by R. J. Scott
I settled back on the bed, one hand under my head after tousling my hair, and then I put the phone just right, playing with the settings and moving until the light was perfect.
“Hey, Mallys, I’m at the Fairmont Banff Springs Hotel, met up with the other five contestants and did the opening shots. Wait until you see the antlers and the sweater I had to wear, you’re gonna laugh. I might get some sweaters commissioned for the shop, who’s up for that?” Several hearts began to dance on the screen, and a few messages along the lines of I’d buy that. Meanwhile, I had a product I could push. “Seems like I’m going to have to be content with a Mallys T-shirt, but it’s a good shirt, so I’m not going to worry too much.” More hearts, more messages, and I could guarantee people were getting shirts, buying into the name. “We’re meeting for dinner, check my Insta for photos later. Bye, guys!” I blew a kiss at the screen and then ended the video, dropping the cell to the bed and feeling faintly dirty. When had it got to this point where I didn’t feel successful after each video? Where the number of likes meant nothing to me? The cell buzzed, and I buried it under a pillow. I could still hear it, so I was torn between looking at the messages or turning it off. Instead, I headed into the bathroom for a shower. No one can hear their phone through a closed door while standing under a torrent of water.
If only I could forget it was out there making noise.
I rolled my neck and then braced my hands on the tiles, the water beating down on my tight neck.
Rose water cupcakes, winter rose, rose gold.
The blind challenge I had no control over, so I’d have to cross that bridge when I got to it and try not to panic. There are two types of people in a blind bake. Those who’ve never seen whatever they had to make before, and those who’ve made it all the time. The ones who knew what to do always looked so quietly confident, and the ones who didn’t? They were the contestants who said that they didn’t understand what they were doing and just winged it.
I know how to bake. I’d been baking since forever, at times I had so many baked goods in my tiny kitchen that I’d have to pass them out to neighbors. Not talking to them of course but leaving parcels at their door.
The final task, the Finale Challenge, was to create a Christmas gingerbread house, and that wasn’t difficult as long as the gingerbread snapped and the icing consistency was good. The last one I’d made had been some time ago. One of my first Instapost was a stop frame of me making a house, but it was also one of the first times that a team had stepped in to pretty it up. Apparently, the photos weren’t working for them, and since I was using a particular product that I was endorsing it had to be on point.
I didn’t need a team for tomorrow though, not even I could fuck up a gingerbread house.
Please don’t let me fuck up the house.
Dressed and ready to go downstairs I was nearly out the door, but at the last minute, actually with my hand on the handle, I stopped. “I’m tired,” I said to the empty room. “Also, I don’t really have anything clever to say to anyone. I should sleep. Maybe research a few taste profiles for the cupcakes.” One quick call to reception to pass on a message to the rest and to order room service, I sat at the desk and turned on my iPad.
With a plan finally in mind, and my burger and fries eaten, I checked the time. Just after nine p.m. and I was too wired to sleep. Maybe a walk would help but not inside because I craved some quiet time. Wrapped up in my coat, I headed down the back stairs and out into the courtyard, staying close to the edge and then heading along a winding path that hadn’t been cleared since the new snowfall and continued into the wooded area. The path had tall lamps every so often, enough so I could walk without wandering off into the dark, but other than that, there was a cozy quietness about this walk. That was when I noticed Brody.
“Hey!” I called, and Brody stopped so suddenly he pinwheeled on the snow and ended up on his ass on the ground. I scurried as fast as I could to catch up with him as he heaved himself up to stand, brushing off the snow that was all over him. “Shit, my bad.” I genuinely was sorry for not thinking everything through. Story of my life.
“It’s fine.” He grinned at me. Hell, he was always freaking smiling, did he ever stop?
I gripped his arm as he slid again, and he laughed out loud as he made a show of planting himself steady on solid ground.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“I thought I was the only—”
We spoke over each other. “You first,” I managed to say before he could get another word in.
“I thought I was the only idiot out for a walk in the snow.”
“No, I’m an idiot as well.” What? What did I just say?
He gestured to the path ahead. “You want to keep going? Together?”
“Lead on.”
We fell into step and headed off down the hill away from the mansion, following the twisty turning path that had been cleared at some point judging from the piles of snow either side but was already covered in a couple of inches of new snow. There had been a sign at the start of the path warning people that the way hadn’t been cleared, but I didn’t do well with warnings.
“Give me a warning and I do the opposite,” I blurted into the companionable silence.
“Huh?” He cautiously bypassed a snowman someone had built on the side that had toppled onto the path.
“The sign at the beginning saying the path wasn’t recommended for guests.”
“Oh, that sign.” He sounded distracted, and then he stopped. “No, I can’t do it. I can’t leave it.” I stopped walking and slid a little, and he reached out to steady me. “Wanna do something stupid?” he asked.
Part of me wanted to say yes, particularly if it meant he was propositioning me in the snow in the middle of the goddamn night.
“Help me fix a snowman?” he said and turned around. That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but it was better than going back to my room and worrying about the fact I was going to fuck up the first round of the competition. “Some kid will wake up tomorrow, and they’ll expect to see their snowman here, and they’ll end up crying.”
