Page 34 of A Witch's Guide to Surviving Halloween
I don’t hear another word they say. I force one foot in front of the other as our small group approaches the massive cakes awaiting our judgment. Just this afternoon, Oliver hadn’t even known about the cooking competition, and already he’s talked his way into a spot in the most popular category. I eye Don warily, wondering if it was he who gave Oliver the spot and what Oliver had offered as a bribe. I can’t imagine Stacy loosening the reins enough to add a last-minute slot.
The thought of being forced into a face-to-face situation with Oliver makes my heart race with anticipation. It’s like the scene from a romance novel, where the sexy enemies are forced together by fate and the gods themselves to defeat the evil of the story. Except in their story, they become lovers, and in mine . . . Well, my gut is already starting to curdle with dread.
Part of me can’t help but wonder if this isn’t the magic at work yet again. I don’t know how influential the magic truly is or how much of this is his choice. I know now Oliver can feel themagic at play between us, but I don’t know if he realizes that it’s the force drawing us together.
It’s at that point in my mental spiral when I internally shake myself and roll my eyes at my own ego.
I’ve only known the guy for a few days. Why am I so quick to assume that his joining this event has anything to do with me, magical interference or not? Maybe Oliver took my casual mention of the cooking competition and realized what a good opportunity it would be for him to insert himself into the heart of town affairs. What better way for a baker to leave his mark than to win a bake-off mere days before his grand opening?
My gut knots at the thought . . . It would be just my luck that Oliver is only trying to be a good businessman and neighbor, and that the magic would decide this small interaction is enough to go berserk once again—and with all these people around.
Even as I get up close and personal with some of the most amazing cakes I’ve ever seen, I can’t stop my internal battle with my anxiety. I can barely concentrate on the massive Frankenstein head made of layers upon layers of pound cake and caramel apple filling because I’m too busy dissecting every sound at the fair. Every time a child shrieks or someone whoops, I nearly jump out of my skin, waiting for the next magical catastrophe.
Cake decorating goes by in a blink, and before I know it, I’m giving a perfect decoration score to a three-foot-tall haunted house with spun sugar cobwebs, stained “glass” windows, turrets, and a massive vicious-looking jack-o-lantern on top. It’s a work of art down to the very last detail.
I’m about to put a forkful of cake into my mouth to see if the masterpiece tastes as good as it looks when I spot Oliver out of the corner of my eye.
Stationed at the first wild card booth, he stands behind one of several glass trays, awaiting our team of judges. His eyes meetmine, and the cake on my tongue turns to ash as my stomach flips. Something in the back of my mind tells me that the flavors are amazing and that the black cocoa cake melts on my tongue, but I hardly notice as all my attention goes to the man standing only feet away.
“How did I not know you could make a cookie-less cake taste like Oreos?” Mike moans, making me jump back to reality. He closes his eyes, slowly licking his plastic fork like the frosting is giving him life. “I’m texting Jim the moment this is over and telling him black cocoa needs to be on our next grocery list.”
I give him a nervous laugh, poking at the slice of cake on my plate. “Good luck with that. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never seen black cocoa at the Corner Market.”
Mike sighs longingly. “Guess I’ll have to stick with Oreos. What a shame.” He gives me a quick wink before popping another bite of whipped frosting into his mouth.
I respond with a tight-lipped smile, unable to resist glancing at Oliver out of the corner of my eye.
“Cute,” Mike whispers, nudging me with his elbow, “and a baker. Good choice.”
I gasp, gathering myself and turning my back on the wild card booth as if there isn’t a man over there consuming my every thought. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just scoping out the best dishes.”
He gives me an incredulous look that tells me I’m not fooling anyone. “Sure, let’s go with that. Wait! That’s thenewbakery owner, isn’t it?”
I push a heavy sigh through my nose, forcing a pleasantly blank expression onto my face.
“Yes,” I say with forced patience. “Yes, it is. His name’s Oliver.”
Mike gives me a knowing, slow nod. “Good for you, girl. You could use a little sweet in your life.”
My mouth falls open, and I’m about to inform him that I am perfectly happy single when another unsolicited opinion pops in over my shoulder.
“I’m inclined to agree,” Don grumbles, low enough for only our small group to hear.
“Don!” I gasp, unable to contain my embarrassment as heat starts to creep up my neck.
“I’m sorry, Miss Amelia, but I knew your grandmother for many years, and she would want you to have a little fun. Though . . .” Don eyes Oliver suspiciously, giving the large baker a once-over that tells me he’s still making up his mind on whether or not he’ll be a good addition to the town. “I can’t say I approve of your taste.”
Despite the cold of the autumn evening, my cheeks start to burn, and I can only imagine how red my face is growing by the second.
“I don’t need a boyfriend to have fun,” I whisper-yell at them, pushing hair out of my face as I peek over my shoulder to make sure Oliver isn’t overhearing this humiliating conversation.
“By the way, I’m on their side,” Simra offers, leaning in to join the conversation she was definitely not invited to. She gives me a guilty shrug. “Sorry.”
“Oh my . . .” I bury my face in my hands, unable to look at any of them. I know what they’re saying is coming from a place of love, but when did my love life become a topic for public opinion? “This isn’t any of your guys’ business!”
Mike holds an offended hand to his chest, a mock look of hurt on his face. “Are you saying we aren’t family?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course not, but?—”
