“Mila Bailey.” Caryl’s ruby-red lips tightened into a thin line. “What are you supposed to say? You’re supposed to fight. You’re supposed to go straight to the president of Indigo Hotels or whoever has authority over this little worm Vin and you’re supposed to tell them that this is unacceptable.”
Mila stared dumbly at her mother. The woman who had never encouraged her to fight for anything in her life. From getting cut from the eighth-grade basketball team to being wait-listed at her first-choice college, Caryl’s motto had always been If you’d kept your expectations low, you wouldn’t have been disappointed.
“Is that what you would do?” Mila said, accusation lacing her tone. “You’d fight?”
“No!” Caryl tossed her hands in the air. “But I’m not you. I’m not half as talented, and I’ve never had half the opportunities you have. You’ve worked too damn hard for too damn long to give this up now over a measly two percent. Two percent? That guy’s got some nerve.”
Vin did have some nerve. She wondered if he’d fought for her. If he’d tried to talk to the higher-ups at Indigo and ask them to reconsider. But then, it wasn’t his responsibility to fight for her.
Caryl turned back to the blouses, snapping individual hangers as if they’d done her personal harm. After a moment, she stopped and turned back to Mila.
“In fact,” Caryl said, “forget lunch. Forget shopping. We’re going now.”
Mila’s throat tightened. “We’re . . . what?”
“Come on. We’re going to talk to this guy.” She zipped up her coat and gave Mila a nod of encouragement.
“Mom, no. The rules are the rules. I didn’t follow the rules, and now I’m out.”
Caryl leaned forward, forcing Mila to shrink back. “Let me tell you something. Are you listening to me?”
Listening? Her words reverberated in Mila’s bones. “Yes, ma’am.”
“There are moments in life to sit back. There are moments to keep your head down, listen up, and do what you’re told. Trust me. I know a lot about that. I’ve done a lot of it in my life out of fear.”
A dark cloud passed over Caryl’s face, her eyes momentarily unfocused. Her voice dropped as if someone might overhear.
“I don’t even know what I was afraid of,” she said. “What I do know is that I’ve spent a lot of years wishing I’d done a few things differently. I’ve taught you and your sisters to be good, kind people who follow the rules. But there are also moments in life, daughter, to fight back. There are people in this world who want to tear you down because they think they know what you deserve. And the minute you step too far, they want to put you back in your place.”
Tears glistened in the corners of Caryl’s eyes. Mila couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her tough-as-nails mother cry. It terrified her.
“You’re very talented,” Caryl said. “We all know it. If you let this Vin guy tell you what you do or don’t deserve, you’ll never forgive yourself. Don’t let somebody else tell you what you’re capable of.”
From her toes to her hair, Mila trembled. The pure, unadulterated conviction in her mother’s eyes, the steel in her voice, the pride in her jaw. They hadn’t seen eye to eye on so many things over the years. This was something new. Maybe Caryl had her own regrets. Regrets she’d never shared with her daughter.
“Mom, I don’t know.”
“Don’t let yourself be walked over.” Caryl’s voice rumbled like the first roll of thunder before a storm. “It’s too easy to get used to.”
Mila set her shoulders. She didn’t want to be a doormat. Not today.
“There’s a meeting for the finalists this afternoon at the community center,” Mila said. “Vin will be there.”
Caryl’s lips spread into a grin. “Let’s go.”
As they pulled out of the parking lot, Mila flipped on the car radio, but nothing could distract her from the task at hand. What would she say? What were her demands? Every possible line ran through her head as she drove them back to Pine Ridge, but everything sounded foolish. Vin was smooth and intimidating, and he held all the cards.
As they approached the community center, Mila’s heart beat in her throat. Her sweaty hands gripped the steering wheel, and she stared out across the parking lot as a few of the other finalists greeted one another warmly. She used to be one of them. And now she was on the outside. Looking in.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Mila said. “It’s bad enough that I’ll have to announce in front of everyone that I’ve been disqualified, but what if he’s a jerk about it? What if he makes me feel stupid on top of it all?”
