by R. J. Scott
“What happened?” I wasn’t asking him, I was asking myself. “I checked the shelves, there was room, there was nothing that could have caused an issue when I put the bakes on that shelf.”
“It’s just bad luck,” Brody said, patting my arm. “You can pull this back.”
“How? I’m two bakes down, and I’ve lost my flower and the buttercream.” I glanced at the countdown clock that they had paused, showing forty-five minutes left.
Rita came and stood next to me, talking in a low tone and forcing me to lean down to listen to her. “We’re giving you half an hour to pull yourself together, get some baking in.”
“I’ll help,” Brody said, and I knew she would frown and tell him no, but she didn’t. She merely nodded and waved us on.
“What about what Clare thinks?”
Rita cast a dark look Clare’s way. Clare was sitting on her stool with an expression like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
“She’ll be fine.”
I made new bakes and cream but the jelly flower was out of my power, while Brody helped tidy around me and weighed things out. He never once touched the actual baking, but I knew I was gone from the competition. Would they televise this? Was my end resulting cake even going to matter?
I squeezed his hand briefly just as they called us to separate because they were restarting the clock. They’d asked me to use a different refrigerator, and I was attempting to stay as calm as I could.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “For whatever happens.”
“Love you,” he whispered back, or at least I thought he said that, and he headed for his station.
Wait? He loved me? Did he really say that?
I should ask him, right?
But then he might say I’d heard wrong, and honestly? I wanted to believe that he’d just told me he loved me.
Chapter Twenty
Life is short… lick the bowl
Brody
Love you? Had I really just said that? It had slipped out as naturally as the next breath. I was mortified and couldn’t bring myself to look up and see if Justin was staring at me. I couldn’t feel the weight of his gaze on me, but there again, he had a lot of work to get done in the next forty-five minutes, and maybe he hadn’t heard what I said. Focusing back on the finishing touches for my cake, I ignored the hammering of my heart and the way my entire world perspective had shifted in just those few seconds of stupidity.
Almost two weeks. That was all we’d had together so how could that be love? Sex. That was all it was. Just all different kinds of sex. Mind-blowing, comfortable, hot, lazy, energetic, we’d covered it all, and the way we’d used whipped cream and chocolate last night had been a long way past sexy and onto highly charged erotic.
I’m getting hard just thinking about the way Justin was sprawled on the bed, writhing as I licked and sucked all that chocolate from his body, and how the cream—
“Concentrate,” I muttered under my breath and pulled myself back to the here and now. I had six roses to complete, and now only forty minutes in which to arrange them. They were already made from individually created petals in a mix of white and ruby chocolate, they just had to be placed in just the right spot. It took me a good few minutes to get back into the swing of what I was doing because somehow in those two words I’d spoken I had rocked my own world and probably messed with Justin’s.
“Bakers, you have ten minutes. That’s ten minutes to go.”
An eerie calm settled over the room, and I didn’t have time to think about anything but finishing my display, spraying the pearlescent highlights on the tumble of roses on my five tier rose and cream wedding cake. Each layer was a different flavor. The bakes were perfect, and when I stood back as they called time, I thought I’d made the best I could in the time I had. If this was for a real wedding, I would have worked for weeks, I wouldn’t have a loose petal on rose three or a slip in the chiffon lemon layer that made the whole thing just ever so slightly crooked. But ignoring all of that I had made a beautiful cake.
“Time! Step away from your bakes!” Courtney called, and I did as I was told, the room spinning a little when I stood upright from bending over for so long. I was relieved, happy, and smiling, and I made the huge mistake of glancing at Justin, who had his arms crossed over his chest, and a thoughtful expression, or was that a pissed expression? He was going to be angry if me saying I loved him meant that he’d messed up this last bake. He must have realized I was staring because he glanced at me, his whole posture relaxing as he smiled at me and then shrugged in a what can I do way. I checked out his cake, a take on Swan Lake with cascading water and swans, along with a space where the beautiful icy flower would have been. Unless a person had been told that it should be there, then it wasn’t missed. Clare had made a festive gift wrapped cake, and I could tell just from looking that it was the perfect cake, although I genuinely thought I had the edge on her.
Would it be Clare and me through to the final? I was so hoping that it would be Justin and me, together to the end, but hell, what was I thinking? I may not even make it through, and it could be a Justin/Clare final.
We had thirty minutes to tidy our benches while the stage was set, and then it was the judging. I don’t know what they said to me other than the first part that it was beautiful. Everything passed in a blur, they loved the taste of mine and the look. They loved Justin’s and commiserated with him over the loss of the flower. Then, when they reached Clare’s table, everything changed. The conversation was frosty. Clare’s cakes were dry. The icing overwhelming, and the decorations too much. In fact, even though they couched each comment with a positive twist for the cameras, I got the sense they were talking themselves out of liking her bake. Clare grew stonier by the second, picking up a piece of her cake and tasting it then falling into a clipped argument with Rita and the director to the point that they had to cut filming and have a quiet word with Clare in a corner. Whatever they said to her seemed to work, and she did a very debatable job of being pleasant and regretful at the same time, even though her expression was pinched and her body was rigid with barely held aggression.
