by R. J. Scott
Sexy as he bent over and stared into his oven with his cute pout when things weren’t looking as good as they should. Sexy with powdered sugar on his face. Sexy as he grinned in excitement when he won. Sexy, always smiling on the show, a little clumsy, funny, fucking gorgeous, and totally gay. I could deny that I’d watched every scene Brody had been in several times over, including the highlight reels on YouTube, but I’d be lying.
“I’ve not seen anyone else yet. I literally just got here.”
He smiled at me and stretched tall. “I’m considering this a vacation, and I was excited to start.”
“A vacation?” Maybe a holiday in hell.
“Yeah. You know, baking things I love. The Fairmont is quiet, so maybe I can get some time to think.” Brody shrugged.
Justin wondered why he’d had said that with such a serious tone. Was he having problems?
For a second, he looked as if he wanted to run, and suddenly I felt more confident. If he was nervous as well, then I wouldn’t be alone. “I want to visit Banff as well.”
The producers of WBBS were putting us up at the Fairmont Banff Springs Hotel since the show was being taped in the convention center. It was great because it was within walking distance of the town. I loved what I’d seen on the internet about the town of Banff, with its gorgeous shops and the mountains all around. I actually had a long list of things I wanted to do while we were here.
Anything to stop thinking about everything I needed to do all the freaking time. I’d imagined walking along the street, looking into the huge Christmas shop, doing the tourist thing, snow falling around me, totally anonymous. I could buy a coffee and people watch and hope there wasn’t any social media users in town.
“Banff is gorgeous, I saw some of it as I drove through,” I said.
“We should go. I mean the bakers. We should visit, and maybe go to the hot pool on Sulphur Mountain, and there’s a lookout point on the mountain with a crystal bear. We could do that as well.”
He was so animated that I wanted to touch him just to steal that spark of energy, but then he was staring at the chandelier again.
“That’s stunning,” Brody announced and pointed up at the huge display. I quickly took my stare from checking him out and instead looked at the crystals above us.
He makes cakes. He’s funny, cute, but he’s married, and Marc is a lucky guy.
He was standing close, and my mind was spinning too fast. I was getting hard in the middle of an expansive garden room with a definitely-not-single gorgeous baker who was my competition. I should be less worried about my libido and more concerned that I wasn’t going to make it past week one. The first season had been easy for me to win, not because I’m the most amazing baker ever, but because it was a test show, and I was lucky. I was up against other amateurs who were lost when asked to make choux pastry. Hell it was so bad that we’d muddled through together. No one had even really known about the show or watched it until the college kids found it, and abruptly it went viral. Every season had to have new and exciting challenges, so it got harder and trickier for the contestants. The level I’d managed compared to what Brody had to do to win his season was like the Wright brothers going up against Boeing.
They will see right through me. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t—
“Hey, you okay?” Hands gripped me, and I stared up at Brody, who peered down at me with a concerned expression. “You went all weird there for a moment.”
I blinked at him and then pointed up at the chandelier. “Vertigo,” I lied. I’m good at lying.
“Wow, okay then, no more staring at the pretty.” He sounded so damn serious, but all I could think about was that I would be very happy to stare at the pretty that was Brody Thomas.
Any day of the week.
Chapter Two
I’ve got the taste of nuts coming through
Brody
No more staring at the pretty? What the hell was I going on about? My twin called it post-Marc-brain, and pointedly told me I needed to stop talking to fill any kind of awkward silence and think first. Given that Adam was the master of being an idiot I don’t think he had room to criticize, but that was siblings for you. Idiots. All of them.
Why did I tell Justin that I was considering this a vacation? Only God knows why. The fact I’d admitted I needed peace and quiet was maybe too much of a giveaway about my current situation.
Stop thinking about the shitfest that is my life!
And now I ran out of things to say, and it all had to do with the man in front of me with his eyes and his body and his stunning smile.
