couldn’t go there again.
Because did he really want to be second place to her? Winning by default wasn’t a real win. Any sportsman knew that. Despite the score sheets, you didn’t ever truly win a game just because the other team didn’t show up. Where was the pride in that? The honor?
It was almost like, win or lose, he lost.
Unless he went with her.
He accidentally squished the football in his fingers, and with a frustrated sigh, he crumpled it up and grabbed a new one. He’d considered the idea last night while wrapped up in all things Kat, but could he really do it?
She wanted him to. He could see it in her eyes even though she’d never say it out loud.
“Coach?” Tyler ambled over to their workstation, and Lucas’s spirits lifted at the spark in the boy’s eyes. For once, he didn’t look weary and burdened like a kid carrying the weight of the adult world on his shoulders. He looked carefree and borderline mischievous, like any teen boy should look on a given day. This trip had been good for him.
“Here’s another tray, cooled and ready to ice.” Tyler presented it with gusto, as if he had baked the cupcakes all by himself. If Lucas wasn’t so proud of his boys, he’d be teasing the mess out of them right now.
“Great. Thanks, Dupree.” He formed another football, then realized no one had checked on the caramelized pecans. “Hey, Jack, go check on the pecans, will you? Don’t forget an oven mitt.” Man, Kat had rubbed off on him. He was definitely on his game today. Funny, since he’d never felt more distracted mentally.
Maybe that was the point. He kept pushing away what he really needed to be thinking about in exchange for pecans and toppings.
Kat shot him a grateful, if not weary, smile as she continued to ice the cupcakes. “Good call, Coach.” Her soft affirmation sank in deep, and he wanted to hear her whispered reassurances for the rest of his life.
Pecans. Toppings. Pecans. Toppings.
Nope. It wasn’t working anymore.
“What’s the grand prize, Coach? When we win?” With an emphasis on the word when, Tyler straddled the stool next to Lucas and immediately began pressing the white grips on the cutout fooballs—all without even being asked. Nice. Now where was that go-getter attitude on the field? Clearly, Lucas still had his work cut out for him.
Which was more of a relief than it should have been. These guys hadn’t arrived, by a long shot. He was still needed.
Even if not so much by Kat anymore.
“Uh, some kind of big deal baking contract in New York.” Lucas tried to say it casually, as much for Kat’s sake as his own, as if their entire world wasn’t revolving around that one line of fine print.
Tyler slowly moved a completed football to the parchment paper on the counter. “New York? Like, forever?”
“It’s for a year.” Though it might as well be the same as forever, because if Kat went to New York for a year, she wouldn’t be back to Bayou Bend.
“What? That’s a really long time.” Tyler stood suddenly, his stool legs scraping against the floor, the excitement in his eyes replaced with panic. “Ms. Varland, you can’t leave us for a year!”
His arm gesture upset the stool, knocking it over behind him. The studio quieted as all heads in the vicinity whipped their direction. Jack stood motionless nearby, the pan of caramelized pecans still in hand. Even Piper and her team across the room stilled and turned to watch, a blur of glittery pink tulle.
Kat sat completely still and openmouthed at the other end of the workstation, icing bag in hand, a steady drip of green drizzling onto the counter instead of the cupcake she’d been decorating.
“Tyler, I—” Tyler didn’t wait for an answer.
“What about you, Coach?” The boy’s expression twisted into pure anxiety. “You aren’t going with her. Right?”
The silence pulsed, like a heartbeat, loud and frantic. Lucas slowly straightened the stool, feeling Kat’s gaze boring into his back, knowing his answer to Tyler was more than just an answer for the kid.
It was for her too.
The visible drama over, the room returned to its bustle. Jack set the pecans on the island, Ben went back to the footballs, Gabe the goalposts, and the chatter from the judges’ table resumed. Ten ballerinas resumed baking, the clock kept ticking, and everything returned to normal.
Except for the rhythm of Lucas’s heart. He flexed his arms, wishing he could tangibly hold the weight rather than it weighing on him on the inside. Untouchable. Unending.
“Coach?” The teen’s voice, half-prompt, half-plea, cut through the static, and he knew. Deep inside, he knew. Just like Kat did.
He clamped a reassuring hand on Tyler’s shoulder. “Of course not, Dupree. You know my place is in Bayou Bend.”
Like a moth to a tiki torch, like a glutton for punishment, he met Kat’s eyes.
