Page 37 of Miss Humbug
Marlowe and I laughed. Riley scowled, but there was no bite there. “Watch it, kiddo. How about you? What did you make?”
“A Victoria spiced sponge cake with berry jam filling.”
Riley took this in. “I have no idea what that is. I’m used to baking from a box mix.”
“See howdesperatelyshe needs me?” Reece exclaimed.
“I started with a yule log but gave up.” Marlowe made a face. “Too lumpy.”
It seemed their competitive attitudes had cooled a bit, which was probably a good thing.
More bakers arrived to set up cakes for the tasting and judging. This was an actual competition with judges hired from local restaurants, the downtown bakery, and for whatever reason, the school board.
We had a great classic cake with a good shot at placing well. Marlowe wore another holiday sweater, probably another borrow from her grandmother. Maybe Marlowe was getting closer to liking holiday festivities after all.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket. It’d been buzzing for a few minutes, but I’d ignored it to help Marlowe lift the cake from the box onto the display table.
Buzz buzz.
I glanced at my phone—my brother. I walked out of the tent to take the call. “What’s up?”
“Dude, you haven’t been answering.”
“I told you, I’m at the baking event.”
“Doesn’t matter. Look, it’s Dad. He fell at the farm. It’s not good. He’s at the hospital.”
Chapter 13
Marlowe
Now that the cake arrived at its final destination, I adjusted the finishing touches. Holly leaves, chocolate trees from a candy mold, and crimson winter berries made of fondant—all edible.
Ethan rushed into the tent. “Marlowe, I’m so sorry. I have to go.”
I smiled at him. “I think we’re all set. You shouldn’t have to get an extra tablecloth after all—”
“No, uh, it’s my dad. He fell. At the farm.”
Reality pounded its way through. “W…what? Is he okay?”
His gaze flitted everywhere but me. “He’s in the hospital. I don’t have much to go on yet, but they need help at the farm.”
“Oh.” I nodded. “You’re going to the hospital first?”
He tapped his phone’s screen. “My mom texted. She said go to the farm. She’ll keep me updated if Dad needs surgery.” He slipped the phone into his back pocket.
“There’s staff at the farm already, right?”
Annoyance flashed across his face. “It’s the second Saturday in December.”
I racked my brain for any hint of what he was talking about.
Realizing I had no idea of the significance of his statement, he went on. “The farm does a holiday event the second weekend in December. Wagon rides, kid’s games, a raffle for a free tree. It starts in an hour.”
“Sorry, I didn’t know.” My clueless questioning would only hold him up. “Just go. I’ll check in later.”
He blinked in thought before placing a hand at my back. “Hey, no need to say sorry. I didn’t tell you about the event at the farm because I assumed it was handled. You’ll do great with the cake.”