I knew at some point I’d be meeting Justin. I just didn’t expect that I’d have such a strong reaction to finally standing next to him. Given that we were in the same baking competition it was inevitable but within the first five minutes of me standing in the grand entrance? How was that fair? I was windblown, snow-blown, and I know for a fact that I was red in the face, and all I’d wanted was a few moments of peace before I found a bathroom to fix myself up. There’d been no sign of anyone else in here, nothing apart from footprints leading up to the front door. I didn’t question the chance of someone else being inside when a particularly icy gust had me jumping and throwing open the door. I’d seen Justin straight away, standing completely still and staring at the sweeping staircase. I called hello, but he didn’t hear me, and at that point I could have turned and run, but I didn’t. So, I wasn’t exactly creeping up on the sexy, famous Justin, but he’d been so lost in thought that he’d jumped out of his skin when I called his name.
And in all of that, I’d made myself look like an idiot.
He’d been very kind not to laugh at me or comment on my Rudolph nose.
“Are you excited about this?” he asked after a moment’s pause, and I had all the answers in my head, sound bites about challenging myself and how happy I was to be raising money for charity, but he smiled at me when I paused, and that smile sent shockwaves through my body, all of which appeared to collect in my groin.
Thank the baking gods for my long winter coat.
“Yeah.” Very clever answer. Not.
I think it was his gorgeous blue eyes with long lashes that were messing with my libido, add in pouty lips that I’ve wanted to taste ever since episode one of WBBS, plus his tousled blond hair and I was gone. The moment I set eyes on him, a nineteen-year-old kid from the system and clawing his way through to the final, I was in lust.
My celebrity crush was standing next to me. I froze and was acting as if I’d never met anyone famous before. I’ve baked cakes for politicians and movie stars, so I was used to meeting people who were successful. But with Justin, I was torn between treating him with respect and deference to knowing he was in the same boat as I was at the start of the competition.
“Me too. Excited I mean. I just hope I can stay in the competition past week one.” That was exactly the same fear I had. With divorce papers in my pocket and my business bleeding revenue into my soon-to-be-ex-husband’s pocket, I needed this show right now. Although it was for charity and there was no cash prize to get Bakes by Brody back on its feet financially, getting past episode one would certainly help with my self-esteem and give Bakes by Brody, 3B for short, some well needed publicity. He didn’t immediately say he was worried about not getting past the first show, but he looked thoughtful.
“No matter how far I get, after I’m done, I’ll probably hang around and do various behind the scenes videos, maybe highlight all the work that goes on behind the scenes for the perfect bake. A kind of reveal show or something.”
“I’d love people to see that it isn’t easy, Marc always says that baking is easy.” I needed to stop there before the entire sorry story spilled out to this incredibly gorgeous man. “You’ll get to the final for sure.” I was convinced of it. Following him on social media showed me some of the stunning bakes he could do and the innovative ideas were thought provoking in so many ways.
He sent me such a stare of inc
redulous disbelief that I ran out of words. I remember him back in season one, concentrating hard, smiling, so happy to get through each week. Back then he’d always talked about having all the luck, but it was skill that went beyond cakes and artistry with pastry that I couldn’t hope to have.
“The bakes you guys did in later shows were miles ahead of what we did in season one,” he said finally. “But I’ll give it a try.”
“You were breaking new ground,” I said, fiercely loyal. Without the show, I’d never have considered baking as a career. Stuck in college studying for a degree in marketing, I was all ready to follow my dad into the family’s auto sales business, same as my older brother. But seeing Justin on that show with the same hopes and dreams as me, along with a not-so-secret crush on him, had made me try hard to find another path. “You inspired me,” I added firmly, but his incredulous disbelief didn’t slip.
