Page 59 of Knot Your Sugar

A shiver of dread grips my center.Different how? Different like I’m about to go into full-blown heat in the middle of a locally televised baking competition? Different like I reek of desperate omega pheromones?"Different?" I manage, hoping my voice doesn’t betray the sudden surge of panic. "Good different, I hope?"

He opens his mouth, as if to elaborate, then seems to think better of it, closing it again with a slight shake of his head. "Never mind," he says, his voice rough. "Just… good luck with your bake, Elena."

As he moves away, resuming his rounds, I catch him taking one last surreptitious sniff in my direction. A chill, cold and sharp, runs down my spine, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the temperature at my station.

Focus, Elena! Focus! You have a Tarte Tatin to make.

The next hour flies by in a blur of movements and calculated risks. My tart, thank the pastry gods, comes together beautifully: the apples are perfectly caramelized, tender yet holding their shape, the pastry underneath is golden brown and impossibly flaky. I carefully brush on my signature lavender-honey glaze, the delicate floral aroma mingling with the rich caramel and buttery pastry. Then, a delicate swirl of orange blossom-infusedcaramel, adding a bright, unexpected citrusy note. It’s good. It’sreallygood.

I’m just about to add small, candied violets for a touch of color and a subtle crunch when James looks over my elbow, his expression serious.

"That looks… incredible," he says, his blue eyes studying my creation with an appreciative gaze. "Really beautiful work."

"Thanks, James," I reply, carefully arranging the delicate candied violets with a pair of tweezers.

"But…" he hesitates, and I look up, my heart sinking a little. I find him frowning slightly, his head tilted as he scrutinizes my tart. "The sugar ratio in your final glaze… it seems a little… light."

I straighten, my tweezers still poised precariously over the tart. "What do you mean, light? It’s exactly what I calculated. The honey adds sweetness, the orange blossom water balances it…"

"The honey in your glaze, yes, it adds sweetness," he explains, gesturing toward my nearly completed masterpiece, "but it’s afloralsweetness. It’s going to mute the overall impact of the caramel, especially with the tartness of the apples. And that orange blossom water, while lovely, it also cuts through the richness. You need more straightforward sugar in that final glaze, to really make those flavors pop, to give it that perfect balance. Trust me on this one."

I look down at my tart, a sudden wave of doubt washing over me. Everything in me is screaming that it’s perfect as is. But James… James has more competition experience than I do. He’s won multiple regional contests, even a national championship. Heknowswhat these judges look for. Maybe he sees something I don’t? Maybe my own palate is compromised by… well, my medication.

"How… how much more sugar are you thinking?" I ask hesitantly.

"I’d say increase it by about seven percent. Maybe even nine, to be safe," he advises, his voice confident. "The judges, especially at this level, they want flavors that really stand out, that make an impact. Not subtle little hints they might miss if they’re not paying close enough attention."

"Three minutes left!" Chen calls out. Three. Minutes. There’s no time for lengthy deliberation.

"Elena," James presses, his voice softer now, but with an undercurrent of urgency. "You don’t want to play it too safe. Not now. Not when you’re this close. Trust me."

Something about his tone, about the unwavering sincerity in his eyes, makes me look at him more closely. There’s no trace of his usual teasing smirk, no hint of playful arrogance. Just… earnest conviction. And that competitive edge, yes, that’s still there, but… he wouldn’t deliberately try to sabotage me. Would he? The thought is ugly, unwelcome, but it flickers there nonetheless.

"Two minutes, bakers!" Chen calls out again.

I notice my hands trembling slightly as I reach for the sugar canister. Every instinct screamsno, but I go for it anyway, adding more sugar to the glaze. I work fast, brushing the now unmistakably sweeter mix over the tart’s glossy surface before finishing with a final scattering of violet petals.

"TIME! Step away from your creations, please!"

I place my tweezers down with a trembling hand, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The tart looks beautiful, glistening under the bright sun. But a knot of doubt is already forming in gut. I hope I didn't just ruin my perfect balance…

Chen, Dorian and Parker move through the stations methodically, their expressions carefully neutral as they tasteand take meticulous notes. My station is near the end of their route. The wait is agonizing.

When they finally reach it, I hold my breath, trying to project an aura of calm, confident professionalism I am very, very far from feeling.

Judge Chen takes a small bite first, her eyes widening. "Oh," she says, a note of genuine surprise in her voice. "Wow. This is… exceptional, Ms. Avery. The lavender-honey glaze is inspired, and the way you’ve incorporated that hint of orange blossom water into the caramel… it’s the perfect contrast." She takes a second, much bigger bite. "Genius."

Judge Parker, after a thorough, almost forensic examination of the tart’s structure, nods in slow, deliberate agreement. "Yes. This might actually be an improvement on the original Beaumont recipe. The balance, the innovation… it's magnificent!"

My heart soars, along with relief.So I guess James was right.

Then Dorian takes his bite.

His expression remains carefully neutral as he chews slowly, thoughtfully, his silver-gray eyes unreadable. I know him well enough now (or at least IthinkI do) to catch the almost imperceptible flash of pride, of pleasure, in their depths as he savors the first mouthful. But then… something changes. A tiny, almost invisible furrow appears between his perfectly sculpted brows. He takes another, smaller bite, his expression becoming more critical, more… analytical.

"Beautifully executed, Ms. Avery," he says finally, his voice carrying that formal, impartial, ‘Judge Beaumont’ tone. "The innovation is indeed impressive, as my colleagues have noted. Your technical skills are, as always, flawless." He pauses, and my gut tightens further, bracing for the inevitable ‘but.’ "Though…" And there it is. "Perhaps just atouchtoo sweet for a truly perfect balance. The delicate subtlety of your lavender, and thegrace notes of the orange blossom, they are… ever so slightly… overwhelmed by the sugar."

The words hit me like an anchor.Too sweet.The extra sugar.

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