All’s Fair In Love and Cupcakes

by Betsy St. Amant

  Did he still want it?

  “That’s the money you were offering me, isn’t it? Your land money.”

  He swallowed, wishing he could lie, knowing he couldn’t, realizing she’d see through it even if he had the nerve to try. She deserved the truth, anyway. But would she explode? Collapse? Would she see it as he meant it, or distort it like she seemed to be doing to all his motives lately?

  Why did all his best-laid plans backfire so violently?

  “Isn’t it?” She stepped closer to him, pointing at him with the sponge, ignoring the drops of water that slowly dripped from the soggy edge.

  He exhaled loud and long. “Yes.”

  The phone rang from its cordless station on Kat’s counter. He was closer, and she was still breathing fire, so he grabbed it. “Hello, Kat Varland’s residence.” Probably her sister remembering her gloves that lay forgotten on the entry table.

  “Yes, hello there, I’m calling from the Food Network.”

  The professional male voice wasn’t one he recognized from their trip, and Lucas frowned. “Yes?”

  “I need to speak with Kat Varland, please.” There was a pause and a shuffle of papers from the other side of the line. “It’s urgent.”

  Must be, to be calling at nine p.m.

  Just so long as it wasn’t Thad.

  He extended the receiver to her. “You should probably take this.” And maybe a tranquilizer, too, as evident from the holes she kept trying to burn into him with her eyes.

  She snatched it, not even pretending to hide her frustration at being interrupted, and glared at him as she pressed the phone against her shoulder. “Who is it?” she whispered.

  “The Food Network.”

  Surprised registered in her eyes, dousing a bit of the flames, and she turned her back to take the call. Lucas really wished they’d talk to him first, let him screen whatever news they had in order to protect her, but he knew because of the confidentiality agreements, it would be a fruitless argument.

  So he’d just listen from the other receiver.

  He ran and grabbed it up from the station in her living room just as she spoke for the first time.

  “This is Kat.”

  Lucas tilted the mouthpiece away from his lips so they wouldn’t hear his breathing.

  “Hello, Ms. Varland, this is Mason Reynolds from the Food Network. I just wanted to personally call and apologize to you for the mix-up regarding the just-aired episode of Cupcake Combat you participated in.”

  Apologize? For what? Lucas sat on the edge of the couch and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.

  “I . . . we just watched it, but I don’t understand. Why the apology?” Kat sounded as confused as he felt. At least she didn’t sound angry anymore.

  “I was told you were disqualified unofficially from the competition because of an issue with one of the male judges, and to be discreet, a decision was made to end it as if the Icing Queens won fair and square.” Reynolds sighed, his breath rattling the line. “However, it was brought to the network’s attention just today that what was represented as fact was, indeed, quite wrong.”

  “Wrong how?” Suspicion clouded her tone, and Lucas fought the urge to fist pump. Good girl. Don’t assume or give them an inch yet.

  Lucas knew before Reynolds spoke the words, though, exactly what he meant. He shook his head as the truth emerged—a little too late.

  “It appears the producers were mistaken about Mr. Holson’s innocence in your . . . encounter with him.” He coughed. “I apologize for that, as well. There is no excuse. This is a professional industry, and I can assure you that he will no longer be acting as a judge for this or any other show on our network.”

  Kat was silent for about seven surprisingly incessant pounds of Lucas’s heart. He didn’t get it. The apology was nice, sort of—but what was Reynolds saying? What was the point?

  “It was too late to stop the show from airing, due to the last-minute notice we received of the truth, but we feel terrible at Food Network for everything that happened.”

  Lucas frowned. Reynolds’s voice sounded sincere enough, but what good was the apology when she hadn’t won what she came to LA to get in the first place?

  “Because of the mix-up, and the nature of the disagreement, we want to offer you the first place prize—on the condition that you’ll agree to keep this situation quiet and between us.” Reynolds didn’t sound nearly as professional now, more along the lines of desperate to keep his job and the positive ratings for the show. “So at your official acceptance, you can now receive the same prize as the other winning contestant—a one-year baking contract at Bloom.”

