Twice Baked

by Andrew Grey

  “When I saw you, all I could think was that I just found you again and I wasn’t going to let that crazy wackadoodle take you away from me.”

  Meyer bent over, his head between his knees. “I nearly wet myself, I was so scared. I always thought I could do anything, and….”

  Now I held him, tight.

  “I was a complete chickenshit.”

  “You were not. I don’t know if you realized I was there or not, but you kept her talking and got her on edge. She didn’t know what to do, and that gave us an advantage. I was able to scare her and take her out. There was no way in hell I was going to leave you with her like that.” I cradled Meyer’s head and shoulders as the tension came to a boil. I didn’t say anything about him falling apart in my arms. Hell, would it make me a terrible person if I said that in a way I liked it? Well, maybe not liked, but it warmed my heart to know that I wanted to make him feel better and that he felt comfortable enough to go to pieces in front of me. Okay, I was definitely a little off-balance myself, but I’d sit here all night holding Meyer and not move a muscle if it would help him. And the fact that he was willing to let me… that said a hell of a lot. “You were amazing today.”

  Meyer shook his head. “No. I held my own at best. You were the amazing one, and I love you for it.” He lifted his gaze, and I kissed him, encircling his head in my arms, holding him with everything I had.

  “She threatened to take what I wanted most in the world, and I couldn’t let that happen. And I know that if things had been reversed, you’d have been there for me.” Of that, I had no doubt. “You’re mine, and I’ll fight anyone who tries to take you away tooth and nail.”

  Meyer held me in return, and we stayed like that, just together, sitting, holding each other, until it was time for bed.

  Chapter 11

  THREE EPISODES. That was all there was left, and Rachel’s departure had left Meyer and me with a lot more of the load to carry, but it seemed lighter and I found myself smiling—a lot.

  “I loved having you at the house, sleeping in my bed,” Meyer whispered from the wings. “Make that, in our bed.”

  “It took a long time.”

  “But we’ll figure the rest out.” I still wasn’t fully convinced about relocating to the West Coast, but Meyer and I were still talking, and he even said he’d be willing to come back to Philadelphia. I wasn’t even sure why I was so hesitant, but I had to make a decision. At the moment we were so busy that any decisions other than what I was going to wear and what I thought of the cauliflower puree—bleh, with a stuck-out tongue—were enough to keep me completely occupied.

  After taking a few minutes to discuss the results, Meyer and I walked into the kitchen to announce the winner.

  “Kylie, you made the best dish. I would eat that cauliflower again, and that’s saying a lot.” I smiled, and the few other chefs congratulated her. I then stood next to Meyer.

  “Your challenge to get into the finals and have a chance at being named America’s Cooking Master is something that has sent more chefs home than anything else,” Meyer announced.

  “And no, it isn’t risotto,” I interjected, to nervous smiles.

  “We have decided that this challenge will be a baking challenge. Each of you is to bake, cool, frost, and decorate a cake suitable for a very special occasion.” Meyer grew serious. “You will be judged on how exact your layers are, the smoothness of the frosting, decorating techniques, and, of course, taste. Today you will have ninety minutes to bake your cakes, and tomorrow you will have one hour to fill, ice, and decorate. The ovens will not be available tomorrow, so make sure your cake is as perfect as you can get it today.” Meyer paused, and I stayed back. This was strictly Meyer’s challenge. He was in charge and would oversee it. “Also, because your cakes will be used in a celebration, you must create a tasting cake for the judges. Kylie, you get to choose the flavors for your cake and filling, and no one else can use them.”

  She seemed to consider. “Chocolate and raspberry,” she answered. A wonderful combination, and one of my all-time favorites.

  “Very good. Your baking time starts now.” Meyer stepped back as the chefs rushed to get their ingredients and go to work.

  I watched from the wings while Meyer made the rounds, talking to each one to find out what they were doing.