“I don’t know why you’d say that, but thank you.” He was going to say something about not being inspiring, and I had a whole list of statements I could make about why he did. From the story of his past to the focused determination, to the way he held up his chin, to the stupid rainbow jokes he’d had to endure, he was my hero. Some people saw success in sports or business and put their heroes on pedestals. I saw beyond the superficial with Justin and damn right he was my hero. Winning season one, making a name for himself despite everything, had been something I thought of constantly as I made 3B a force to be reckoned with in the luxury bake market.
“I can’t wait to get back in the kitchen.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t sound convinced.
I wasn’t surprised by his lack of enthusiasm. He’d made it, and he didn’t need the show. Hell, he could probably donate a hundred thousand to his chosen charity and not even blink. Still, he was here, and I’d have to do a lot not to look at him as my hero. I wanted to keep talking though, learning more from him.
“What do you have in mind for week one cupcakes now that they’ve given us the heads up on the decoration theme?”
“Are we supposed to talk about it?” he replied quickly, almost defensive, with a tone of panic. I couldn’t unwrap any of those emotions in Justin, and I was kind of embarrassed I’d even asked.
“I guess not.”
He relaxed at that and then tapped his nose, leaned into me, and winked. “I’m not giving away my secrets now.”
He was in my space, and he smelled like heaven. An ocean fresh cologne, the mint of his breath, and his eyes sparkled with humor. So, I reacted in the same vein, leaned in myself.
“I got dibs on kirsch,” I announced. We were close enough that if I moved a touch further, I could kiss him.
What the hell? Rein it in, Casanova.
For a brief moment, he stared at me, and I saw his gaze dip to my lips and then back up. There was a heat there, a casual attraction and I smiled with caution. I was out of practice with flirting, but my twin told me I needed to get a fucking grip on myself, and if that meant getting close to my hero, then that was fine with me.
He stepped back then faked horror and clutched his chest. “You stole my idea!”
I copied his reaction. Anything to break the spell that had been weaving between us. “It’s the stolen custard conspiracy of season six all over again!”
He groaned. “Oh God, that episode! She clearly took that custard and knew damn well it wasn’t hers.” He was talking about Clare Goodwin, the evil stepmother of the sixth season. The baddie that the viewers loved to hate, but who’d somehow, against all the odds, eventually won that season. I liked that we were laughing about something that connected us. My twin had been right, damn him. This show could get me off the hamster wheel, let me make new friends, build my own social circle, and end up being good for me. ‘Stay positive. Rebuild everything. Fuck someone hot.’ That last bit he had said with a lewd grin, for which he’d gotten a beer poured over his head, which led to us tousling on the carpet. The irony that it was his four-year-old twin girls splitting us up wasn’t lost on either of us.
“Without this show, I wouldn’t have the clients I have, and I guess you wouldn’t have a hugely successful career as a, what is it called, a vlogger?”
“Influencer.”
“Shaping the baking minds of the future, I love it.” He winced, so I forged ahead. “We’re lucky we get to do what we love.”
He hesitated for a moment and then nodded, but he didn’t look convinced.
“Oh, you’re early.”
I watched the short, loud, and uber-efficient Rita powerwalking our way. She was the same floor manager we’d had in L.A., and a familiar friendly face, albeit one that was always creased in stress. Justin turned as well, and I wondered if she was talking to both of us. I know I was early for my preliminary discussions with Rita and the team who would be discussing the final details of the competition with me. I’d been through it all once, the health and safety, signing disclaimer forms and contracts, it was all paperwork that sat behind what looked like a simple baking competition.
“You’re up first, Justin.”
Finally, I was in the huge garden room on my own. First things first, I needed to find a chair because my back ached after driving curled up like a pretzel from Calgary to Banff in a crappy, way too small, rented Toyota. Not to mention the initial flight from Rochester to Calgary, which had been shit as well since the plane was packed with people. On the last leg, the longest part, I’d been stuck between a big guy who seemed as if he’d eaten garlic at some point in the recent past and a woman who spent the entire flight fretting about missing her favorite show. I stopped listening after the first five minutes, too busy trying not to lean either way, although if it came to it, a missed show beat out garlic breath. I wasn’t used to sitting still, always on the go in the bakery as I created my cakes, so after a few stretches I perched on the end of a long bench and waited.