“Who pissed in her Wheaties?” Justin whispered as we were all encouraged out of the room for the judges to deliberate.
“Clare,” Rita called and subtly guided her into the small room marked stores. Justin and I took a seat in the conservatory, but he was called for sound bites and then me so there was no chance to talk about my words that had slipped out. Then it was our turn to be led into that same room with Rita, but it was both of us called in.
“We have an issue,” she began without prevarication and turned an iPad so we could see grainy footage of something that made little sense at first. “Clare engineered your shelving so it would collapse, she wanted to make sure you blew it and didn’t make it to the final.”
“She what?” Justin asked, incredulous.
“She can’t get away with that—”
Rita held up a hand to stop me from losing my shit. “We’ve come to an agreement. To save face, and in the interest of the show, we have made an agreement with Clare that she will be leaving the competition today under the guise of a bad bake. That means of course, that the two of you will move into the final, but there will still be final judging, and it’s imperative that you act as if this is a huge surprise to you. In addition, we’d appreciate it if this matter was kept internally, and we have a non-disclosure for you each to sign.” She slid two pieces of paper toward us, along with pens emblazoned with World’s Best Baking Show. Fitting the name on the side of a tiny pen was a tight squeeze, and as I twisted the pen in my hand that was all I could focus on.
Justin signed his sheet and pushed it back, but he looked miserable and slumped in his chair.
I signed mine, and then Rita collected the paperwork and ushered us out. Neither of us knew where to go, nor what to do, but there was one place we’d have peace. With the judging filming continuing and a note that we needed to be back in ten for resets and final r
esults, I dragged Justin into the single bathroom and locked the door. Worst of it was that he didn’t argue.
“I can’t believe it,” I said after a pause—anything to get him talking to me. I expected him to be angry at Clare for ruining what he’d done and destroying his bake, but instead he just looked sad. “Justin? Talk to me.”
“This is wrong,” he said after a while. His confidence had slipped, and I could see him as rawer and more vulnerable than ever. “I wanted to show you that I wasn’t just some guy who talked a good talk. I wanted to show you what I could do, and now I get to the final by default? That’s just my entire fucking life, faking it until it looks as if I’m making it—”
“Don’t do that,” I interrupted and pulled him into a hug. He resisted for a while, and then something gave way, and he melted into my hold. “She ruined any chance you had of earning a win this week. I tasted your bake, and it was perfect, and the shimmer in the marbled water and the swans? I would be honored to have that made for any of the weddings I bake for.” I stepped back a little and tilted his chin. “Justin?”
“You said something, back before, I don’t know if you meant it but—”
“I don’t know what I meant either.” I didn’t want him to dissect my words, and abruptly it was imperative that I show him, so I kissed him. I cradled his face, and I kissed him hard, and then soft until his unyielding lips parted, and we kissed lazily for a long time. “All I know is that I love being with you. I love talking to you and baking with you. I love your cake in a mug. I love your body. I love when we make love. And it is making love, it’s not just sex… ” I ran out of breath to name all the things that I loved.
“I’m not sure I know what love is.” Justin was miserable again.
“It’s trust, honesty, and happiness,” I said. God knows where that came from. “It’s what my parents have, and I want that. With you.” I didn’t even put in the word think or imply that I wasn’t sure at all, because oddly, in this large bathroom with the ornate mirrors and fancy soap, I knew for certain I’d fallen in love.
But I’d laid it all out there, exposing my heart, and told him what I thought, it was up to him now. He could turn away, overwhelmed at what I was laying on him in the middle of controversy on a baking show, or he could just run, or maybe he would stay.
“Boys! It’s time!” Rita called and banged on the door at the same time and startled us.
Justin blinked at me, stared, didn’t say a word, and then he nodded. “We should go.”
Okay that wasn’t exactly what I wanted to happen, but he didn’t run, and I called that a small win.
Back in the main room, after makeup fussed around us, it was time for the final judging. I was nervous even though I felt confident after I received all the praise. My bake was perfect, the design on trend, the chocolate work impressive, and best of all, Courtney announced she wanted the same cake for her wedding next year. Justin’s was summed up as a triumph over disaster, the bake was excellent, the design ten out of ten, and I caught his soft smile when they left. He should be proud and have confidence in himself.
Pot, kettle, black, I told myself. Marc had knocked some of my confidence, but I shouldn’t rely on how others made me feel. I didn’t hear what they said about Clare, but she took it with fake grace when they put Justin and me through to the final and made me baker of the week. I actually wanted to go over to her and push her face into her bake, but she was hustled away, and I assume that was the last we’d see of her unless she came back for the next filming for the final like the other contestants would. I hoped not. When I turned to say that to Justin, he was gone, and my stomach fell. Clare had fucked up. The competition team had fucked up, and worst of all I had ruined everything, and we still had the final to film.