  “This isn’t what was originally planned,” I told Justin, who stood next to me. I was so relieved that he hadn’t had anything to do with the notes and felt terrible for suspecting him.

  “Any desserts were so lacking this season that Ethan wanted to force the issue,” Justin whispered.

  I nodded, watching as the chefs mixed their batters and got their pans prepared and ready to go into the oven. The smart ones made extra layers in case something went wrong. And one by one, the layers were in to bake. I noticed that a few enterprising chefs grabbed various types of chocolate and began making decorations and other things they were going to need, which set the others to doing the same. I loved how they adapted to each situation.

  “Remember that however your layers go on your rack is how you are going to see them again in the morning. So you should cool your layers, and get them out of the pans and wrapped so they don’t dry out.”

  I joined Meyer. “Twenty minutes.”

  The noise level rose, as did the sheer panic. All the chefs were pulling their layers out of the oven and getting them cooling. Kylie was the first to get hers out, and she let them settle for a few minutes while she got sheet pans with parchment ready. I was fascinated at what she was doing with her layers.

  “Are you going to plastic-wrap your layers?” Meyer asked her.

  “No.” She filled a sheet tray with cake pans and covered them with parchment and a second sheet tray, then flipped the whole thing and set down the tray. She made sure the layers came out and then re-covered them with the cake pans. The inverted cake pans now covered the layers. She removed the top sheet tray and slid the sheet tray into the rack, then repeated the moves for the rest of her layers. “Don’t have to.”

  Even I knew that was a very professional move.

  The others wrapped their layers and were scrambling to get everything on the rack. One chef had to leave his hot layers in the pans because he ran out of time, and just covered it all.

  “Two minutes,” I said, standing next to Meyer to watch the final flurry of activity. Then time was up and everything came to a halt for the night. “We’ll see you all in the morning.”

  The chefs filed out, the lights dimmed, and the set was quiet—until the buzzer sounded, and then the staff stepped in to put everything away and clean the set.

  The cameramen had followed the chefs so they could capture their conversations in the “stew” room, and I turned to Meyer. “Why did they make the change, and what is this party that the cakes are being sent off to?”

  Meyer shrugged. “It’s something Ethan arranged. The guests at the party will be able to taste and vote on the cakes.”

  “Then why the tasting cakes?” I asked, suspicions growing.

  “So we have a chance to know what we’re walking into, I guess. This was all Ethan’s idea, and I’m following his lead.” Meyer seemed resigned to whatever was going to happen, so I went along with him. “Come on. We still have to review the schedule for tomorrow, and then we can go while they set up everything here.”

  “ARE YOU really sure about this?” I asked Meyer as we climbed into bed.

  “That I want you here?” He smiled and pulled me down onto the king-size bed. “You betcha.” Meyer laughed, happily, ringing and full of joy. “Have you spoken with Clare?”

  “Yeah.” I sighed. “She thinks that maybe I’m rushing into things. Not that she isn’t happy for me, because she is. And she’ll remain my assistant and help with the blog and things the way she always has. It isn’t that. I think she’s worried about how fast things have changed.”

  Meyer slipped under the covers and tugged me to him. “I get that. But her opinion doesn’
t really matter. It’s yours that counts, and what you feel.” He lifted my gaze with just a finger under my chin. “What are you worried about? Really?”

  “That I’m going to wake up and all this is going to change again.” I had to be honest.

  “It isn’t, and you are awake. This is real—I feel it right here.” He put his hand on my chest. “You loved me when I was a real dick and a half. And what I can’t believe is that you love me now.” Meyer lay back on the bed, tugging me on top of him. “I want you, Luke.” Meyer swallowed, and a touch of nerves filled his eyes. “I want you to make love to me.”

  I stilled and nearly gasped. That was something very new. Meyer had never, ever trusted me—and as far as I know, anyone—to…. I gulped. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, Luke. I want you to be the first.” He was so earnest, and I threw my arms around his neck, leaning close, my lips to his ear.

