by R. J. Scott
“And then what? I go back to Corning? And you’re in New York City.”
He worried at his lip.
“It’s only a four hour drive. I already checked a map and Scranton is in the middle. We could meet there?” I tried to reassure him.
“And do what? Meet up, have sex, and then leave?” Was he trying to start an argument? It sure sounded like he was.
“I’m thinking we could get dinner as well.” He smiled tentatively, and I had to do my best to rein in the emotions that were swirling around us in the snow. He didn’t want me now, and I wasn’t sure I was able to slow things down. What was the point? Once he got to know me he’d see the real person under the façade and then he’d just fuck off. Just like everyone else in my life. Unless I paid him like I paid the team that supported me. Not paid him to have sex, but maybe I could hire him to make me cakes all the time, then he’d be in my life, and…
No, he’d still see through the real me.
“I can’t uhmmm… ” Well, there went my ability to talk. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He caught my arm as I passed and pulled me to a stop. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes.” No.
“I don’t regret kissing you,” he began, but he sounded as if he considered that maybe I did.
“I don’t regret it either. I’m just tired, and we have early filming, and I still haven’t decided for sure on my Christmas lights cupcake theme.”
“Why don’t we go back to the Fairmont and get a drink and maybe talk about us, and what is going on with me and why I want to go slow,” he offered.
And let him find out you’re running on empty and shouldn’t even be here in this competition? No way.
“It’s okay, I understand, you’ve just been through a lot recently. I get it, and it’s not like I’m the sort to stick around.”
“Justin—”
“I promise you it’s okay. I really am tired, and we have a busy day tomorrow.”
Something shifted in Brody’s expression, an understanding, a concern maybe? Why was he concerned about me? I was okay, thank you very much. I waited for him to do more talking, but he crooked his arm for me to take and then as gentlemanly as I’ve ever seen, he escorted me back to the hotel and to the elevator for my room.
And a tiny part of my fragile stupid heart began to mend when he tugged me behind a pillar and gave me a gentle kiss goodnight before going through the door to the stairs.
This was dangerous. I was here to do a job, sell products, give my clients ROI. It was not an event where I lost my heart over some dark-haired serious dude who was a freaking genius with baking.
But what if my heart was cracking just a little and making my brain agree that I wanted more with Brody and that maybe I felt like it was okay for him to see the real me?
Hell, what if Brody saw through every lie I told myself and was the answer to everything I’d ever questioned in my life?
Chapter Fourteen
Monday. Nothing a cupcake can’t fix
Brody
I don’t know how I concentrated this morning, but the cupcake first round had been a huge success for myself, Justin, and Kristen. Not so much for Clare and Ivan, which made Ivan laugh and put Clare into such a mood that she vanished for thirty minutes. She only came back in time for the blind bake part, which horrifically was creating a Schichttorte, layers of cooked batter to form a cake and then covered in chocolate and piped with white icing. This was Ivan’s nemesis, the same cake that had resulted in him nearly leaving the competition in his season as runner up.
“Oh God,” I heard him groan, but I wasn’t sure any deity was going to help us. It was all about working consistently, using impeccable timing so as not to burn a layer, using the chocolate so it was a smooth glaze, making the best white icing that would leave a pattern and not merge into the chocolate. I could make these in my sleep, and it seemed Justin was good with it as well from the way he had mixing bowls in a line and various ingredients split out into separate containers. He was a methodical structured baker, me on the other hand? I wasn’t one to follow recipes, which had been my downfall on the odd occasion. Still, when finished, covered in chocolate with the lines piped smoothly, I produced the best Schichttorte I could in the time given. Ivan’s appeared taller than mine. Kristen’s chocolate wasn’t smooth, but Clare and Justin had matching cakes of perfection.
“Nice,” I whispered to Justin as I passed him on my way to the display table. I placed my Schichttorte in the right place in front of my photo that would be hidden from the judges, and when Justin placed his next to mine, he smiled at me.