“It’s okay, you had me at snowman,” I lied and between us we righted the fallen figure. Mostly what had happened was that his head had slipped off, probably when the tree above let loose a lump of snow on top of it. We dug out the scarf, each starting at one end and tugging hard to free it from its icy confines. It was like the slow-motion Lady and the Tramp spaghetti scene, him pulling one end, me the other, and both of us meeting in the middle. He laughed, and we were so close that if I accidentally slipped or leaned in I could kiss him or fall on him or do something from a rom-com where we ended up falling for each other and—
“Oomph,” he managed to say as we collided in the middle, and I had a handful of sexy baker.
I waited for him to move away, but he didn’t.
I waited for him to say something, but he stood there, looking down at me, and I couldn’t make out the expression in his dark eyes. If he didn’t move I was going to go on my tiptoes and kiss him, but just as I flexed my muscles he stepped away, and we didn’t stay close after that, separating to find the nose and eyes and whatever else we needed. Even though I mourned the missed kiss, I was proud of myself when I found the carrot, the tip of it just visible under the snowfall. It wasn’t long before he found dark stone buttons which I assume were the eyes. Not having a photo of the original to check against made it difficult to know we were doing the right thing or not.
He started to talk as we put the finishing touches on our frosty friend.
“When I was a kid we’d have build-a-snowman competitions, but my brother Joe nearly always won. He’s a sculptor, and he always made his look real. Adam and I, he’s my twin, we’d build together but spent more time fighting and throwing snowballs than we did building. Lacey, she’s my little sister, was the only direct competition for Joe, and it was a close-fought battle to get the family win, which meant a prize of the biggest hot chocolate with marshmall
ows out of all of them.”
“You missed out on that?”
He threw me a smile. “Nah, we’d all get it, even Lacey, who never managed to finish all her drink. Joe would say he’d gotten an extra marshmallow, which was bullshit because Mom and Dad always treated us all the same. She works with me at 3B.” He used the abbreviation for Bakes by Brody, and I followed what he was saying. “She sure as hell can finish her drinks now.” He smiled at whatever memories were spinning around in his head.
My heart hurt a little. The way he’d casually talked about his three siblings, including a twin, a mom and dad, who treated them all the same, was hard for me to hear. I’d heard things like this before and I generally ignored it.
Last birthday I’d taken over a floor in a hotel in the city and invited thirty of my closest friends. Well, at least people to whom I was connected through business. We’d had a DJ. I got drunk and ended up leaving the party early with this guy named Mick, who was a big name in… I don’t quite recall. I just know we tried to have sex, and I wasn’t into it. He fucked his hand and left after he’d tried to snap a photo of me and him in bed to sell. Pity party for one engaged and ready to go.
“… a name?” Brody asked, but I’d missed most of the question.
“Huh?”
“We should give him a name.” He stepped back and eyed the construction critically, smoothing part of the head, and then frowned. “Jeremy,” he announced.
“Jeremy?”
“He looks like he could be a Jeremy, don’t you think?”
I studied our repaired creation carefully. “He looks like a snowman.”
Brody snorted a laugh. “I know, but a name is vital otherwise they can’t be magic.”
This seemed important to Brody, and I must admit I was smiling at his unbridled enthusiasm for naming this rescued collection of snow and his excitement at the word magic. The smile I gave him was different to normal. I hadn’t considered why I was smiling. It wasn’t because I was laughing at him, but right inside me, there was a sudden burst of warmth as if the joy was coming from deep inside. As if it meant something.
“Jeremy is good.”
I took a photo for my Insta. Hash tagged it with Jeremy, and the various other key tags I needed to get in for my sponsors. When it came to explaining the content, I knew I should check with Brody before plastering his name all over my social media. There again, he was in this competition for exposure, so I guess it didn’t hurt. “Rescued a snowman with Brody from the show, called our frosty friend, Jeremy,” I said out loud as I typed. “Is that okay?”
He appeared to seriously consider my question and then nodded. “Yeah, it’s important to document Jeremy.”
We said our goodbyes when we reached the Fairmont, went our separate ways with a casual ‘see you at the games’ from him, but just as he reached the stairs, he turned back to look at me.
“I had fun,” he said.
“Me too.”
And then he was gone.
I checked in on the post an hour later, the usual amount of comments—too many to answer—and already four thousand likes, along with so many re-posts that I trended. Briefly, but I’d done it, and when a note popped up with a well done from Erin, I was proud of myself.
Only pride didn’t feel quite as good as the happiness I felt rebuilding Jeremy and laughing with Brody.
Chapter Eight
Cupcakes are muffins that believed in miracles
Brody
I couldn’t get last night out of my head.
When we were in front of the snowman and we did that scarf thing, it was like a switch flicked in my head. All I needed to do was lean in a little and I could have kissed him. That was when I knew what I had to do. After I showered, I pulled out the divorce papers, ignored all the legalese, and signed right under Marc’s name.
So simple. Just my name in cursive with the extra curly Y, and it was done.