  “Then I will be. But not tonight. Just the idea that you asked is enough.” Meyer was not a receiving kind of guy. He was a pitcher through and through, and man, he deserved a… whatever award they give for pitchers… in the bedroom. I could have tried to think of what they called it, but my mind and soon the rest of me was occupied—very occupied, and not with that particular type of balls.

  “TEN MINUTES,” I called as the remaining chefs put the finishing touches on their cakes. One had used fondant, and I was wondering what it was going to taste like. The cake was attractive enough, but fondant tasted pretty sweet.

  Meyer and I spoke about some of our observations so they could be edited in later, and then time was up. Each chef stood at their station with their cake in front of them. The buzzer sounded to note that we were clear, and I sighed as the staff hurried in.

  The cakes were all boxed for transport, and then Ethan gave the order for Meyer and me to go. Felix waited outside, and he drove us across town to Santa Monica and a beachside restaurant with a large deck that overlooked the ocean, the chefs, their cakes, and the camera people all following.

  “Something is going on,” I told Meyer.

  “Just play along,” Meyer said as a number of people filed in.

  Meyer stood in front of the camera, smiling. “Welcome, everyone, to Kilcrease in Santa Monica. We want to thank them for hosting us this afternoon. As you all know, our chefs have created four cakes, and all they’ve been told is that they are for a special occasion. And that’s true. But what they didn’t know, until right now, is that the patrons here today are going to vote on what they believe to be the best cake. The winner will receive an express trip to the finale and ten thousand dollars, and one chef will be eliminated.”

  “What’s the occasion?” I asked, half forgetting that we were taping.

  Meyer grinned. “Luke and I have been judging this contest all season, but along the way, something else happened.”

  I gasped.

  “See, when we both agreed to be part of this season of Cooking Masters, neither of us knew that the other was going to be here.” Meyer’s smile slipped away. “I fell in love with Luke years ago, but was too afraid to see it through. Fate, in the form of Cooking Masters, stepped in and brought Luke back to me.”

  I put my hand over my mouth, and Meyer put an arm around my shoulders.

  “Don’t worry. I am not going to ask you to marry me here on camera. Something like that should be done properly, over a fine dinner, cooked by an amazing chef, like any of our contestants… or me.”

  I shook my head and rolled my eyes, the cameras capturing it all, I’m sure.

  “So here’s why we’re here. Luke Walker, will you stay here in Los Angeles with me, share my life, and make me the happiest man on earth?”

  “That sounds an awful lot like a proposal,” I warned him.

  “Let me finish, because this is the important part. Will you host the next season of Cooking Masters with me?”

  I nodded, grinned, and burst into laughter. It was so cheesy and funny and brilliant that I couldn’t possibly say no. “Yes. I will do all of those things, for as long as you—and the producers—will let me.”

  Epilogue

  “I AM not going to do yet another post on mushrooms,” I told Clare over the phone. “But I will do one on organ meats, because those are yucky to a degree I never thought possible.” I shuddered. “I’ll get it to you so you can add it to the blog by tomorrow. Get pictures of things like liver, brains, and kidneys for it. Preferably cooked, because I don’t want any more raw meat comments.”

  She chuckled. “Okay. I can take care of that. Are you going to do a tease about the next season? You really should. Every reader knows that shooting is going to start soon, and they want some of the inside scoop.”

  “I spoke with the producers, and they said as long as I run the posts through them first.” I knew exactly what she was going to say. “They aren’t being dicks about it. They only need to be sure that nothing secret or important to the outcome of the show is included.” I understood their concern and had offered them the choice to review the posts. I was well aware that I had to be careful. “What I want to do is time the post about each episode so that it hits the blog a few days before the episode airs. It will help drive up interest in the show.” I checked my watch. “I need to go.”

  “You’re nervous about something.” Sometimes I swore she had phone intuition.

