Cupcakes and Christmas: A Bake Off inspired MM Christmas Romance

by R. J. Scott

  Lewis cut into one. The filling stayed. The icing fell just so, and the tiny car looked cute. He chewed on a mouthful, exchanging a look with Venetia who mid-chew returned the glance and nodded.

  “I think the look of what you’ve done is perfect, but I think the cake is a little dry, although the cream offsets that for the most part.”

  “I agree with Lewis,” Venetia said. “Presentation eight out of ten, content under the buttercream maybe a seven?”

  “Thank you.” I took the positive and returned to the bench. What was done was done, and there was nothing I could change now. Ivan threw me a look of camaraderie, and I smiled back. Then I caught Brody’s expression, one of silent support and non-judgment, without a flicker of anger in sight. Had he forgiven me for the stupid suggestion?

  “They look good,” he told me. He was supporting me even after I’d fucked up.

  “I wish,” I whispered back. Stupid freaking cupcakes with their teeny tiny cars. What a fuck up.

  Rita, floor manager extraordinaire, stepped into the space in front of us all. “Okay, guys, awesome. You have sixty and then we’re setting up for the blind challenge. Use the facilities, get your makeup checked, and then to the foyer for sound bites please.”

  This I was used to. Being herded from room to room, giving our take on what had happened.

  Mine was pretty much: “It’s the first day, and I can’t wait for the blind challenge. I was kind of disappointed they found the cake itself a seven out of ten, but I loved the feedback.”

  I went and hid then, right at the back of the ballroom where the filming was, finding a space where a row of fridges gave me space to just be on my own. It was similar to a space I’d found during season one on the sound stage, only there’d been more room in that one. I needed to ace the blind challenge today because, if I didn’t then it could be me going home, and I have over three hundred thousand dollars in endorsements riding on getting to episode four. Erin had planned it all, how in week four I was going to use several particular products in my baking. I had to get to that episode.

  I was planning to give a cut of my endorsements to the charity because I didn’t expect to make it to the end, but there was no way I wanted to go out in round one.

  “Hey, mind if I sit?” Ivan slid in next to me before I could answer and hunched up so the refrigerator hid him as well. He was a big man, broad, with a faint accent I couldn’t place but assumed was Russian given his name. Who knows? “That was a hard one,” he announced and sighed noisily. “Getting back into the swing of it.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sorry about the dry cake comment you got from the judges.”

  I side-eyed him expecting a gleeful expression but was shocked to see that he appeared genuinely sad for me.

  “Thanks.”

  “I stole one off the display, they weren’t dry. In fact, they were better than mine, but I guess they need to hold the superstars back a little.” He wrinkled his nose and then laughed. “It’s all a game isn’t it.”

  “Yeah,” I said, although I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, because yes, it was a competition, hence it was a game, and I wasn’t exactly a superstar. He must mean Brody.

  “Room for one more?” Kristen asked as she sat on Ivan’s knee. I pushed myself as far as I could into the corner to give them space, but it seemed Ivan and Kristen were fine with their arrangement. “I used to sit in a space like this back on the sound stage in my season, the only quiet space with no cameras.”

  Ivan laughed, and it was loud. Kristen bounced a little as she smiled with him.

  “I tasted your cake,” Kristen said, leaning forward to share her confidence. “It wasn’t dry at all.”

  I know they were just being kind, but it was nice to have the votes of confidence.

  “Damn you found my hiding place,” Brody muttered from outside our cocoon of safety. “Can I squeeze in?” Ivan moved to the edge with Kristen holding on, and Brody slid in between me and Ivan. He was warm against me. His scent a mix of Christmas and citrus, but he leaned away from me and toward Ivan as if he didn’t want to touch me. Why would he, I’d implied we could have a fake flirtation and while that was in my arsenal to get likes, Brody was a straight-up guy. Well, not straight, but I knew what I meant. Feeling awkward with him next to me was just another down in my day because he was a nice guy.

  I pressed an elbow against him, but he didn’t look at me, so I did it again.

