by R. J. Scott
Rita bobbed her head. “We need you to have visible fun at least twice each.” She sounded so perky and I genuinely thought Clare was very close to beating her with the nearest wooden spoon. Clare’s competition, season six, had been the most dramatic. Two contestants left in disgrace. One stole someone’s custard, and then one who threw an entire batch of cinnamon sugar puff pastry pinwheels at the judges.
Tensions were high, and Clare won only because her closest competitor had a refrigerator malfunction when his mousse wouldn’t set for the tiramisu. Accusations flew that the gelatin had been replaced. The fridge was tampered with, or the mousse was switched, but no one had proof, and Clare had the victory. Her flame-red hair was as bright as her temper, and her lack of giving a shit about the machinations of the show, and its viewing figures were legendary. With Clare, it was all about the winning, which I guess it should be for all of us. Justin was currently taking a selfie with the tables in the background and grinning like a maniac until the photo was done and the smile dropped, and he was normal-Justin again.
My cell vibrated in my back pocket after a short moment, and I knew it was his post. He was the only person I followed that I had notifications turned on for. I follow him. I save some of his bakes. I imagine how he might cook something and yes since Marc had broken me maybe I watched some of the videos on repeat.
“Okay then,” Rita announced and hugged her clipboard. “On the left, can we have Shauna at the back, Ivan in the middle, Clare at the very front. On the right, Kristen at the back, Brody in the middle, Justin at the front.”
“I’m not sure that works for me,” Justin said in all seriousness and glanced down at his phone, frowning. “My team says the optics suggest I should be in the center.”
“We have our own optics, and this has been decided in consultation with the focus groups.” Rita was firm. Focus groups? What the hell? This wasn’t the competition I recalled, but hey as Adam said, with his normal twinly perception in our last call, things move on, and you need to play the game. Rita led us to our stations, giving the first four a spiel about what we could find and where. She worked from Clare and around until it was just me and Justin left, but for some reason, we weren’t separated, instead she pulled the two of us to one side and lowered her voice. “As our sole queer representation, we recommend you make a few comments that emphasize your situation.”
“Our what?” I glanced at Justin, who didn’t look as bemused as I did. Our situation? What? The fact I was gay? Or that Justin was whatever Justin was, gay, or bi, or whatever.
Justin made a noise as if he’d been considering the question, a cross between a thoughtful hum and a huff. A huffum, as my mom likes to call them. This was ridiculous, and I was ready to back him when he launched into Rita explaining how wrong she was.
“Okay, fair enough,” he said and my mouth dropped open. “But if we’re talking sexual innuendo, then I’ll need to scrutinize my contracts.” Justin checked his phone again. “However, at this point I’m prepared to negotiate one, maximum two, comments about cream, and one use of the word erection with an added smirk when creating the gingerbread house.”
What the fuck?
“That’s fine,” she said. “And you, Brody?”
They were looking at me. “I’m baking,” I said lamely.
Rita made this face that implied I was hopeless, or maybe I was reading too much into it.
“Justin, you suggested in the prep meeting that the two of you could do some on-camera flirting, fake an attraction or something?” Rita asked and glanced between the two of us.
“Well it was my team that suggested it, but yes, why not?” Justin said. He spoke with such conviction that my heart hurt. So much for thinking of getting coffee, or building snowmen, or soft kisses in the snow.
“Huh? I’m not—”
Justin rolled right over me. “I’m sure we can manage something, Rita.” Then he hustled me away to another corner. “Roll with it,” he murmured. “Selfie.”
I was clearly in shock but managed a smile when he pointed his phone at us, knowing I was going to be immortalized on his social media again.
“But I asked you to go for a coffee for real—”
“You did?” He looked surprised.
“Yeah, I’m not pretending to flirt.”
He pressed a hand to my chest, leaned in a little. “My team is right. It wouldn’t hurt to get the publicity,” he whispered, but I stepped back and away, and I felt dirty. I thought we’d connected over the snowman, but now I felt like that had been nothing at all. Just like with Marc, I’d been assigned the convenient extra.