Coming face to face with Justin under the chandelier, the focal point of the Christmas decorations, was unsettling and a shock to the system, and I couldn’t stop thinking about him. It wasn’t just because he was a good-looking man, blessed with eyes as blue as cornflowers, or that he sported deliberate day-old stubble and had cheekbones I could wax lyrical about all day, but it was his smile and his lips—pouty, kissable, sexy lips—and the way he held himself with so much confidence.
And his ass.
It wasn’t just all of that, it was Marc, and the papers in my pocket, and the hopelessness of everything that had been fucked up. Marc had loved Justin, mentioned all of his attributes when he and I had been snuggled up on the bed of our dorm, both of us idiot nineteen-year-old kids, the college cat I’d called Pipkin on my lap, watching the first season of the show. I’d baked before at home, simple recipes that had become more complicated with the pass of time. It was seeing out and proud Justin, baking with his smile and showing his ability that had me wondering if one day I could be on the show as well.
I was used to Marc commenting on what other men looked like, it never used to worry me. After all, we went through college together, married after graduation, and he worked for my dad. I killed time working for a local hotel on reception and baking in my spare time to the point where I’d begun to make more income from baking for birthdays and weddings than I did it my day job. The year I won season four I never thought I’d get past week one, but by the time I finished I was able to give up the hotel job, and actually consider opening my own place. So Bakes by Brody was born, and I’d even started thinking about Marc and I expanding our family. Maybe kids, maybe we’d start small with another cat or a dog.
Only I was kidding myself. It turned out that since the success of Bakes by Brody, Marc hadn’t been hankering for the picket fence with me and Pipkin. No. He’d been scouting for anonymous hookups and carrying on in a year-long affair behind my back. Dad told me about money that was missing from the business, but I hadn’t believed him. In fact, I’d only found out the true extent of my husband’s betrayal when he’d used the wrong
credit card to pay for a hotel room. A simple mistake, but he’d broken like a glass vase hitting tile when all I’d asked was whether it was a business expense for his accounts.
He’d accused me of accusing him, and then the shit had hit the fan. Before I’d even known what hit me, dazed and confused, I was outside our apartment door, with Pipkin in his carrier, my battered leather bag, and a suitcase of crumpled and shoved-in clothes. Somehow, he’d made it my fault—I worked too hard. I didn’t pay enough attention to him. I was shit in bed. I believed every word of it because I had been working hard, I probably wasn’t home enough, and sometimes I was too tired to play the convoluted games he wanted in bed. He filed for divorce, and I didn’t argue. How could I love a man who fucked about on me then gaslighted me into thinking it was entirely my fault?
Dad had been right, and I’d pushed him away when he told me. That was the first damage. My siblings were the rock I clung to but now spent too much time worrying about me. And my mom was the one who held me when I cried. Marc had denied everything, and we were done. My dad didn’t press charges for my sake, and I put the money back into the dealership out of my own pocket, but since that day something had shifted between me and my father. He didn’t look at me the same way. He was probably disappointed in me for my choices.
All in all, it was a sad end to my childish hopes and dreams. Marc had lied to me, cheated on me, and once I signed the papers, it would be over for real.
My naïve but happy world ended and the phone call for this show couldn’t have come at a better time. I was financially stretched, and I needed to get more publicity so I could raise my profile and make money to invest back in my business. If I managed to get to the final, then the publicity would be great, too—and more importantly—I would have two weeks to work out what I wanted, to do, whether to say yes or no to a hundred different options that spun in my head. There was a hotel chain that wanted to buy into my brand, another bakery consortium that wanted to hire me as an advisor. I’d even been offered a spot on a breakfast show as God knows what. Every single one of these would take me away from baking, but I was lost for other ways to make everything right with my dad or myself.