“Thank you, yours too,” he returned the compliment.
That was as much communication as we’d managed after last night’s explosion of lust and words and the kiss behind the pillar which had been utterly simple and breathtaking.
I hadn’t seen him at breakfast, and the building embarrassment as to how needy I’d been last night was getting worse by the moment. He’d probably given me that softer kiss just to calm me the hell down.
Justin glanced over at me as I tidied up some more, moving things around that really didn’t need to be moved, and then it was time to take our seats on the stools. I thought maybe he would smile, instead he was lost in thought, and I wasn’t sure he was even looking at me at all. When the two judges plus Courtney assembled by the table of anonymously placed Schichttorte, I saw Ivan squeeze Kristen’s arm in support. Unless the taste of hers was out of the world, and the rest of us had fucked up, she would lose this part of the second round. Still her cupcakes were good, and she might smash the sugar work challenge. Hopefully smash it, not literally smash of course.
Ivan won. I was second, Clare third, Justin fourth, and poor Kristen got fifth. It hit me hard that I wasn’t excited about coming second at all. I was more disappointed that Justin was fourth, and I hated that there was any chance of him going home. If he messed up the sugar work challenge tomorrow, then he might be in a vulnerable position, and the thought of him not being here was hard. I liked looking at Justin, and I kind of wanted some more kisses.
Then we were over for that day. The following day we’d be back for our showpiece challenge, creating something beautiful with sugar work, and one more of us would go home. Unless I really messed up the miniature cathedral window I’d planned then I was probably going through to the next round, and I hoped Justin’d be safe.
That was important to me. For him to be safely through to the next round and staying for at least a few more days. Because something’d happened between us last night, and I didn’t mean just the hot kiss in the snow, but the more tender one as we said goodnight. There was a shift, and it wasn’t subtle.
The kiss after the snowball fight had been a clash of teeth and tongue and desperation to feel. But last night’s kisses were more. I didn’t know how to explain it but there was incredible heat between us. Blame the snow or the way his blue eyes sparkled with desire or the fact that he looked adorably confused when we separated to go to our rooms, but I wanted to know way more about Justin Mallory.
Rita clapped her hands to get our focus on her. I had to stop thinking about Justin and get my head back in the game.
“Okay, guys, that’s a wrap for today. We need you here at 8 a.m. tomorrow. You will have four hours to create your showpiece, and after that we need sound bites in the great hall. Good job today.” She dismissed us, but she held Justin back with a slight touch to his hand. Whatever they talked about had Justin growing more tense with each passing moment. In fact, he was ramrod straight and scarlet with embarrassment as he nodded at something Rita was saying. She didn’t seem angry, more concerned, but I had to fight the instinct to get closer to see if I could help.
“Come on, dude, move your sugary ass,” Ivan joked and physically moved me from the doorway I’d been blocking, and then I was swept away with the others. With coats on, we waited in the snow for Justin, except for Clare. When he finally appeared, he was stone-faced, but th
en he wrapped a scarf up over his mouth which to me indicated he didn’t really want to talk. We didn’t play in the snow. We didn’t laugh. Ivan was hugging Kristen, and I was walking next to Justin, but we weren’t talking. Well, I started to talk, and asked him how he thought today had gone. His answer, ‘well it was going well,’ which was about as cryptic as someone could get. He walked straight through the hotel and out the back, but I didn’t follow, instead I made use of the spa with a complimentary massage. When I was as limp as a noodle, I headed back to my room and took out my notebook to work on tomorrow’s design but was distracted when my cell vibrated with a notification from my social media accounts.
I couldn’t avoid checking, wanting to see what Justin posted was an addiction I couldn’t shake. I didn’t expect the apology I was going to read. There was a picture of a contrite looking Justin, biting at his lower lip, and behind him was a can of that shitty fake whipped cream stuff and a bottle of Totallin Vodka.
Hey, Mallys—my bad for sharing behind the scene shots yesterday without getting permission. Big trouble with the guys upstairs. So for now I’ll stick to the news that baking rocks. Later!