“That’s not what I wanted to do,” I muttered under my breath so only he would hear.
“We don’t always get a choice.”
“Yes, we do. Life is all about fucking choices.” He shot a surprised glance at my show of temper but soon went back to his phone. I headed to my bench and made a whole show of checking things out, opening and closing the oven, familiarizing myself with what I had, to see if anything had changed. I wasn’t going to be someone who pretended attraction just to get public appreciation or to raise ratings. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at him and spent the next hour until first filming making it very obvious I was ignoring the fuck out of him. One bathroom break later, I couldn’t help myself and checked my phone. He’d posted the first selfie talking about day one, and then there it was, the one of the two of us.
“Day one filming with this cutie, Brody Thomas, Snowman Rescuer, #season4winner #sexybaker #darkeyes #askhimforcoffee #coffeedate #sorrynotsorry.”
Faker.
When I stepped out of the bathroom, Justin was waiting for me with a neutral expression, but with his arms crossed protectively over his chest. He looked oddly vulnerable.
“Brody,” he began but didn’t get to say anything else as Rita came bustling out and called for us to take our places and get ready for shooting.
I was happy to get back in the room and not let one moment of embarrassment at my stupidity to think I could ask him for a coffee and maybe get to know him to ruin what I was doing.
Only my mood hadn’t recovered even as I baked my first batch of cupcakes, and I was only seconds away from burning them. There was now footage of me flailing on the floor balancing two hot trays of cupcakes while cursing that I’d not set a timer.
Great. Day one and I was messing things up. I’m better than this. I could imagine a client commissioning a cake and me telling them that I’m sorry I burned it. Not a great look for me.
“You okay down there?” Justin leaned over my counter, the muscles in his shoulders bunching as the cameras panned over my drama. I think he was trying for humor, but I read sarcasm.
“It’s all good,” I bit out and rolled to a stand. This wasn’t the first time I’d forgotten to set a timer, but my instincts were good. I wasn’t typically as stressed as this. Fucking Justin and fake flirtations.
Courtney appeared with the judges, and the cameraman stood to one side capturing me, my virgin cakes, and it was my time for a sound bite.
“Those look really nice,” Lewis said. “Not dry at all.” He turned to the camera. “Sometimes red velvet can be dry if it’s not removed from the oven at the exact moment.”
Thank you for underlining my momentary panic.
“Agreed,” I said and forced a smile. He was giving a silent warning that I was fucking things with his patented smug smile. Asshole.
“So tell us about your bake.” Venetia leaned into Lewis and smiled up at him. They had the on-show flirtation down. Was that what they wanted from me and Justin? Surely people saw through this shit like I did?
“I’m using a simple red velvet cupcake with an American buttercream flavored with kirsch and decorating with tempered chocolate.”
Lewis made a hmmm noise of concern and placed his hands on the counter to brace himself. “American buttercream can be very sweet.”
“Which will perfectly balance the kirsch,” I replied ev
enly.
“Do you think your idea is too simple?” He was pushing me, but I had to ignore him.
Did I? I blinked at him for a second at the trick question. “Not at all, when you’re making cupcakes, there isn’t a need for overcomplication, it’s about the flavor and the balance of sweet and sharp.”
Lewis did that hmmm thing again, and I waited for him to comment. He didn’t say anything else but keeping quiet after landing a particularly heavy comment was his stock in trade. He liked to make the contestants worry, which inevitably made them do something stupid. In my season, he’d implied to Paula, my closest rival, that her idea was too complicated. She removed embellishments and then he announced she should have pushed harder and marked her down. He knew how to play the game, and I had to be sure not to rise to it.
Then it was Venetia’s turn as his opposite judge, she was the good cop to his bad cop, and she had it down perfectly.
