Chris drew a cautious breath. “I’ve been aiming for this for…years. It hasn’t become a reality until recently, though. The whole point of this contest was to prove my brand to the network so that we could pull off the new show at a higher level of success.”
She hefted with a humorless laugh. “So if all went well and you won, you would be leaving no matter what.”
“Well…yes. That’s been the goal.”
“Okay. Good to know.” She clucked her tongue, studying the ground for a moment. “So this was never going to work out anyway.”
Chris watched her, wanting to say so many things: But it still can work out. Don’t you feel what’s between us? Distance doesn’t have to mean anything. But nothing made the leap past his lips.
Because logic always won against the hopefulness. If he was having a hard time dealing with Dan now, what did he have to look forward to while he was halfway around the globe? If it wasn’t Dan, then it would be somebody else. He could count on it.
He’d allowed himself to get swept away in the newness of it. In the passion and the lust and the incredible sex. But it would come to an end no matter what, and his jealousy and newest show offer had only hastened it. In a way, he was doing himself a favor.
It was just easier to stay away, to not let this develop into anything.
Even though so much of him was craving it.
“I don’t know how it could have,” Chris said in a small voice, feeling a lot like he’d just lowered the hammer for the final blow. But the hammer wasn’t crashing down on her. It was coming down on him.
This was the dose of logic and reality that he needed.
“Believe me…I want it to,” Chris added, but his words were swallowed by the vast gulf that had cracked open between them. “But I have a specific kind of lifestyle. It’s…demanding, to say the least.”
Mara nodded, rolling her lips inward. “Right. Yeah. Of course.” She sniffed, and for a second he couldn’t tell if those were tears shimmering in her eyes. “Well, congratulations on the show. And uh, let’s just stop this stupid game we’ve been playing and finish the contest, okay? It should be easy enough, since you were never looking for anything anyway.”
Mara flashed him a tight smile. One that reminded him of their first day on set.
She turned and rushed out of the lounge, leaving him in a thick, bitter silence. One that had him rethinking very second of their conversation.
One that had him ready to chase after her and undraw every damn line he’d drawn in the sand.
13
The next few days blurred into an indistinguishable stream of hyper-focus. Mara needed to win the competition, but almost more than that, she needed to keep her damn mind off Chris.
The contest ended that Friday, and every day she woke up with a knot in her throat. Remembering that Chris had chosen his career—and jealousy—over something sweet and real with her. Wondering how the competition would pan out. Dreading the possibility of having to back out of her new bakery space because she lost the competition.
But as the hours edged closer to Friday, doubts and desperation crowded her. How could she win anyway? Would the networks even allow it? Now that her small-town gingerbread village was complete except for the finishing touches, and Chris’s gingerbread NYC was towering and intimidating, it seemed obvious that the judges were going to pick him.
Besides, Ryan’s comment earlier that week only reinforced her suspicions. They all saw her as some sort of small-town underling. The butt of a joke that only they could hear from their fifty-fifth floor in some sparkling Manhattan tower. This contest, which meant everything to Mara, was a throwaway act for Chris so he could climb the ladder even higher.
Sometimes she thought too much about it and her insides started to hurt. Because beyond the competition, beyond the delicate past of her and Chris, she’d actually been excited about the prospect of something with that man. Jealousy and ladder climbing aside, in her most secret, private moments, she’d already started envisioning what their life together could look like. His enthusiastic support of her bakery, weekend trips to New York City.
But none of those dreams had included an around-the-world cooking show. No, in her mind Chris had always been mere hours away by car. Not a full day via plane. And knowing him, the man wouldn’t fly out to Dubai or Istanbul or Beijing with any intentions of returning to Glenford. He was the sort of man to come home for Christmas…or gingerbread competitions.
That was it.
Still, it was hard to convince the romantic girl inside her to calm down. Part of her still wanted to fight for it—for them. But she couldn’t fight for them if Chris himself wasn’t also willing. And the man had made it clear earlier that week. Pursuing something with her wasn’t what he wanted to do.
He didn’t want her. Didn’t need her.
And if there was anything she deserved in life, it was a man who would fight for her.
Friday morning, Mara found it hard to keep her eyes off Chris. This felt like their last real chance to be around each other. After three full days of stony silence between them, it might also be her last chance to tell him anything.
But what did she want to say to him, other than screw you?
“All right, people,” the director called out. “We’ll break for lunch and film the contest judging process after we eat. Almost done, folks!”
There was something jovial in the air today, the same way high school classrooms got during the last week of school. This was it. The actual end of the competition. No more early mornings in the Glenford Community Center. No more gingerbread mishaps and triumphs. No more furtive glances at Chris, wondering why she still craved the feel of his lips against her collarbone…
“Chris! This way!” The director barked for Chris to head out of the multipurpose room, and he complied instantly, shucking his apron. Mara resisted the urge to follow him, instead arranging her things with care in her workspace. This was going to be the last time she used the annoying red spatula with the blade that always fell off mid-stir. Hell, it was probably rigged that way by the network. They loved gobbling up those ridiculous moments of wits’-end frustration.