  “At Bloom.” The words echoed and dangled from Kat’s mouth like a noose, and Lucas reeled back. What? Was she even actually considering this madness?

  Lucas jumped off the couch and hurried, still clutching the cordless to his ear, into the kitchen. Kat stood by the refrigerator, half-twisted away from him, one arm wrapped around her stomach and her other hand clenching the phone like it might kick her in the jaw if she let go.

  He waved his arms, eyes wide, using every ounce of sign language he could to indicate this was not a good offer, but she didn’t see him. Or was ignoring him.

  He sagged in frustration, stopping just short of going over and shaking her out of the stupor. They were going to apologize for the wolf’s behavior, and then send the lamb into the wolf’s den for a year? How did that make anything that had happened right?

  She finally managed to squeeze out a response, something Lucas had been wondering as well. “How did you find out? Did . . . did Mr. Holson confess?”

  Honest question, but one they weren’t guaranteed to answer. Would he? Lucas held his breath.

  “He did, only after being confronted with a testimony from one of your fellow contestants.” Reynolds shuffled more papers. “I suppose there’s no harm in telling you that it was the winning contestant herself.”

  “Piper?” Lucas mouthed the same name that Kat spoke, her voice a notch above incredulous. “How did she . . . why would—”

  “Most unusual. She approached the producers after the charity cupcake gala and told them she’d overheard the entire exchange between you and Holson in an alley outside, as well as learned after the fact from the show’s host that you had been disqualified because of the misunderstanding.” Reynolds laughed. “It doesn’t happen often in Hollywood, ma’am, but maybe the guilt got the best of her and prompted her to do the right thing.”

  The right thing. Piper? Lucas shook his head. After all that . . .

  But sending Kat to New York to work at Bloom with Piper and Thad wasn’t the right thing at all. Indignation began a slow burn. Maybe Piper had had a change of heart, but Lucas would bet his NFL signed football that Thad hadn’t. There was no way he was letting Kat go up north to work under that slimebucket.

  “I know this offer is still a lot to consider, so feel free to give me a call back tomorrow. I’ll give you my number.” Reynolds flipped back into professional mode on the phone, and it flipped a switch inside Lucas. “I will need an answer by then, however.”

  “I don’t think so.” Lucas gripped the receiver tighter.

  Kat jumped and spun around, having just realized he was even on the line in the first place.

  “You can take that offer and tell the network bigwigs that it’s insulting. How can you apologize for a man’s inappropriate behavior and then offer a prize that puts her at his mercy for twelve months?” The slow burn morphed into a steady blaze.

  “Who is this?” Reynolds’s voice sounded half-confused, half-defensive. “This was a confidential phone call, sir.”

  “I was there. I was Kat’s assistant in the competition and witnessed everything.” Lucas raised his eyebrows at Kat, silently asking if she was okay with his continuing. She sank against the edge of the counter and nodded, pinching the bridge of her nose.

  Permission. Good. He probably would have kept going anyway. He squared his sh
oulders. “We don’t accept the offer. Final answer.”

  Reynolds stuttered in surprise. “So you’re turning down the network’s compensation?”

  He hesitated, wondering how far he could push this and then deciding to go for it. He used the firmest coach voice he had, the one Kat had told him numerous times was impossible to argue against. “No, I’m suggesting they change it into cash compensation.”

  Kat’s eyes widened. She nearly dropped the phone but caught it just in time and returned it to her ear.

  Lucas turned away from her so he could concentrate. “A fair amount that will help Kat get started with her own business.” Just like he had tried to help her do. Maybe Kat would accept money from someone else if not from him, especially when she had actually won and deserved a prize.

  His heart sank a little at the realization that she might take it. This must be God’s will for her, if things were happening so suddenly and outside of his control. The fact that these people had even called in the first place was huge.