  Finally, he looked at me, but he was wary. I swear if he could have joined Kristen on Ivan’s lap, he would have.

  “Sorry.”

  His wariness was still there, but at least he gave me an understanding smile. “’S’okay.”

  “Still on for coffee?”

  “Maybe.”

  We didn’t have a chance to say anything else because Shauna appeared at the opening to our space, her eyes bright, her smile tremulous. “I like it in here,” she announced. Ivan pushed up against Brody, who in turn was closer to me, but at least he was relaxed, and it was all one moment of fun as she perched on the end. That may have been the worst kind of slap from Brody, but I deserved every damn syllable of the word.

  “So we all found this same kind of hiding hole on the sound stage in L.A.?” Brody asked.

  “I was season one, so I found it first,” I joked, but everyone fell silent for a moment, and I began to squirm. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d misread an audience, but Shauna snorted a laugh.

  “Me second, so surely I’m eligible for more chair space,” Shauna joked, and it was the first time I’d seen her laugh properly since we arrived. She was clutching her phone to her chest, and from the way she held it, I was convinced she’d been catching up with someone special to put that smile on her face.

  “Third season, so I’m next, although I’m quite happy not having any space at all,” Kristen wrapped her arms around Ivan’s neck as the big man laughed.

  “Fourth,” Brody pointed out. “So I get less room than you but more than Ivan, clearly.”

  Ivan huffed. “Yet I’m the one with a lap full of giggling baker.”

  “Not sure we could fit Clare in as well,” Shauna commented and shot a mischievous glance my way. God, how much I wanted to say that Clare was probably out there losing her temper with someone. I restrained myself.

  “Selfie?” I asked, and we all peered up into the camera. I captured a cool picture of the five of us, posting it and hash tagging it with all kinds of nonsense but including a couple of new ones #WhereIsClare #ClareIsMissing. It was a bit like Where’s Wally, but Where’s Clare. I could make it run as long as I was in the competition. Which at the rate I was going might well be one freaking week.

  “So who’s ready for the blind challenge?” Kristen addressed the elephant in the room with far too much brightness in her tone.

  “It can’t be any worse than fondant volcanoes and popping candy,” Ivan muttered.

  We all mumbled in agreement. The season five showcase had been a disaster of epic proportions for everyone who tried. The theme was Earth. Ivan had chosen to make a cake volcano, including a ton of thin blood-red icing, but it had ended up exploding all over Venetia and Lewis, which was hilarious.

  “I remember that episode,” Brody snapped his fingers. “I couldn’t believe they didn’t cut and go to the next scene, and Venetia was wearing that white dress.”

  “And her expression!” Kristen added, and we couldn’t stop laughing because this was gallows humor. All of us were facing the blind bake where we didn’t know what we were going to be given to make, and none of us were in a strong position yet because this was week one.

  I just hoped it was something simple because I know I’ve forgotten more about baking than I cared to admit.

  “I’ve been having nightmares about this,” Brody confessed. I was the only one to hear over the laughing, but then he was looking at me expectantly.

  “Says the man who won every single one of their blind bake challenges.” I leaned in a
little because I couldn’t knock elbows given we were packed in like sardines.

  He sent me a soft smile and a shrug then dipped his gaze. I fought the desire to bury my hands in his soft silky hair and kiss him until neither of us could breathe.

  I had one last thing to say as we stared at each other. “You’ll rock this.”

  Chapter Ten

  I bake because shouting at people is frowned upon

  Brody

  It didn’t matter what Justin said, I was nowhere near rocking this challenge.

  They say pride comes before a fall and the blind bake was a simple chocolate wreath cake. Not difficult. Easy. Kids could make it. Kids wearing blindfolds and with one arm in a pocket could make it.

  However, it seems as if I couldn’t bake to save my life today. I’d nearly burned cupcakes in round one, and now I was staring into the abyss of mess where there should be perfect cake.