She couldn’t ignore her curiosity for long, though. Eventually she wandered out of the multipurpose room, and instead of heading for the lounge where their buffet lunch awaited, she followed the low undertones of the director’s voice.
She found them in the auditorium, just Chris, the director, and a man she didn’t recognize. Their voices carried in the expansive space, and she eavesdropped enough to overhear that it was a reporter from the New York Times here for an interview.
Mara lingered at the doorway. She shouldn’t stay to listen; she didn’t want to risk being spotted, or worse, being taken for curious about anything having to do with Chris’s fabulous life.
Even though she was curious. Far too curious for a woman who’d been recently “let go” from her lover. Sure, she’d been on board with the decision, but it also felt right to lick her wounds a little, too. She needed to mourn, and eavesdrop, and stew, and then finally let go of it all with a warrior cry and a well-timed wine night.
That was the process she figured might have the best chance of curing her, at least.
“This new show promises to be really big,” the reporter was saying. “I mean, mega. America has been hungry for something like this since Anthony Bourdain, may he rest in peace. Are you prepared to fill the shoes of a legend like him?”
Chris chuckled, crossing an ankle over his knee. “I’ll never be Anthony Bourdain. That’s for damn sure. But I’ll always be Chris. That’s all I can really give to people, you know? I’m just…the man that I am. People have seen me for years on television. That’s what they’re going to continue to get. I see this new show being a little rougher around the edges, though. Anthony liked to spectate. I’m planning on getting right up in these kitchens next to the chefs and being their prep cook. Really, we should name the show Global Prep Cook. That’s wha
t I’ll be doing. Assisting other chefs around the world.”
Mara listened in until her stomach started grumbling too loudly to ignore. She skulked off toward the lounge, anxiety streaking under her skin. The New Show Train was officially in motion. Chris would probably forget about this contest as soon as they announced the winner. Probably forget all about her.
Dark thoughts tormented her through lunch as she glumly ate a turkey sandwich and Caesar salad. She needed to be prepared for the end of this show, because it would mean the definitive end to this back-and-forth with Chris. Soon, he’d not only move on, he’d move across the world. Mara would become a strange blip in his romantic past. And she’d be here, baking cookies and wondering what could have been.
She sniffed, cleaning up her lunch waste before straightening her back. Enough of this pity party. The spurned-lover shit ended today.
Once lunch break was over, she marched into the multipurpose room, ready for the judgement. Along the far wall, they’d assembled the judges’ table, where three celebrity judges would be assessing and considering their work. They needed three, despite outnumbering the contestants, to prevent a tie. Plus the judges’ comments and debates would feature heavily in the last episode.
Mara paced her workspace, her team assembled along the countertops. The gingerbread village was done, and perfectly so. The church bell glistened with sparkles. The gingerbread rolling hills were topped with white frosting. The Christmas tree in the center of the town—not gingerbread, but actually a tiny decorated plastic tree—made her smile every time she looked at it. She’d never created something so elaborate. This had taken a full two weeks to complete, and every bit of her and her team’s hard work showed.
As did Chris’s, of course. She swallowed hard as she glanced over at his monstrosity for what she told herself would be the last time that afternoon. Partly because she didn’t want to be seen gawking…but also because every time she looked at his gingerbread masterpiece, she also saw Chris himself. And it was just better to avoid seeing him until this could all be over and she’d go back to her regular life here in Glenford.
Single, baking, and masturbating alone in her bedroom.
She sighed loudly, checking the wall clock. Every second trudged past. This waiting was intolerable.
She tried to keep herself occupied, mostly by compulsively checking her email on her phone, and talking to her team about anything and everything. The judges eventually stepped into their places and spent a lot of time poring over each gingerbread creation. She wrung her hands, standing safely to the side, as they pointed out aspects of her village and murmured quietly among themselves.
When they called her up to join them, the cameras rolling, they had some additional questions for her. Why the village? Why not a gingerbread tree? Was the city layout a direct representation of Glenford? She answered the questions as best she could, being sure to play up the small-town love aspect, since it didn’t hurt to hit the viewers in the feels at the end. She even pointed out where her favorite fictional bakery would be—not mentioning she planned it to be hers one day—as well as Lover’s Lane and the schoolyard where she’d played as a child.
The judges nodded and smiled and moved on. She exhaled loudly once they’d moved on to Chris’s station, shaking out her hands like she’d just given a TED talk. There was nothing else to do but wait.
She tried not to eavesdrop as the judges assessed Chris’s creation, but it was hard to ignore the raucous laughter coming from all of them. Of course Chris was making them laugh. Working the crowd. Connecting with his celebrity brethren. She huffed, crossing her arms. It was probably better that they didn’t end up working out, because she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand seeing him act like that all the time.
She made the mistake of glancing over at them, and she caught the tail end of Chris’s sparkling gaze. Her stomach shrank. He might as well have come right over to her and punched her in the face with that searing look. It just served to remind her that no matter how much of a schmoozer he was, he excelled because he was genuinely good at what he did. Cooking. Networking. Keeping people engaged.