  Clearly, God wanted Kat elsewhere.

  And he and his broken heart weren’t going to stand in the way another minute longer.

  Reynolds started to speak, but Lucas wasn’t done. He might be projecting his frustration and anger a little at this point, but regardless, he kept going.

  For Kat’s sake.

  “And I suggest you be generous.” He waited to give his next words plenty of room to sink in deep. “It’d be a shame for this indecency to go viral.”

  A long silence filled the line, and when Reynolds finally spoke, his tone was a mixture of both defeat and admiration. “Consider it done, sir. My people will be in touch.”

  thirty

  She was actually going to miss this place.

  Kat folded another packing box into shape, then sealed the bottom with tape. Her ponytail was coming undone, again, and loose hair swished across her face. She brushed the strands from her eyes with the backs of her dusty hands. So far, she, Aunt Maggie, and Stella had discovered several unexpected surprises while packing up Aunt Maggie’s belongings in the shop, including a dangly earring, a measuring cup Aunt Maggie had been searching for more than a year, and an entire unopened pack of designer cupcake liners.

  Plus a CD of the Backstreet Boys that had to be Amy’s. Or Aunt Maggie’s, on second thought.

  “Do these stay or go?” Stella carefully backed out from under the kitchen counter and turned, her arms full of mixing bowls.

  Kat looked toward the little office off the kitchen, and from her desk Aunt Maggie rolled the chair she was sitting in to peek through the doorway. She’d wanted to help pack, but the girls insisted she save her energy and not breathe in all the dust they’d be sure to stir up. She’d compromised by agreeing to clean out her desk instead, where she could still see what they were doing through the door when she needed to direct them.

  “Those stay.” She rolled back toward her desk, her voice rising from inside the office. “But pack my rolling pin with the marble handles. That’s a memory that’s going home with me.”

  This whole shop was a memory, at least for Kat.

  How many hours had she spent mixing batter, icing cupcakes, and bantering with customers at the front counter—the stay-at-home moms’ group, her father’s secretary, the guys on the football team. How many days had she unlocked that front door and flipped the sign to Open? How many dollars had she touched and traded at the register, exchanging currency for culinary treats?

  And why had she taken it all for granted and complained about every minute and inch of it until now?

  You never know what you have until it’s gone.

  Sort of like what her friendship with Lucas seemed to be turning out to be. He’d left shortly after the phone call from the Food Network the other night, abandoning their argument, and they’d yet to talk since. She knew they would eventually, knew he wouldn’t let things go unfinished between them, but the end of it all seemed so inevitable. She’d be going somewhere—anywhere—with that large check she’d gotten special delivery yesterday, and after that . . .

  No one knew what would happen.

  Yeah, she wasn’t in a particular hurry to have that conversation with Lucas, either.

  And she still didn’t know what it meant that he had offered to trade his dream for hers.

  She took the bowls from Stella and tucked them into the nest of Bubble Wrap inside the cardboard box. No more thinking, just packing. It hurt less that way. Aunt Maggie would be starting chemo next week. Several buyers were interested in the shop, too, but so far, nothing concrete had been offered—and unfortunately, none of them wanted to keep the business running as a cupcake bakery. Just in case, though, Aunt Maggie was leaving several key pieces behind that she could sell in a package deal.

  Apparently Kat wasn’t the only one having a hard time letting go.

  “So where will you go, Kat?” Stella knelt back on the floor, looking more casual than Kat had ever seen her in an oversize college sweatshirt and jeans, hair tucked behind her ears like a little kid. “New York? Give Bloom some competition?” She winked, yet there was a distinct sadness behind her expression that surprised Kat. Would her sister actually miss her? Or was she just jealous that Kat might be moving to a popular big city, when despite all her pageant success she was still here in Bayou Bend?