Labored breaths escaped her lips as she watched Bob Santangelo, clad in crisp khakis and a navy-blue windbreaker, pick his way across the uneven parking lot toward the community center. She’d have to do this in front of Bob and the other contestants. Would they laugh at her? See her for the do-as-you’re-told, small-town girl she’d been her entire life?
Something just beyond the squat gray building caught her eye. In a black wool pea coat, his face set in grim determination and walking at an impressive clip, was Jared.
“What is he doing here?” Mila muttered.
Caryl’s lips twitched into a half smile. “Looks like he’s ready to bust somebody’s lip.”
Mila burst out of the car and jogged toward him.
“Hey,” he said, lips parted in surprise. “You’re here.”
“Yeah,” she said. “My mom convinced me to come and talk to Vin. What are you doing here?”
Jared’s beautiful mouth curved up on one side, and he peered over Mila’s shoulder to her car, where Caryl still sat in the passenger seat. “Your mom convinced you?”
Mila’s eyebrows jumped. “I know.”
“That’s incredible.” He reached forward to brush a curl off her forehead. Her skin tingled with his touch. “Well, I definitely wasn’t here to talk to Vin myself. Definitely was not going to scream at him until he let you back into the contest. So you don’t have to worry about that.”
She tilted her head. “You were not.”
“I just said I wasn’t.” Secrets sparkled in his eyes.
“J, I don’t need you to step in and take care of things for me, okay?”
“I know you don’t,” he said. “I just couldn’t stand by and let you give up on this opportunity.”
“Well,” she said. “I’m here to fight for it myself.”
“Hell yeah, you are.” He kissed her, quickly and with purpose, as if infusing her with all the belief she didn’t quite feel yet herself. “Go get ’em.”
Mila turned and approached the community center on heavy limbs, her heart slamming against her chest. She’d never confronted anybody in her life, save for the time in middle school when Megan Ratcliffe had abruptly stopped sitting with Mila at lunch. Mila asked her why, and Megan responded, in front of the entire lunchroom, that she’d been “skeeved out” by Mila’s tiny house, where her family lived on top of one another, and Mila and her two sisters had to share one room like a “freaking jail cell.” Mila had been so painfully embarrassed, so utterly doused in shame, that she’d never sought out that feeling again. Better to just keep her head down. The Bailey family way.
But there was no keeping her head down now. If she wanted justice, she had to fight. No matter what the outcome might be.
She pushed into the community center and glanced around. Nine finalists milled about, chatting amiably and removing outerwear. At the front of the room, in a tiny cluster, stood Chef Constance and celebrity judge Denny Torres, with Vin close by scrolling through his phone.
What would they do when they saw her? Turn their judgmental stares on her, remind her that she shouldn’t be here, that she didn’t belong? That no matter what she did, no matter what path she took, she’d always be on the outside? The awkward teenager, heavy with shame, rose up inside her and
told her to turn around, run away, save herself from the devastating weight of other people’s opinions.
“Mila!” Her heart stutter-stepped as Kim, the spunky redhead from Buffalo with a penchant for sidecars, bounced toward her. She squeezed Mila in a hug and pulled back, a beaming smile shining from her round face. “Oh, honey, it’s good to see you. Isn’t this all just so exciting? Home stretch.”
Indigo Hotels had offered discounted accommodations at local bed-and-breakfasts for out-of-town contestants, and most were treating the week like a vacation. The carefree smile on Kim’s face made Mila’s stomach turn. What she wouldn’t give for an ounce of that unbridled joy.
“Mila?” Vin’s voice cut through the room. “What are you doing here?”
The room fell silent as Vin approached, his once handsome face now twisted in anger.
“What do you mean, what’s she doing here?” Kim snapped. “She’s a finalist like the rest of us. Why shouldn’t she be here?”
Vin’s chin jutted out as if physically trying to keep the words from spilling out of his mouth. “Mila knows what I mean.”
