Page 80 of Knot Your Sugar

I gesture to my bag of shame. "Checked out of my Airbnb. Resigned from my festival duties. Heading back to the city a little earlier than planned."

Her eyes narrow, the flicker turning into a definite spark. "So you were just going to leave without saying goodbye?"

There’s an edge to her voice, a hurt I suspect she’s trying (and failing) to hide under anger. And damn it, it ignites myownbanked frustration.

"Goodbye?" My voice raises, surprising both of us. The handful of other people in the station look over. Great. "What kind of goodbye were you expecting, Elena? The one where I thank you for blowing me off?"

She looks surprised. "Cole, I never—"

"Didn't you?" I step closer, lowering my voice but not the intensity. I can feel my own scent sharpening, a mix of anger and something else, something I refuse to name, but that smells a lot likelonging. "You build walls so high, Elena, it’s a wonder anyone can evenseeyou, let alone get close. You push and you push because you’re terrified someone might actuallystay. You made it pretty damn obvious I wasn't wanted. So yeah," I say, the word tasting like ash, "I was leaving. What did you think I was going to do? Stick around like some pathetic puppy, hoping you'd throw me a scrap of attention?"

The anger drains out of her, replaced by a wide-eyed vulnerability that stops me dead in my tracks, tears welling up in her eyes. "I… I'm sorry," she whispers. "It's just… I've had so much on my mind and… I’m scared, Cole."

"You think you're the only one?" The anger deflated, leaving behind a hollow ache as my own fears echo back at me.You can’t do both. Saving people. Loving. You’ll do neither right. You'll screw everything up.Maybe I already have…

We stand there, two fugitives in the drab bus station, the scent of stale coffee and diesel fumes mingling with our distress.

Suddenly, a crackly voice erupts from the radio speaker at the ticket counter, startling us both."And we've just received word from the Lakeview Baking Festival, folks! After a truly astonishing final round, the judges have crowned their champion!"

Elena and I both look toward the radio, our personal drama momentarily forgotten.

"James Reynolds,"the announcer continues, his voice practically buzzing with excitement,"a crowd favorite throughout the competition, has claimed first place! His final creation wowed the judges with its technical brilliance and innovative flavor combinations!"

"Good for him," I say, genuinely meaning it. "He deserved to win."

Elena nods, though I can see a flash of what might be regret cross her face. What might have been, if things had gone differently.

The announcer continues with details about the competition until suddenly his tone changes to excitement."Wait, I'm getting new information... In a shocking turn of events, James Reynolds has just made an unexpected announcement during his acceptance speech!"

Elena and I exchange a glance, our eyebrows lifting in sync.

"In a stunning display of sportsmanship, Reynolds just revealed that the second pastry he presented, the one judges described as 'transcendent' and that secured his victory, was actually Elena Avery's creation that he assembled and decorated after her disqualification earlier today!"

Elena gasps, her hand flying to her mouth.

"Reynolds stated that he completed Avery's half-finished work, saying it would have been 'a tragedy not to experience the best pastry in the competition, regardless of who created it.' "Festival judges are currently in an emergency meeting to determine how to proceed. Stay tuned to Lakeview Radio for updates."

"James," Elena whispers, tears welling again, but this time, they look different. They look like hope. And my own heart, the one I was trying so hard to pack away, gives a stupid, hopeful lurch right alongside hers.

Chapter forty-two

James

The silence that follows my revelation is so complete you could hear a soufflé deflate. The judges and the entire crowd, at least three hundred people, stare at me in collective shock.

"I'm sorry," Judge Chen says, blinking rapidly. "Could you please repeat that?"

I lean into the microphone, channeling my inner dramatic hero. "The mixed fruit tart with pistachio cream," I declare, my gaze sweeping across the shocked faces of the judges and the crowd, "the creation that ultimately secured the highest marks in today’s final, the tart that you all unanimously agreed was exceptional… isn’t mine. It's Elena Avery's."

The crowd erupts in another round of gasps and murmurs. Parker's face cycles through several interesting colors before settling on an alarming shade of purple, while Pierre'sexpression becomes as inscrutable as an undercooked puff pastry.

"The perfect crust, the exquisite pistachio cream, the fruits, the mirror-like glazing… it was all Elena's work," I continue. "I simply assembled and decorated everything she had already prepared, after she was… unable to continue.""

"This is highly irregular, Mr. Reynolds!" Parker sputters as he grabs his microphone, finally finding his voice.

I raise my hands in a gesture of peaceful defiance. "I am well aware of that, Chef Parker. And I accept full responsibility for any breach of festival protocol."

"I don't believe there are any rules that specifically coverthisparticular contingency," Chen says, a bewildered but intrigued smile playing on her lips. "But I’m fairly certain that if thereweresuch a rule, this would most definitely be against it."

---