Page 49 of Baking and Angels

Sure enough, Eleanor’s name moved to thenext rung.

“A lot of desserts,” Helena noted.

“Well, yeah, it’s hard to make much else in a toaster oven,” Cindy said.

“No, it isn’t,” Rafferty countered, as he studied the dishes listed onthe board.

“He’s right. Eleanor made a lasagna,” Helena pointed out.

“That’s not that spectacular,” Cindy sniffed. “At least according to my mother.” She folded her arms as she said the last. Rafferty got the impression she was stewing about the fight she hadjust had.

Helena eyed her friend, then gestured over to the table. “She even plated it like she’s in a restaurant.”

“Looks are as important as taste,” Rafferty added.

“Sure, but we’re not even gettingthat. I can barely see it from here and they’re definitely not letting us try it,” Helena noted. “There should be an emcee or something. Or let the judges talk about each dish.”

“For twelve dishes, that would take forever,” Cindycommented.

“Well, okay, but highlights then? The unusual or the interesting, with like a film camera or something. Have it up on a big screen,” Helena said, gesturing with her hands as if that would make the screen in her mind appear along the wall. With enough power it would, but Rafferty was relieved that she seemed to finally take the incident at Cindy’s parents’ house to heart. On reflection, he realized that there had been a strong degree of unspoken negative feeling already there, like methane gas building up in a cellar. Helena’s spark set it off.

“I don’t think they have the money for that,” Cindy retorted, her sharper than necessary words pulling his attention away from his thoughts to the present. This would get tiresome if she kept being angry at everything that had nothing to do with her mother.

“ALL THOSE PROGRESSING TO THE NEXT ROUND, YOU ARE NOW FREE TO SET UP YOUR PREP,” an announcer declared over the gymspeakers.

Helena pointed at the ancient-looking thing in the corner. “See, they have that, they could be doing a lot more withall this.”

Rafferty only grunted as he stood and shed his coat, handing it to Helena, who smiled as she took it. “Go kick their butts,” she said, wrinkling her nose in thatcute way.

Their fingers touched briefly. Before he could think better about it, his other arm went behind his back, his feet came together, and he bowed over her hand with all of the gallantness he would have been expected to show to a high lady who had come down to compliment one of his dishes. Maybe too gallant as he would not have been allowed to touch her hand like this, but historical accuracybe damned.

Now,hercheeks burned pink, and her eyes flashed gold, marring the picture. He let go of her a little too quickly. Their fingers snapped. He corrected with another apologetic smile, which she returned, probably assuming the action had come from nerves, and then he turned to walk straight to choose a table.

Before he could decide, Eleanor appeared at his side. “You ready?” she asked before he could swivel his headvery far.

“I…” he hesitated, still trying to look around.

“There’s no point in trying to pick the best station. There isn’t one,” she said, crossing her arms, which wasn’t smooth as she held a long piece of cloth in one of her hands. She aborted the habit and thrust it toward him instead. “Here, I have a spare apron.”

“Oh. Thank you—” he said so belatedly that she didn’t even let him finish.

“Good luck.” Then she turned her back to him to go back to her station.

Rafferty’s cheeks burned as he watched her walk to a table right next to where he stood, resolutely not looking at him. The apron was of heavy-duty material with leather straps that went over his neck and tied in the back. Sturdier than he would think necessary for an apron, but it felt like armor as he donned it. Then he fastened the number they had given him with his copy of his registration, fixing it to the large pocket in front with the provided tiny safety pin.

“You claiming this one?” An official gestured to the table set up nearest him.

“Uh, yes,” Rafferty said.

“Okay, once you claim a station, you can’t switch until the round is over,” the official said even as they walked away, then added as he addressed everyone nearby. “We’re breaking down the empties and removing them, so make sure you’re satisfied with whatyou have.”

That forced Rafferty to do what he had always done when he entered a kitchen, put aside everything else that was happening in his life and just focus on the cooking.

A wicked grin split his face as a shiver of delight coursed through him.

“Timeto cook.”

Chapter 20

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