It crossed my mind for the first time that him sharing photos of the competition would mean that people knew how far he’d gotten, who had left, and who’d been lucky enough to stay. It never occurred to me before as it being anything else than harmless fun with added endorsement and the ability for me to stare at Justin’s face and assume I knew him. He’d looked so disappointed with himself when Rita was talking to him though as if he was a kid and she was reprimanding him, and I felt suddenly protective. Because why not add that into the mix. I’d clearly missed a post. I know he’d been taking selfies all day and using the ‘WhereIsClare’ hashtag, so maybe Clare was pissed at him?
I scrolled down his feed, nothing too bad there, but he could have taken whatever he’d posted down by now. After all, I hadn’t checked all day. At least, we’d have something to talk about at dinner when I asked him what was wrong. Certainly better than sitting in silence with an awkwardness between us that I didn’t fully understand nor want. We could add that to the list of topics as well as talking about our showpieces. Despite knowing what I was doing in my showpiece tomorrow, I still took my notepad with me in case I got random inspiration. But I also took my coat in case anyone wanted to go for a walk after dinner.
Or rather, in case Justin wanted to go for a walk.
My coat was still damp on the outside from the roll in the snow, despite it having been hung up to dry, and the sense memory of the cold wetness and the warmth of Justin’s kiss was enough to make me groan and then palm my erection to get the damn thing to behave. The last thing I needed was to go down to dinner with a hard-on and then see Justin and for everything to get worse.
Not that I got a chance to find out what would happen because Justin was conspicuously absent, and the way he’d backed off last night just made me feel as if there was something wrong, and that it went deeper than kissing a fellow competitor.
Another text from Marc, only this one was a heartfelt please can we talk.
I didn’t even bother replying, but between that and Justin, of course, I was starting to spiral. I went right back to the fact that he’d been encouraged to flirt with me, and that the kiss was a means to an end, the same goes for the photos Erin the PA had accidentally taken. I went from thinking I should go up and make sure he was okay, right back to imagining us fighting. I hated confrontation, so to avoid that final scenario I went out for a quick walk, checked on Jeremy and sat for a little while on the infamous bench then headed back to my room.
I thought about knocking on his door and asking if he was okay. I even took a long pause on the stairs on my floor wondering if I should continue on up, but there was a reason he wasn’t at dinner, and I had to respect that.
So with resignation I headed to my room.
Setting up for the sugar work challenge, Justin smiled at me as if nothing had happened between us, but that was about it, as we all had to concentrate on the delicate work we were doing.
The sugar work challenge couldn’t have gone more perfectly for me. There was cursing and crashing, and more cursing, particularly from Ivan, who couldn’t quite get his blown bumble bee to stay the shape he wanted. At least, he’d actually created something with blown sugar-glass. The rest of us had relied on making stretched sugar effects, and I’d melted candy to make the windows and curled wisps of the stuff to make leaves. There was just a general brief that we had to create a layered entremet with decorative sugar work. The entremet itself was a multi-layered mousse-based cake, and I had that done with ease. But as a baker I didn’t use much blown, spun, or stretched sugar to decorate my bakes, so yeah, I was nervous. With the layers for my espresso caramel entremet chilling in the blast freezer, I set about making my stained-glass window. The general idea wasn’t so much church, but a coffee morning and quiet peace. I wasn’t aiming for complicated but for rainbow colors that reflected the sugar work of a bouquet of roses.
I couldn’t see what Justin was doing, but whatever it was seemed taller than mine and more complicated, but I stuck with the intricacies of fragile sheets of opaque colored glass from sugar along with delicate piped coffee roses. We had four hours, but by the end of hour three I was exhausted. We all were, and it showed. Ivan was on edge. Kristen seemed to be staring into the refrigerator every time I looked over, and Clare was mumbling to herself. We’d been told that if anyone dropped something, the rest of us were to exchange glances and pitying looks. They’d be lucky if they got a shot of one of us even caring about anyone else when our own works were so close to toppling or being knocked into a million sugar shards.