“Don’t listen to Mr. Grumpy,” she trilled as she placed a hand on his arm, her scarlet nail polish a perfect contrast to his emerald sweater. “Simple is good, I want to taste the kirsch and the sweetness of the cream, and I can’t wait to see your chocolate work.”
“Thank you,” I acknowledged but didn’t fail to pick up on her use of simple. They were a team in undermining my confidence, but I wasn’t going to rise to them. I was going to stay calm, cool, and in control. I hadn’t won season four by being intimidated.
“How is it going, Brody?” Courtney asked in her best hostess tone.
“Good,” I said and looked up at her from my bowl of butter. She wanted more. “It’s great to be back here and baking.”
They moved on to Justin’s bench after me. There was laughter, jokes, no hmmming. When I glanced over at Justin, he was bent over and looking in his oven. He made some joke about whipping his cream so hard that it flew up in his face.
All I could think was that the idiot was playing to the studio.
And also that he looked fine bent over like that, and his ass was perfect in his close-fitting jeans.
So fine.
Chapter Nine
A party without cake is just a meeting
Justin
If any of my followers knew what I was feeling when I started my bake they’d be horrified.
Shame was the overriding feeling.
I was ashamed of myself for letting Erin and the team talk me into anything as stupid as fake flirting with Brody and guilt was a close second. Then, wrapping it all up in glittery paper with a big fucking bow was the fact I was more worried about getting likes from strangers than the approval of the sexy man creating beautiful cupcakes at the bench behind me.
The black dog of anxiety and depression came and sat next to me, but I fed the imaginary specter imaginary kibble and my mood slowly lifted. I had a job to do and too many people had invested in me to mess this up by being attracted to a fellow contestant. Pretending to have an attraction was one thing, but there was something about Brody that made me feel weird.
Wrong.
Different.
Only last year I’d done an entire fashion show where flirting with the designer was the whole damn point. It didn’t hurt anyone and the number of contracts I got from that one event was ridiculous. What was wrong with a little bit of flirting?
Because Brody isn’t some shallow person who thinks that queerbaiting an audience is a good thing. He suggested we go for coffee and have a date. What is that all about? What kind of man asks me on a freaking coffee date?
The judges left my bench, and I stared down at the thank goodness perfect cupcakes. I might not be as good as the other five here but a guy didn’t win a baking competition without being able to bake a cupcake.
Now all I needed to do was think about what the hell I was going to do next. I could see Clare’s from here. She was already making some complicated sugar work that would suspend the cupcake. Who the hell did that in a ninety minute bake? There was no way in hell I had time to suspend anything. I heard Brody being interviewed. Apparently, his cupcakes were inspired by family Christmas and his dad’s favorite cherries, and all kinds of Christmas warmth.
Family Christmas was me on a sofa in my own place, doing some videos, maybe a filmed bake full of pretend Christmas cheer, and then watching The Grinch and identifying with the green anti-hero.
Pull it back. Rein in it. Think.
Buttercream. I was making buttercream. Well, that was one decision made. But the theme? Christmas music was a thing, and I could say my inspiration was for when I decorated trees. I liked certain songs. My favorite is a Greg Lake classic, and the video had camels in it. I peered at the cream and then my cakes. Camels weren’t going to work on a cupcake. In fact, I wasn’t sure camels would work for anything to do with baking.
What about other songs I like.
The cream was ready for coloring. Flavors.
Home. Presents under the tree. Music. Rose. Inspiration slammed into me and I dashed to the supplies area, pulled out what I needed, and then assembled my cupcakes, finishing with only seconds to spare.
Through all of it, even if I tried not to think about Brody, I was totally aware of him behind me. I was still embarrassed about suggesting he’d be up for a ruse to get me more likes. So, I ignored him and even when he and Ivan bantered across the benches about kirsch, I didn’t join in. I even had a comment on the tip of my tongue about cherries, but it was one of those things I would say then look coy. Right now, I wasn’t in the mood for pretending to be modest or having to look Brody in the face. I managed to get in a mention of cream plus stared into my oven with my ass in the air plus two rounds of “Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer.” That would have to do.