I felt nothing because I’d already worked through every emotion. People had fought for the right for me to marry, but I’d fucked it up, he’d fucked it up, and the sooner I owned my own part in it and stopped looking for reasons to make things right, then the quicker I could get through this.
I handed the envelope to the front desk, and they assured me it would be collected, and when I walked away from reception, I was lighter for it. Justin was already done with his breakfast, but we exchanged smiles as he left. I didn’t stay much longer because today was the first day of the competition, and we needed to get a hustle on to get over to the venue.
It seemed right to be wearing my favorite shirt that Lacey’d bought for me because she said I looked good in fall colors. It was soft and dark red. I zoned out when she’d begun talking about eye color and skin palettes but checking myself in the mirror, she was right. It did look good on me, even if it hugged my belly a little too much. Still, the color and remembering my sister’s words gave me that extra buzz of confidence.
I’ve signed the papers. I’m not married now. I like Justin. I can do this. I’m going to ask him to get a coffee and just talk to someone who isn’t an asshole.
He walked with me to the annex, and it was now or never to ask.
“This is all Adam’s fault because I wouldn’t do this normally, but we only have two weeks and… ” I sipped on the to-go coffee.
“Adam?”
“My twin, he said I should ask, and I was thinking whether you would like to get a coffee with me sometime?” I asked in a quick run-on sentence.
He glanced down at my mug and back up at me. “You mean like we’re doing now?”
My mouth fell open as the realization hit me that I’d just talked about doing something that we were already doing. I couldn’t help rolling my eyes.
“Well shit, that was smooth. No, I meant, go out for a coffee.”
“Out.”
“Out, as in date out.”
He could have messed with me then, but he didn’t. “I’d love that.”
“Maybe on our day off after round two?”
“You’re sure I’m going to make it out of the first two rounds?” He had to be joking. He couldn’t still be worried that he’d crash and burn?
“Absolutely. I’m sure you’ll be in the final.”
“That makes one of us with complete conviction.” Was he being self-deprecating? Or completely honest?
“So, our day off, we could go into Banff, get a coffee?”
“It’s a date,” he said, and his eyes widened. “Or not,” he added.
“Guys, get a hustle on.” Ivan bumped into me, and I nearly dropped my coffee, which would have been a shit start to the day. I wanted to discuss the concept of a date. Then my thoughts went straight to coffee-flavored kisses. With Justin.
It was going to be impossible baking with a hard-on, but I was stuck with my jeans containing it until we were shown into the room where the filming would be, and we were handed aprons. Everything I recalled about the show was the same. They’d reconstructed the interior from the L.A. sound stage here, fitting it in around the quirky room and making it look sleek and modern. Six workstations sat in two rows of three, hot studio lights sat up in the rafters of this vast room, and there were people everywhere. It was everything I recalled. On TV, it would seem as if it was just the six contestants, the two judges, and the host, but what people didn’t see was the network of cables, the primping, and makeup, and the ones who made us stand just so. Right now, the six of us were huddled around Rita, the organizer and floor manager, who worked through a checklist.
“… and we need at least two shots per contestant of you staring into your ovens commiserating over what is happening inside. Too hot, not cooking, too brown, so on. At least one of you messing up equipment, I’m open to volunteers, also with added rueful smiles.”
“I’ll do it,” Shauna said. “ Can I make the mixer go wrong?”
Rita glanced up from her list and focused on Shauna, who again looked as if the world had dumped all of its sad right
on her shoulders. “Is that okay?”
Clare huffed. “Making it seem like we’re burning our cakes isn’t going to do our reputations that much good.” She was right, but unlike me, she was clinging to the belief that this show was all about showcasing our abilities. Yes, they wanted us to bake the awesome, but they also wanted the sound bites, the tears, the worry, the fun stuff. After all, it wouldn’t be much of a show without all of that, and a winning charity payout was a lifeline for the hospice I was attempting to win for. Hell, I’d do handstands dressed as a snowman named Jeremy if I needed to.
I sighed inwardly and glanced at Justin, who was taking notes on his phone, and I knew exactly where that image had been sourced. Jeremy the snowman had been the audience to the moment when lust tugged at me for the sexy, serious, socially marketed Justin.
“How many oven checks?” Justin asked, glancing up from his phone. I found it insanely cute that he was taking notes.
“At least two.”
“So four is okay, or is that too much?”
“Perfect, and I want at least one casual breakout of ‘Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer’.”
“It’s not casual if it’s planned,” Ivan muttered.
Rita ignored him, in full-on floor manager mode. “Does anyone need the words?”
A chorus of no’s, and one yes. Justin was the one who’d said yes, frowned, and looked freaked out.
“That will be an issue,” he announced. “I only know the first line; can you get me a printout so I can have it on my bench to practice?”
Rita nodded, just as serious. “I can get that.”
“Laminated in case of spills,” Justin added. I checked his expression, but no, he wasn’t joking. He genuinely wanted the words to “Rudolph,” and he wanted it laminated, which had Rita in agreement as if she really enjoyed him playing the part with serious intent.
“Anything else you need from us?” Clare snarked.
