Page 12 of Half Baked

“I think I do too.”

My eyes drift around the room, taking in the array of baked goods covering nearly every surface in this kitchen. None of them feel right. Not like the lemon lavender scones.

I picture Hayden’s face as he turned his nose up at them this week and scoff to myself. Hayden Thompson doesn’t know what he’s missing.

Chapter 6

Poppy

The steady sound of waves crashing on the beach should settle me. I watch as people play at the surf break, carefree in the summer sun. There’s joy in the air, and I’m desperate to absorb it. But all I’m feeling is anticipation, and maybe some nausea.

Tara and her team from Small Town Table are enroute, my audition beginning any minute. I lean forward over the wooden rail of the wharf and inhale deeply. So many variables go into what most people think is a simple process. And it can be simple with patience and attention to detail. But there are also plenty of things that are out of my control. The mixer might not even turn on, for example.

“I can do this,” I remind myself. I can do all of this; the show is simply a means to an end. A way to secure everything hanging in the balance.

Turning back towards my bakery, I take in the storefront. It glows in the sun—bright, and welcoming.

Brass letters readThe Seaside Bakehouseabove the sky-blue door, and then in smaller letters below that,because salty and sweet were made for each other. I started scribbling that saying on all of my plans when I found out this building was coming upfor lease. It seemed like a sign that I belonged here; it had come to me in a dream about my nana.

“Poppy Wheeler?”

I look down the wharf to see three people approaching me. A woman with a blunt bob and thick glasses frames is in the center and I immediately recognize her from the website. Tara.

“Yes, hello. Welcome to Foxport,” I say, extending my hand to them.

“I’m Tara, and this is my assistant, Hannah,” she replies, motioning to the younger woman with wavy golden hair and wire rim glasses to her right. “And this is Trevor.” She turns to a man with messy, honey brown hair and a wrinkled button down opened over a T-shirt.

I shake hands with each person as we murmur pleasantries to one another. They seem more down to earth than they do Hollywood. It would make sense, if they’re the visionaries behind such a charming, heartwarming show.

“The parts of town that we’ve seen thus far are just lovely. Andyour bakery,” Tara remarks. “Adorable.”

“Thank you! Let’s head in, I’ll show you the rest of it,” I say, a flurry of butterflies erupting within me.

“This tile floor is that perfect blend of trendy yet classic,” Hannah notes when they step inside.

“It’s bright, and has good natural light coming in. That will be great for shooting,” Trevor says. Passing behind the display, he leans closer and smiles. “Those look good.”

“S’mores brownie cupcakes,” I reply, meeting his gaze. Trevor’s green eyes crinkle at the corners from his grin. He seems nice, and I can see myself feeling comfortable talking to him behind the camera. Of course, that’s only if I were to be picked for the show.

“Tell us about your place. How long have you been here?”

“I received this location back in October. Prime business properties are most often owned by the town here, and they only rarely become available. It was kismet, getting this location. Then I spent a few months renovating. So, I’ve only been in here four months, actually.”

“And have you been enjoying it?”

The question catches me off guard and I’m not sure why. Tara is probably just making conversation. But it’s such a genuine question, like she’s really interested in me as a person. I feel a surge of confidence, theywantto be here talking to me. They reached out to me. I can do this.

“It’s been the most difficult, frustrating, wild, lovely, wonderful ride,” I answer with a smile.

Tara nods knowingly. “Wonderful.” We’re all standing in the back of the bakery now; around the items I’ve laid out and prepared for today.

“Let’s jump on in. Trevor will set up his camera and then you’ll start baking. Along the way, I’ll ask you some questions and we’ll just have a little chat while you work. Sound good?”

“Absolutely.”

I throw my apron over my head and reach to tie it behind me. Trevor doesn’t need much time to set up, he’s only got a single camera with him. Unfolding the tripod, he secures the device and flashes a thumbs up. Hannah perches on the counter beside him, pen and notebook poised in hand, ready to take notes.

“We are now recording,” Trevor tells us.

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