We were five minutes from the end and I had everything in place. Ivan had finally finished his creation of a waterfall. Kristen was also done, hers an hourglass filled with sugar sand. I couldn’t see Clare’s properly, but from here it looked like a nest or something. However, the one I was really interested in was the tower that Justin had created. Above his raspberry and white chocolate entremet was a trellis with a climbing flower, and it was stunning.
He didn’t seem happy though, he was staring at it as if it had personally insulted him and was checking it from all angles. I could see that the balance was slightly off, but he shouldn’t fuss with it, not when the judges were heading our way.
A few seconds to go until judging and the flower began to slide. I tried to warn him. I could see from here that one touch and the flower would crumble. I’m not sure he even touched it, but one of the tiny flowers fell to the counter and smashed. The noise of it was horrifyingly loud in the silent room, and I didn’t have to pretend to be upset for him. Justin still had a showpiece, but that last delicate bloom had been the best of them.
He stared at the pieces on the floor, but he didn’t look upset, instead I think he was genuinely in shock. I moved around the debris to him immediately.
“It’s okay,” I reassured, aware that the camera was right in our faces and turning my head so they just had a view of my hair.
“It wasn’t right anyway,” he said in a dull voice.
“It was beautiful, but it’s okay, you still have a wonderful display.” I kept my voice low and only loud enough for him to hear it. Fuck the cameras and the show because I’d seen his face when he moved to touch his display—worry, disappointment, even fear. He looked as though his whole world was as fragile as the spun sugar.
I was ushered back to my counter, but I kept a clear line of sight to Justin even if the cameras got in the way now and then. Tripping over a cable wasn’t going to look good on the show, but Justin needed something. Me to be a wall he could hide behind? Maybe. I didn’t know what was wrong, but I needed to find out.
You’re forever trying to fix things. That was what my mom said to me, and she was right. I didn’t like to see people upset, and it didn’t matter if it was a broken-down car or a relationship ending, I was always the one that could be depended on to have
someone’s back.
The judging was upside down. Justin was third, they said he’d be first, but that his execution had been lacking for it to crack and fall at the last second. I thought they might have mentiond that the studio lights played havoc with melted glassy sugar, but no, they just laughed. Cruel and unnecessary, and I’d be taking that up with Rita when I saw her next. I was second. Clare first with her take on a spun sugar birds nest decorating her chocolate panna cotta and berry mousse entremet. Kristen came fourth. Ivan fifth, and it was obvious that Kristen would be the next to go home. She’d finished low in all three parts and there was no way they’d send any one of us four home.
We were right. She was the next one to leave, but from the way Ivan gripped her and reassured her he would see her soon, I wondered how long he’d last.
Would that leave me, Clare, and Justin as the last three standing? Who knew.
Justin ran as soon as they gave us the all clear after the sound bites and reminded us we had a day off tomorrow before filming of episode three began the day after, but I couldn’t go after him immediately because I was caught in a hug with Kristen and Ivan. By the time I was out front he’d vanished.
He didn’t make it to dinner or arrive to help me fix Jeremy, and that was why it seemed like the best idea to knock on his door and ask him if he was okay.
What harm could that do?
Chapter Fifteen
I’m sorry for what I said. I was hungry
Justin
The knock on the door I could ignore. I’d been doing it my entire life when I got in this headspace where I didn’t want to see anyone or do anything outside of my apartment. So, this bedroom wasn’t exactly as big as my Waterline apartment with a view of the Hudson, but it was a suite, and it had this cool separate seating space and a second shower room, plus a tiny kitchen that came complete with microwave and a refrigerator. The shower was amazing, and I’d spent half an hour fussing in there, washing my hair, conditioning it, scrubbing every inch of me, and I’d only just taken the towel off my head. Bliss. I felt warm and cozy and more at peace than I had this morning.