  One thing was certain. “Not New York.” If she was turning down the offer of Bloom—which she totally agreed with Lucas’s train of thought that he’d made perfectly clear to Reynolds—it seemed risky to set up shop somewhere as expensive and competitive as the Big Apple. She had some decent money to work with, yeah—but it wouldn’t last forever. This was finally her one shot, and she needed to be wise.

  Which was hard, because the cry of her heart these last few days kept her feelings on an emotional roller coaster, and she had yet to figure out how to bail from it.

  “Dallas?” Stella pulled out several cupcake tins from the drawer under the industrial-size oven.

  Kat took the tins and began wrapping them in Bubble Wrap. “Maybe.” That was still a drivable distance away, so she could easily visit on holidays and to check on Aunt Maggie. But not so close that she would feel stifled.

  Though looking around Sweetie Pies, she couldn’t remember why she’d felt that way in the first place.

  Someone knocked at the front door, and Kat set down the tins. “I’ll get it.” Probably a customer who hadn’t heard they were shutting down, or maybe another townsperson who saw their cars out front and wanted to offer their regrets to Aunt Maggie. They’d already had two of those pass through today, despite the Closed sign.

  Kat made her way to the front, and she was halfway to the door before recognizing the dark form on the other side of the glass.

  Lucas.

  Her heart hitched as she turned the lock, clarifying that she wasn’t angry with him anymore. Maybe she’d been using the anger at his offer to defend against the way it touched the recesses of her heart. She was afraid what the offer really meant, afraid to take it the wrong way and make it mean more than it did.

  Afraid to hope it meant anything other than him having no trouble at all in sending her away.

  “Can I come in?” Lucas was lacking his usual lumbering confidence. This man before her seemed almost . . . broken. Did he hate the awkward disconnect between them as much as she did? The thought made her feel a little better. At least it wasn’t just her.

  Or maybe misery just loved company.

  “Of course. We’re just packing.” Kat locked the door behind him, noting the purple bakery box in his hand. “Is that a—”

  “Cupcake? Yeah.” He set it on one of the nearby tables, then shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over the top, like the mysterious box was of little consequence.

  “Hey, now. Are you cheating on Sweetie Pies?” She put her hands on her hips, mock-glaring at him, but knew short of going to Walmart and buying one from the bakery there, there wasn’t much opportunity for that.r />
  “I’d never.” He grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes—which still wouldn’t look quite at her. He seemed . . . nervous. Antsy.

  Scared.

  No. Not Lucas. That was her territory.

  He swiveled toward the back of the store, where Aunt Maggie and Stella, currently unseen yet never unheard, were loudly debating the pros and cons of leaving behind Aunt Maggie’s eccentric oven mitt collection.

  “You guys need any help?”

  “I think they’ve got it.” She waited until his gaze finally landed on her, then flickered away. She reached up and touched his chin, directing his face back toward her. He looked as surprised at the bold move as she was. “You didn’t come to wrap baking utensils, Lucas. Why are you here?”

  He turned away, then raked his fingers through his hair before pulling his hands away and turning back to her. “I miss you.”

  She stiffened. No, don’t do this . . . “I saw you just a few days—”

  “No, Kat. I miss you.” Lucas paced in front of her, his dark hair sticking out in stressed tufts. “None of this is okay. Ever since Los Angeles, things have been different, and I can’t do this anymore.”

  The words stuck like a knife to her stomach. This was it. The conversation she’d been dreading for days—weeks, really. But he was right. It had to be done.

  They had to say good-bye.

  She swallowed hard, standing straighter and determining not to go down without some level of dignity. But one look at the torment in his eyes, the torment that had to be mirroring her own, nearly undid her. Tears sprang with traitorous abandon, and she softly forced out the words she knew to be true. “I can’t either.”

  Maybe being nothing was better than this awful, unspoken, unending conflict between them. Whatever the tension was, they couldn’t live in it any longer. Nor could they pretend it didn’t exist.

  Her fleeing the state would be her only saving grace.