“I was hoping we could talk,” Mila said. She’d meant her voice to sound as steely and sure as Caryl’s had two hours earlier, but instead, she sounded like a child asking for an extra cookie after dinner. She tried again. “In fact, I think you owe me that.”
Vin blinked, his mouth falling open. “Oh, do I?”
“What’s going on?” Bob Santangelo chimed in.
Mila straightened, readying herself for yet another bully’s input.
“Nothing,” Mila said. “I just need to talk to Vin.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Vin said. “You’re disqualified. That’s it. No discussion.”
“Disqualified?” Kim’s voice turned breathy. “Why? Her pie was incredible!”
Mila choked back the wave of emotion turning her legs wobbly. All eyes landed on her, and she watched them as if through beveled glass. Warped, with confused stares and demanding postures. They wanted answers.
She bit down on her lip, waiting for Vin to speak. Over his shoulder, past the sea of folding chairs in the community center and out the front window, stood Jared. When their eyes met, he raised a hand and smiled.
A surge of confidence rose up in her chest. She summoned all the positive energy she could, trapped and caged everything Jared had tried to convince her of over the past few weeks, and planted her feet firmly on the ground. She had to do this.
Now or never.
“According to the rules,” Mila said, “each recipe had to have at least half the ingredients sourced from New York State. Mine came in at forty-eight percent, and the legal team at Indigo Hotels decided it wasn’t fair to the rest of the contestants. That I should be disqualified.”
She cleared her throat, letting the news settle over the room. “I don’t want anyone to bend the rules for me, and I was going to just take the ruling and walk away. But this contest means so much to me. It means a lot to my family. I’ve worked so hard, and I couldn’t let two percent keep me from trying. So I thought I’d come here and see if there was anything I could do. Anything at all.”
“But that’s absurd!” Kim said, staring hard at Vin. “Who cares if she was at forty-eight percent? That’s close enough, isn’t it?”
“No,” Vin snapped. “I’m afraid it’s not close enough. There are rules. We can’t just bend them for one contestant when everyone else fell within the parameters. This isn’t Little League. We’re not handing out participation trophies.”
“Sounds like it’s a legal issue,” Bob Santangelo chimed in. “We’re talking about a big corporation here, people. They’ve gotta cover their asses. Legally. If they say she’s out, she’s out.”
Bob’s bloated face turned pink as Mila shot him a tight-lipped glare.
“Well,” Arthur Allen said, “I, for one, don’t care. So she’s at forty-eight percent. Her pie was damned good, and I’ll bet if you asked her, she’d remake that pie with one hundred percent New York–sourced ingredients and it would still be in the top ten.”
“I’m with him,” someone else chimed in.
“Me, too,” Kim said. She crossed her arms across her chest defiantly.
“Vin.” Chef Constance approached. “Who did this decision come from? Corporate? I certainly didn’t hear anything about it.”
Vin’s jaw ticked back and forth, and he set his hands on his hips. “I discussed it with corporate, yes.”
Denny Torres sauntered toward them, his imposing football player frame daring anyone not to notice him. He ran a hand over his floppy hair, ruffling the already unruly style. “Seems sort of strict,” Denny said. “They really said she should be disqualified?”
Vin swallowed, staring up at his friend. He crossed his arms over his chest, eyes darting around the group. No words left his mouth.
“Listen,” Kim said, “I don’t give a tick if only forty-eight percent of her ingredients were sourced from New York State. If she’d been at ten percent, okay, maybe. If my vote counts for anything, I say let her stay in the competition. She’s damn talented, and if I’m gonna win this thing, I want to beat the best.”
Kim winked, and Mila blinked back tears.
“I’m with her,” Arthur Allen said. “Do we get a vote?”
More voices rose up from the room, everyone but Bob Santangelo agreeing that if they had anything to say about it, they wanted Mila back in the competition.
“It’s not up to me, okay?” Vin barked. “I talked to corporate. This is the decision.”