Pain and resignation registered like a mirror reflection of his own heart, and regret rose hot inside. He’d done it. He’d stirred up and awakened love before it was pleasing, before it was right.
He’d failed.
She had to win now.
All the doubt, all the half-hopes that maybe she wouldn’t win, the half-hopes that maybe things could work out for her and Lucas even if she did, disintegrated faster than egg whites into cake batter. She had to go to New York now, because if she didn’t, she was lower than second place.
Forget the judges’ opinions. Lucas had already cast his vote. He had chosen.
And she had lost.
Tears blinded her vision as she placed the final cupcakes on display before the judges, giving each one a final once-over as the clock ticked off the remaining seconds of the competition. She wasn’t enough to coax Lucas to New York. She might not be enough to earn New York in the first place.
What was she even doing?
The room tilted slightly and she bent down, head between her knees, under the pretense of retying her shoelace. She wouldn’t lose it in the final round, wouldn’t give the producers of the show the satisfaction of airing that kind of drama for ratings. She might not have had much pride in the first place, but she’d cling to what she had left now. Hadn’t she said all along she’d go down swinging?
She just never thought it would come to this.
She straightened up, stood tall, and avoided Lucas’s concerned gaze as she hurried back to her team. “The cupcakes look great, guys. You did an amazing job.” They really had, despite the fact that most of them were teen boys who’d never baked a day in their lives. They might not be used to baking, but they were used to teamwork, following orders, and respecting authority. She could easily recognize the good work Lucas had done in each of them in those areas.
She’d tell him that, eventually, when her heart remembered how to beat and she lived through this last segment.
The timer for the round buzzed, and the room erupted into applause. “Good job, teams.” Sam clapped louder than necessary from the front of the set. “And right on time.”
Not really; they’d actually finished with a minute and a half to spare, which in reality television time was like a decade. But she’d long since realized Sam was eager for a tie-in or voice-over that could lead to any hint of drama.
“He’s right. I’m proud, everyone.” Kat blew them a group kiss.
“Hey, we learned from the best.” Gabe offered a high five, and she slapped him a good one. He grinned. “That is, from eating the best, anyway. We couldn’t let down our favorite cupcake lady.” The other guys nodded enthusiastically, except Tyler, who still seemed reserved from his previous outburst. Did her leaving really mean that much to him? Or was he still just reeling from the thought that Lucas might have been going away too?
Was it possible that she had more of a significant role in Bayou Bend than she’d realized?
No time now for wishful thinking and imaginary silver linings. Sam was already ushering them toward the waiting lounge. “These charities are going to be blessed, regardless of the outcome of this round, everyone. Remember that.”
Now, that actually sounded sincere. Maybe their host had a soft heart somewhere under all that hair gel after all.
Kat clung to the positive thought as she herded the boys into the waiting lounge, standing back as they mingled and flirted with the other team’s ballerinas. She should switch her focus off Lucas and the pending future to the fact that she’d just accomplished a lot—on her own and with help. She’d proven herself, but she had worked well with Lucas and her hometown helpers too. All of that was worth celebrating, no matter what happened. She’d contributed to a good cause, and she would gain a lot of exposure for herself and Aunt Maggie’s shop, even if she lost.
Worst case in the contest from this point on was second place.
It could have been worse.
Her eyes met Lucas’s as he perched on the arm of the couch beside Tyler, and she met his slightly wobbly smile with a forced one of her own.
But it definitely could have been better.
“Welcome back, bakers.” Sam smiled at both Kat and Piper, who continued to shoot Kat suspicious glances every few seconds. Was she still that concerned over the compliment she’d given her about her cooking? You might get more flies with honey than vinegar, but Piper had apparently gotten stuck in that particular dab of honey, a fact that was possibly more annoying than the girl’s buzzing had ever been.
But it didn’t matter now. The round was over, the verdict was in, and Sam couldn’t possibly have any idea that he held Kat’s entire future in that hot pink envelope he clenched between his fingers. Piper couldn’t sabotage her anymore.
Lucas, either, for that matter.
Or Thad.
Had he voted for her based on merit? Left the entire earlier issue alone? She didn’t want to look at him, but she didn’t want to be caught not looking at him either. She risked a glance, but the handsome judge’s gaze remained riveted on Sam. Was he fighting the same battle about her?
Yeah, right. Like someone of his status would think twice about Kat or even a rejection from her. He could have a number of celebrities on his arm as soon as he made his intentions known. She was overthinking, as always, making things bigger than they were.