  “Yeah. Meyer and I are having dinner tonight with his mom and dad. They arranged to come to the city and asked to have dinner with him. Meyer told them that the two of us would be happy to have dinner, and he said they agreed.” I was finding it hard to believe, but then, if they were willing to meet Meyer halfway, I could be there for Meyer.

  “Holy shit!” Clare swore. “That’s like—”

  “I know. Like a blizzard just struck LA.” I thought the two events were equally likely. “Anyway, I need to go get dressed and find something… butch to wear.” I snickered.

  “So those paper-thin workout shorts are out.”

  “I was thinking a pair of jeans and a ripped T-shirt, but I’m being nice. Just a proper light blue shirt and dark dress pants. With a rainbow pocket square for a little color.” I had to tease her—it was so much fun.

  “Har-har. Go on. I’ll talk to you once you send the post.”

  I ended the call and left the office, finding Meyer pacing the living room, already dressed. “I’m going to change. I’ll be just a minute.” I kissed him and then went into the bedroom to put on the clothes I’d laid out earlier. Then I grabbed a fresh shirt from Meyer’s closet and carried it to the living room.

  “What’s that for?” Meyer asked, pausing his pacing.

  “You already sweated through the one you’re wearing. Put this on and try to relax. We can go once you do.” I waited while he changed shirts, and then we left the house. I drove us to his restaurant just off downtown as Meyer stewed in his own juices, almost literally. I parked in Meyer’s spot, and we got out.

  “We’re early.”

  “It looks like your mom and dad are too.” It could only be them. His dad looked a lot like Meyer—the same facial shape and cheekbones. Meyer had his mother’s eyes and hair. My nerves went through the roof as I thought about what could possibly happen and how this entire idea could completely crash and burn. This was a huge step for Meyer and for us. Up until now, his mom and dad had shown little interest in meeting me at all. I really expected that there would be some part of Meyer that would always be conflicted over his relationship with me and the one with his parents. “Go on over, say hello, and take it from there,” I told him.

  Meyer’s mother gripped her purse handle with both hands, and it was clear his parents were as nervous as we were.

  Meyer nodded, closing his car door and walking to where they stood just outside the restaurant door. I followed, and at first the three of them just looked at one another. It was awkward, stiff, and really weird. Then his mother pulled a tissue out of her purse and wiped her eyes before hugging Meyer. She was crying, and I wa
s willing to bet he was too. Meyer hugged his dad before stepping back.

  “Luke, this is my mom and dad, Richard and Joselle.” He seemed to breathe for the first time since he’d gotten their call. Hell, my heart finally started beating again.

  “It’s good to meet you both.” I shook their hands and motioned toward the door. “Meyer has a table reserved for us.” Standing out here looking at one another, wondering what we had to say, wasn’t making anyone feel any more at ease.

  “Wonderful.” His mother wiped her eyes and took Meyer’s arm, heading toward the restaurant. I followed with Meyer’s dad.

  “We saw you with Meyer on the show,” Richard said a little tentatively. “We watched every episode.”

  I nodded, understanding what he was saying.

  “It was…”

  I braced for what was to follow.

  “…startling how happy Meyer was.” He turned his attention forward to where Meyer and his mother were talking. And I breathed deeply, trying not to sigh. That was the last thing I had expected him to say, and it must have taken a great deal of effort on his part.

  “I love seeing him happy.” And I did. Meyer and his parents might never truly understand each other, but this was a step forward for all of them.

  At the steps, Meyer held back, and his mom and dad went up together with the two of us following.

  “Do you think it will be okay?”

  “I hope so. There’s a lot of water under the bridge.”

  “True.” I turned to him, pausing on the steps. “But think about it—our story is one of second chances.” I turned to his parents, and Meyer did as well. “And sometimes they’re the best ones of all.” I slipped my arm around Meyer’s waist and we headed upward… together.