I looked for him everywhere, and in the end, there was only one place he could be. Wrapped up against the bitter cold I headed out straight for Jeremy. I didn’t see Justin at first. He was behind our snowman patching up holes with snow, and his eyes were bright.
“Hey.” I made him jump, and I’m not sure he expected me to find him.
“Hi,” he replied and then picked up some more snow and formed it into a ball, concentrating on the act as if his life depended on it.
“Did I fuck up?” That was the only way I knew how to handle this—head on and clear.
“Clare did.” Justin looked confused. “She was the one who thought cheating would guarantee a place and now all that means is that I get a place by default, and I didn’t earn it—”
I picked up snow and threw it at him, and it hit his chest dead center, shattering into a cloud of icy white. He stared down and then up, and with deadly accuracy, he threw his handful of snow at me. It wasn’t as compacted as mine had been and most of it disintegrated in the air but enough reached me to make a white mark on my coat. I flailed dramatically and crumpled to the snowy path, laying still and waiting for Justin to scramble out and see if I was okay.
Nothing.
“You’re faking,” he accused. “You are, aren’t you? Faking?”
I didn’t move, just stared up at the bright blue sky until finally Justin was there peering down at me.
“Yep, totally faking.”
“You’re an asshole.” He put his hands on his hips, but I yanked at his pant leg, and he lost his balance and fell on me like an off center jelly baby. We grappled for a few moments until it became obvious we were getting nowhere and with a huff, he unraveled himself and laid on the ground next to me.
“I wish I could patch myself up like we do Jeremy. You know, cover all the bad bits in snow so that I’m perfect for you.”
“You are perfect for me, and one day you’ll realize it.”
“Maybe.”
“So, what now?”
I rolled up on my side and poked him. “We make this the best final the show has ever seen, and you give me a run for my money. I pull ahead. You pull ahead. I make a better cake, and then you do something fancy with jelly. I mess up. You mess up. I do better, and then I win. Simple.”
I leaned down and kissed his pout of dissatisfaction then rested on my elbows.
“What if I win?” he asked me and there was a hint of the smile that I loved. Talking of which?”
“I’m gonna win,” I said confidently. “But it’s okay, you get the consolation prize if you want it.”
“What consolation prize?” he asked suspiciously.
I huffed. “Me. You get me.”
We rolled in the snow a little longer like idiots and then helped each other up and brushed off snow, and as we began to head for the hotel, he pulled me to a stop.
“What if I can’t fall in love the same way as you? I’ve never done it before, so how do I know? I mean, I don’t have any idea if my mom loved my biological dad, or if my mom even loved me, I don’t have anyone in my life that I love.”
He was so serious, and even though I wanted to give it an incredible amount of consideration, I didn’t have a definitive answer. “It’s okay,” I said finally. “I’ll show you, and I’m a very patient guy.”
We started walking away, heading into the Fairmont and up to the room to change out of our wet things. I’d given up going to my room and moved everything into his. Over the final few days, even with the final show recordings, we spent time talking, and I never wanted to stop touching him or kissing him or just being near him. I had it bad.
I had a world of possibilities in my head. Christmassy snow love and a potential future, and I wasn’t even going to let what Clare had done mess with my head. We went for coffee sitting in a corner with a view of the mountains, sipping coffee, and I realized I had so much to say.
“There you are!” someone called from behind, and I stiffened then stood up and faced the one person I never thought I’d see today. Marc.
“What are you doing here?”
Marc placed a hand on my arm. “I came to find you so we could talk.” What the hell is happening? Next to me, Justin stood up, and Marc
extended a hand which Justin took. “Good to finally meet you, Justin, loved your show.”
“Thank you—”
“I’m Marc, Brody’s husband—”
“Ex-husband—”
“—I had to come and see how he’s doing. Brody, can we talk?”
“We have nothing to say. I signed the papers. We’re done.”
“Let’s get a coffee—”
“I have a coffee.” I reached blindly for Justin’s hand, which he immediately took and laced our fingers. Marc’s eyes narrowed, and he glanced from the joined hands to my face.
“Oh, it’s like that?” he asked. “Is this payback?”
Justin tightened his grip, which gave me a push. “Payback for what? You stealing from my dad? Lying to my family? Sleeping around behind my back? No,” I lifted our joined hands a little, “this is the start of something precious and exciting, and it has absolutely nothing to do with you.”
He stared at me, and I could read him like a book. I saw anger, frustration. I saw everything in his expressive eyes and wondered why I’d never seen the deceit when it had been happening. I’d been blind to his faults, imagining a love between us based on what I wanted, not what he could actually give me. Is that what I’m doing with Justin? Am I imagining something that wasn’t there?
“I wanted us to try again,” Marc wheedled. “Come on, we were good together.”
“I was a walking bank, that’s all. You should go now.”
“You told me you wanted huge declarations of love? Isn’t this what I’m giving you now?”
God that is not the kind of lie I wanted Justin to hear. “I never wanted a huge declaration of love. I just wanted to be loved, and you know, in the end, I just wanted you to be faithful.”