“I dunno, man,” Denny said. “Maybe give it another shot? Seems really unfair to let it go this far and then kick her out now.”
“Again,” Vin said. “I am not kicking her out. The rules are the rules.”
Mila breathed deep. She appreciated the support, but this was on her.
“I know that,” she said. “I’m asking if there’s any way for you to reach out to corporate one more time and see if there’s anything I can do. Please, Vin.”
“Hope Indigo doesn’t get sued,” Bob barked.
Vin sucked his teeth and gave Mila a once-over, as if the answer waited in her outfit. “Fine. I’ll call them after the meeting. But I’m not making any promises.”
The group, save Bob, erupted into applause, and Mila released a nervous laugh, relief flooding her veins. One last attempt. It wasn’t a guarantee. But it was something.
* * *
* * *
Mila!” Sydney shouted over the low blend of voices filling Sam’s living room and skipped toward the door to clobber Mila in a hug.
“Happy birthday, Syd,” Mila said. With one arm she hugged the birthday girl, and in the other she balanced a dulce de leche cake.
“How dare you.” Sydney took the cake as her eyes glittered. “Did Jared tell you this was my favorite?”
“You think my dopey little brother remembered your favorite cake?” Sam approached, slinging an arm around Sydney’s shoulder and kissing her cheek. “I commissioned this work of art.”
Mila’s cheeks heated from the compliment and from being in the presence of two people so obviously in love with each other. Standing within a three-foot radius of Sam and Sydney together felt like sitting too close to the fire.
“Well, you’re both amazing,” Sydney said. “Thank you.”
“Where’s Jared?” Sam asked. “He didn’t come with you?”
Word had spread through town like wildfire, and now everywhere she went, people asked where Jared was. As if they couldn’t physically be separated or the town itself would implode.
“He’s coming from Inlet,” Mila said. “He had a house to show.”
“But he’ll be here soon?” Sam’s brows met in the middle, and for the first time since she’d walked in, Mila noticed his demeanor. Fidgeting, nervous, blushing.
Sam Kirkland didn’t get nervous, and if he did, he certainly never showed his hand.
“What’s your deal?” Sydney asked, her eyes still trained on the cake. “It’s only seven o’clock. He’ll be here.”
Sam cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “Just wanted him to get here already.”
Sydney rolled her eyes. “You’re really terrible at keeping secrets, you know that?”
The front door opened behind Mila, and she didn’t have to turn to know it was him. The fresh spring breeze carried his scent in, nearly knocking her forward. He’d worn the same cologne since high school, but it smelled different now. Darker. More intoxicating.
“Hi,” he said, his lips curling into a smile as he gazed at her. He brushed her hand by way of greeting, and she clamped down on her lower lip to keep from grinning like an idiot. His display of support at the community center earlier had meant the world to her, and she planned to show him as much at her apartment after the party.
The bake-off decision still swirled in her stomach, threatening to derail her evening at any moment. But she kept her phone close, checked every few minutes for a missed call from Vin, and hoped for the best. Hope was all she had.
Mila poured herself a glass of wine and settled into a corner of Sam’s couch to chat with Nicole, Calvin, and Denny Torres, who seemed to slip right into the Pine Ridge social scene like a fish to water.
They fell into easy conversation about the town’s recent changes. Sydney’s shop had been doing particularly well lately after Good Morning America featured the Loving Page. Between Indigo Hotels and the success of the bookstore, Pine Ridge thrived.
“I hope your man can fight the pull of Pine Ridge,” Denny said, gesturing to Mila with a red plastic cup filled with beer. “We’re trying to get him to come work with Indigo.”
“I thought Vin vetoed that,” Mila said. Even his name on her tongue tasted foul.
“Eh,” Denny said, “Vin’s got a chip on his shoulder. He worked his way up the company, and I think he feels protective. He’s not a bad guy. He’s just a little prickly. And he’d be lucky to have Jared on board.”
Sweet Love Page 22