There was a reason he was at the top. Why he was one of the most well-known household names in America.
Mara sipped water and checked her phone until the judges made their way back over to their table for the final testing. They also needed to taste the actual flavor of the gingerbread—to compare quality and subtleties. Both Chris and Mara were invited to face the judges table as they went one by one tasting the cute little cookies she and Chris had prepared that morning, more of an afterthought than anything. Only she and Chris knew the shapes that they personally had made. It was a blind testing for the judges, but knowing whose cookies elicited more satisfied hums and fluttering eyes felt like a silent victory for Mara.
The cameras recorded everything from all possible angles. After what seemed like an eternity of deliberation and plenty of redos of filming as the cameras sought the perfect shot of the judges, both she and Chris were called up to the red carpeted space facing the judges’ table.
“Chris. Mara.” The lead judge, a perky singer named Tarina who was famous for her high-pitched vocals and a fascinating array of reality TV endeavors, beckoned them to step closer to the table. She was flanked by the other two judges, a famous pastry chef and a former pro football player turned amateur chef. “You both have created stunning work. And inspecting both creations has been one of the most interesting moments of my year so far.”
All the judges sounded off about what they loved about each contestant’s work. Tarina loved Mara’s choice of the village, whereas both of the other judges cooed endlessly about the gingerbread skyscraper and its ingenuity. But the pastry chef was enchanted with Mara’s use of accenting flavors in her gingerbread recipe, offering so much praise that even Chris looked visibly uncomfortable. After a harrowing hour of conversations with the judges, filmed and re-filmed for maximum footage, they were finally down to the wire.
“And the winner is…” Tarina grinned at both of them, receiving an envelope from the director. She took her time opening it and then stared at the postcard with a blank face for what felt like far too long for Mara’s tastes.
Finally, her eyes snapped up, and she looked at each of them in turn before her perfect ruby lips curved into a smile.
“Chris.”
14
The day ended with a triumphant flurry. Another press conference. More interviews. Camera crews everywhere. Chris had been given the greenlight to formally announce his upcoming globetrotting cooking show, which he mentioned with aplomb.
But once he realized Mara had scurried off and the fanfare began fizzling, the truth settled around him…less like snow flurries and more like a lead blanket.
Chris headed to his condo alone and sat on the leather couch in pure silence for almost an hour. He alternated between sighing and rubbing his forehead and kicking up his feet.
This didn’t feel right. None of it felt right. The only thing that did feel right was the new cooking show. But before that happened, something else needed to happen.
He just couldn’t figure out what it was.
In lieu of dinner that evening, he decided to head to the bar. Really, he wanted to go to Mara’s house, but what good would that do? One last intimate night before they never saw each other again? That was if she even let him inside the door. At this point, he wouldn’t let himself inside the door.
So getting drunk was probably the best way to handle things right now.
Chris chose the closest and smallest bar in town. He didn’t want to deal with running into people he knew, much less any gawkers or overly drunk and friendly locals. He just wanted to wallow in peace.
Ironic that he’d be wallowing on the best day of his career. But it was better not to think too hard about that. At least not until the alcohol was flowing.
Rupp’s was the closest hole-in-the-wall he could find. Inside, about seven men lined the bar, perched o
n stools. And the first person he noticed when he went inside was Dan.
The guy was impossible to avoid. And at this point, it seemed more like a curse than anything else. What else was left but to face it head on? Chris sighed and headed straight for Dan, who lifted his beer as a greeting.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Chris muttered as he waved down the bartender.
“This was my dad’s favorite watering hole,” Dan said with a grimace.
“Did he pass?”
“Yeah. A few months ago.”
Chris tapped a knuckle against the wooden bar, frowning down at the grain. “Sorry to hear that. Let’s drink to him tonight.”
The bartender arrived, and Chris ordered two whiskeys, neat. When Dan lifted a brow, Chris said, “One for your dad, remember?”
Chris clinked his tumbler of whiskey to Dan’s beer bottle and downed the whole thing in one gulp. He slid the empty tumbler over the bar, grimacing.
“That’s the shit,” Chris said, then reached for the second tumbler and swirled the amber liquid around.
“I take it you’re out celebrating,” Dan said.
“Sure. Celebrating.” He hefted with a humorless laugh. “Or whatever.”
“You won the contest. What’s not to celebrate?”
The fact that winning the contest brought about losing Mara. “The future looks bright. I’m as happy as any miserable New Yorker could be, I guess. So at least there’s that. Oh, this is off the record, by the way.”
Dan cracked a grin. “Of course. Everything that happens in Rupp’s is off the record. So what do you plan on doing with that prize money? Be honest.”
“I told everyone earlier today. Donate it to charity.”
Dan narrowed his eyes. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Why not?” Chris shrugged, taking a swig of his second whiskey. “I don’t need it.”
Dan studied him for a moment, his expression growing unreadable. “You know, Mara had big plans for that money if she’d won.”
Christmas with the Denton Billionaires: The Complete Series Page 28