  I don’t know what went wrong. Pressure maybe? Or I’d spent too much time staring at the back of Justin’s head? Or was it the way the judges hovered at my bench just as I was taking my cake from the oven? Either way, the cake ended up cracking, and it wouldn’t come out of the cake pan the way I wanted it to.

  I could make chocolate cake in my sleep.

  Maybe that was it, maybe I should be asleep right now.

  Okay, you’re losing it. Get this back.

  “Oh no, what happened!” Courtney exclaimed in my ear. I jumped a mile. She stepped back in horror, and the cake tumbled sideways off the cooling tray and half fell into the sink. I managed to grab it. My fingers poked right through the cake, and Courtney squealed about how it was all her fault and how funny it was.

  There’s nothing funny about losing the chance of getting past week one, receiving much-needed publicity and winning the prize money for my chosen charity.

  “Backing away slowly,” she said with an innocent smile, and even though I wanted to throw the cake in her face, I gave her a smile back. Do not lose it now.

  I was left staring down at the crumbled cake that was cracked and in pieces. How the hell was I going to create a circle from this mess? I couldn’t cut it into a rectangle smoothly. The buttercream might hide the mess but when they cut through the cream, they would see that it was only apricot jam holding it together.

  Think. Think.

  Justin turned to look at me then the cake then back at me, and he grimaced in support. I could see his from here, universally risen, cut into a precise circle. Fuck.

  “No one says Christmas has to be perfect,” he murmured as the cameras moved away. “Just saying.” Then he turned back to his creation, and I wanted to snap at him that yes, this did have to be perfect. Smooth icing, gracefully decorated with chocolate work, and… wait.

  I re-read the brief, which was, as the name suggested, nothing more than a few words on a page.

  Create a chocolate cake wreath, sandwiched with apricot jam, covered in buttercream, and with suitable decoration handmade in your choice of chocolate.

  I already had the jam finished, and it was cooling. I’d chosen the ruby chocolate and white that I intended to color green, and it was already tempered into leaves or ivy and holly along with perfect glossy scarlet berries. Nowhere on the brief did it say it had to be one smooth cake. Justin was right. I glanced at the other guys. Everyone’s cake looked like Justin’s, smooth, perfect, so I was fucked if I was being judged against their interpretation of the words.

  A freaking child could make this much of a mess and get away with it but me? I couldn’t. Despair and self-doubt began to grow inside and then something hit me.

  What if the story is that a child made this? A dad sitting and helping their kid, none of them knowing what they are doing. I had an elaborate back story about Timmy, Tammy, Teresa, and their dad Tom trying to make a beautiful thing for their mom Tara. Hit by inspiration, I rooted about in the draw and found cookie cutters in Christmas shapes. Reindeer, stars, trees.

  TREES!

  I carefully cut out twelve individual trees from the non-cracked bake—at speed because time was limited. Then I carefully sandwiched them with the jam and spread the buttercream icing, smoothing it as I went. From this, I created a loose circle, aware as the time began to run out that most of the others had finished, and Justin even had a coffee.

  Praise the baking gods, he casually left a coffee for me on my bench as well and slunk away without saying a word.

  “Ten minutes to go, bakers! That’s only ten minutes to go!” Courtney hovered for a moment but was distracted away by something Justin said, and thankfully left me alone. I only glanced up at her once, but she was chatting to Justin, and I hoped to hell she didn’t come back.

  I interlaced the berries and the two types of leaves then ran a keen eye over the small tableau. Shaking a little edible glitter on it before writing with soft icing ‘for mom’ in a fake childish hand.

  “Bakers, your time is up!” Courtney announced. “Please bring your bakes up to the table here behind your photos and take a seat.”

  This round was judged blind. Hence the name. Venetia and Lewis had been off doing God knows what for the hours we were given, and now they were back, looking at six bakes. Five identical in size but decorated with individuality and then mine. I was hot as I sat on a stool next to Justin, who swung his legs like a kid.

  “Thank you,” I mumbled.