By the time I’d settled into the rhythm of design I was telling myself that upsetting Brody wasn’t my fault. Why didn’t Brody think a flirtation was okay? Was I that bad? Was I not the kind of person that warranted a flirtation? Maybe some gentle touches or kind words.
He said he was going to ask you for a coffee. He asked you to save Jeremy.
On autopilot, I’d created tiny car shapes for the top of my cupcake, all in white, decorated with the smallest pink sugar paste window I’d ever managed.
I’d received a few messages from kids in the last couple of days, probably because of the superhero bake I’d done. One of them asked me how to make fondant icing templates, and I hadn’t answered yet, but I took a couple of quick snaps of what I was doing when the cameras weren’t on me and saved them for later. So what if my demographic wasn’t ten-year-old kids, I wouldn’t leave this one hanging. Although what he’d think of the naked chest post last night and the suggestive mention of frosting I don’t know. Maybe I needed to set up a second stream for my social media that was kid friendly? I filed away the thought for later because I had to concentrate. One thing I do know is that I smiled at the thought of helping out new bakers who wanted to learn.
And the smile was genuine.
The cars were cut out of rolled icing, and I placed them gently on top of each cake into the swirled topping which tasted of just the right mix of vanilla and rose. The buttercream had a touch of pink hue, and it tasted like heaven. It was so nice that I could eat a bowl of it.
Of course, then I’d be sick, but somehow I’d done enough with my cupcakes, and with only five minutes on the clock I’d nearly finished. A small dusting of edible rose-pink glitter and I was done. I set my cupcakes on the end of the bench and spent the last few minutes tidying up. As I deposited the bowls into the sink, I cast a look at Brody’s cupcakes.
And my world imploded.
They were stunning. He’d chosen a musical theme with tempered chocolate notes aside of tiny violins that he sprayed gold against the red and white cream which was sumptuously layered with the notes. They were a winning design, and if they tasted as good as they looked, I was losing against him. Self-doubt was crippling, and I panicked. In real life, one of the on-site pastry chefs would come over and primp my cakes, make them more this or more
that, ensure they were perfect for the beauty shots we’d use on my social accounts. I didn’t have anyone doing this here. Were the car shapes too big? Did they look enormous against the swirled icing? Were the swirls delicate enough? Maybe I should have tempered chocolate the same as Brody. Maybe I should have—
“TIME!” Courtney shouted and startled the hell out of me. Too late now, what’s done is done. “Tools down bakers.” Ivan cursed under his breath. Shauna squeaked, but the rest of us were soberly quiet. This was the first bake of the competition and one of us would be going home tomorrow after the final gingerbread extravaganza. I didn’t want it to be me.
I won’t let it be me.
One by one we took our cakes up in order. Clare’s were given a perfect. Ivan received a well done with provisos about flavor. Shauna got a thumbs up from Venetia, which was the highest plaudit from her. Kristen got a handshake from Lewis, the highest accolade from him. Then it was Brody with his perfect cakes.
Venetia fluttered her hands in front of her, pressing them to her chest. “Oh my, I’ve never seen chocolate work so perfect before. Look at those tiny notes and the violins, oh my.”
“Well if it’s on looks alone, you could have a winner here,” Lewis warned. He cut open a cupcake and hmmmm’d. I could see the way a small amount of chocolate filling oozed, and the cake held firm. The cream remained in place, and then there were the goddamn tiny violins. The look on Lewis’s face when he tasted the first one. He was in heaven. Venetia gave a thumbs up, fluttered some more, and everyone in the room knew this was the winning bake.
Unless of course I did better.
It wouldn’t be me.
It was now my turn. Lewis turned the plate critically checking the cupcakes on their stand for imperfections. I could see so much wrong with them.
“What is your inspiration?”
“Driving home for Christmas,” I managed.
“Very nice,” Lewis murmured without a single sign of a hmmm.
“These are so pretty,” Venetia added, and I got a quick hand flutter.