But this announcement Sam was about to make . . . it was big. Legit. Mattered.
Kat leaned back on her heels, then realized she was making that same move Sam and even Lucas had made earlier. Great, now she was being sucked into the reality television curse, the one that apparently channeled all anxiety and nerves into rocking motions. It was a wonder anyone managed to stand still around here. She stole a glance over her shoulder at the cleaned-off workstations, where their teammates awaited the verdict. How did Amanda do it? Or Lucas, for that matter? Both remained steady and stoic at their stations, as if the next few minutes wouldn’t change absolutely everything.
For Lucas, though, maybe it didn’t. Not really, not now. He’d already made a decision for himself that would hold, regardless of what Kat did. He could take her or leave her, apparently.
No, that wasn’t fair. Or true. She swallowed back the distaste of being an afterthought. He didn’t mean the choice personally; she knew enough to be certain of that, knew that if she’d been in his shoes, with Tyler asking that same question in that same way, she’d have given the same answer.
But the answer was honest, regardless of its delivery or timing. And that would continue to sting for a while.
Even if she’d known all along that it was coming.
“It was a tough decision, as has been the case recently, but”—Sam paused for effect, tapping the envelope against his open palm—“the judges finally reached a verdict.” He waved the envelope, and Kat’s stomach tightened against her will. She pressed her hands against her waist, concentrating on breathing. Every nerve in her body tingled. She won. She knew it, knew it in her heart, in her soul, in her mind. Knew it by the way Sam’s gaze kept raking across hers before darting back to Piper’s.
She’d won.
She was going to New York. For a year.
Leaving Lucas.
Starting over.
Sam’s deep voice continued, nearly vibrating with the intensity of the moment. “And the winner . . .”
Behind her, muffled calls sounded from the waiting teams. The ballerinas squealed silently behind hands pressing against their mouths, and the football players whistled until a cameraman shot them the evil eye.
An unlikely surge of terror and joy collided into a heaping mix of adrenaline. If Lucas didn’t want her to stay, then she definitely wanted to go. Needed to. What would her parents say now? She’d done it. Proved herself.
“. . . of the special anniversary edition of Cupcake Combat, the winner who is awarded a yearlong baking contract at the prestigious Bloom bakery of New York City is . . .”
She was capable.
She was worthy.
Her dreams were about to come true.
“. . . the Icing Queens!”
Her dreams were over.
twenty-five
Lucas’s heart soared and crashed at the same moment.
Kat was staying
in Bayou Bend. Staying home. His worst nightmare, avoided.
But she’d lost.
He rushed to catch her, tucking her into his arms moments before she crumbled. He’d seen the expectation on her face, the excitement, the anticipation. She’d believed she had it.
And he had, as well. For a moment, he’d been convinced, even. Had felt it down deep. She’d had it in the bag. So what happened? What had given Piper’s cupcakes an edge? The girl’s decorations were decent, but not anything superior to their own. Not by far, especially after Kat’s idea to feature each football team’s logo in icing. It had been a work of art.
Confetti showered from the ceiling above Piper and Amanda and their team, the cries of a dozen excited girls drowning all rational thought. Kat shuddered in his arms, and he leaned forward, shielding her from the colored paper reminder of her failure as best he could, wishing he could protect her from the disappointment.
Her hair tickled his chin. They only had a minute before the rest of their team would swarm them, and he wished as well that he knew what to say. He wanted to say it was okay, but to her, it wasn’t.
And the fact that relief was one straw short of knocking him to his own knees in gratitude made him feel like such a pig. How could he be rejoicing when she was heartbroken? What kind of friend was he?
What kind of love was that?
He tightened his grip around her, heard her sniff into his T-shirt. “They’re coming.” He could hear the rush of the players starting to gather.
“I know. I’m fine.” She lifted her chin, sucking in her breath and blinking rapidly to clear the tears. Trouper. Pride surged.
“There’s the final interviews to do. Remember? But after that . . . we’ll go. Me and you.”
She nodded, but she wouldn’t look at him as Tyler, Ben, Gabe, and the rest practically assaulted her with hugs. Gone were the awkward, unsure gestures of affection from earlier in the day. Now his boys pulled it together, proved their merit by gathering Kat in a giant group hug and calling out reassurances that ranged from “You’re still the best to us” to crude insults about the other team.
All’s Fair In Love and Cupcakes Page 23