  He shrugged as if he’d done nothing, but I caught his soft smile. He smelled really good sitting next to me. Our stools were so close together that we were touching. He had his hands in his lap, fingers laced, and I was tempted to reach out and hold his hand, just to find out how soft the skin really was. We had to wait for the first comments as the two judges tasted and were filmed as they did. Every so often the cameras would turn to us, and we’d been told to make facial expressions as appropriate. What would be appropriate as my reaction when they got to my bake? Shock? Horror? Fear?

  “This is interesting,” Venetia muttered as she stopped in front of mine. “I guess it’s what a child might make for his mum, individual cakes, iced, decorated beautifully but with a certain rustic charm. I like this premise.”

  “It’s a bit of a mess,” Lewis said, frowning so hard I hoped the wind didn’t change and leave him that way.

  “It’s not a mess. It’s a child’s chaos. It’s clever, and I think not done by accident. They have captured the art of Christmas for me,” Venetia truthfully admitted.

  “Let’s taste it.” Lewis cut into the nearest tree and separated the two parts. I held my breath. Lewis spent a long time poking his part and there was that frown again. Then he tasted it, and the frown vanished. “Lovely jam, I’m getting hints of brandy. Very nice. The cake is a touch overbaked but the jam and cream are perfect.”

  “It’s a lovely cake, very nice.”

  The camera panned to us to make suitable expressions and then back to the judges. None of us were to give away that it was our bake, and I remained as carefully neutral as possible in all my reactions. At least, they hadn’t told us that the cake was shit, so I was still in with a chance if rustic charm outdid smooth and perfect.

  They moved on to the next one. I didn’t even hear what they said about it because there was a rushing noise in my head, and I had to concentrate on smiling for the camera. Then there was the inevitable delay as they stood back and discussed.

  “Okay in sixth place, this one.” Lewis looked up at us expectantly, and it was Shauna’s bake that had gotten sixth place. “Overbaked and your jam is crystallized.” Shauna nodded, but she wasn’t too upset. Kristen fifth, Clare fourth, and somehow I was third. How the hell I’d managed that, I don’t know. But Justin got second and the winner was a startled Ivan, who was sitting next to a seething Clare.

  “Cut!” the director called, and the six of us relaxed.

  “What the hell was that shit, fourth? What the hell?” Clare complained.

  The rest of us congratulated Ivan, and we chatted amongst ourselves until Rita stood
in front of us with her clipboard.

  “Okay, sound bites in the atrium. Ivan, you’re up first.”

  We made our way to the foyer but just as we reached the door, I tugged Justin to a stop. “Seriously, thank you for the heads up.”

  He bit his lip and smiled all at the same time. “It’s all good.” He stepped closer to me. I could feel his breath on my skin, smell chocolate on his hands, see a tiny smudge of buttercream on his collar that makeup would sort. “Anyway, I owed you for that shit before.” He placed a hand on my arm and leaned in even further. “You would have done the same thing for me.”

  He was too near. His voice was soft. The corridor was empty. We were alone, and I was hard. God, he was all smiles and gorgeous eyes and his hand on my arm was warm, the scent of chocolate thick in the air, and if he leaned in and kissed me, I would melt into his arms. I just knew I would.

  “Are we still on for the coffee?” he asked.

  I pretended to consider it, tapping a finger on my lower lip. “I think that will be fine.”

  “Justin, I got the photos!” Rita handed Justin his phone, and I stepped away from him.

  “Photos?” I asked. Were they photos of us? Of me and him, while we just happened to be standing in a dim corridor looking all cozy and close up.

  “Of the bakes, she took them as we were working,” Justin explained as he pocketed his cell.

  “Well, I took some candid ones as well and got some video.”

  Justin patted her arm. “I owe you one.”

  “Always,” she said and clearly no one was immune to Justin’s charm. I felt stupid and embarrassed and new distrust about his motives rose up. Had Rita been prompted to capture Justin giving me advice? What about us standing here chatting alone? I fought the memories of Marc and the way he would share things with others that were supposed to be between ourselves. Just because I’d married an asshole didn’t mean that every man who looked at me was the same. But it had been Justin’s idea to fake an attraction…