Page 19 of Holly Jolly Cake Fight
Laurin’s mostly southern accent made it easy for Candace to forget he was actually European. When he said ‘football club,’ hewas talking soccer. Professional soccer. If he had done multiple World Cups, he had to have been a phenomenal player.
Why on Earth was he baking shortbread for an outside chance at $100,000 and D-List celebrity on a cooking channel?
Candace was even less of a natural on camera than the edited episodes let on. Laurin noted that she accepted praise from the judges gracefully and answered all their questions succinctly, but her signature haughtiness that showed clearly on the TV screen belied the nervous wringing of her hands behind the workbench.
Dorothy said she always looked forward to Candace’s cookies, and Candace said, “Okay.”
Lacey asked how the bourbon flavor was so well infused, and Candace said, “I mixed it into the batter.”
Kate asked how she made the sandwich cookies fizzy, and Candace literally cocked an eyebrow and said, “Science.” Laurin envisioned how this would look when the episode aired, like a cup of sass and a pinch of charm, but in person, he saw a glint of fear in her emerald eyes.
She must have known the science behind what she’d done but worried she wouldn’t be able to explain it. And Laurin would bet anything that if he asked her privately when she was in a sharing mood, she’d explain that science better than any textbook.
The whole time they talked, Candace was vibrating slightly, nothing that would have been seen on film with all the other motion, but enough that Laurin deliberately dropped a pen onto the floor so he could peek around to see what it was.
She had her weight on one patent leather-clad foot while the other foot was kicked back so she could anchor the toe and swing the heel back and forth, a jittery schoolgirl giving a speech in front of the class. Vivvy did the very same thing when she was reading out loud.
No wonder she had such well-defined calves, Laurin thought, immediately rolling his eyes at how ridiculous he was. The more time he spent with Candace, the more he should have despised her. She certainly made it clear that she despised him and everyone else here. In another couple weeks, they’d all go home, and if he was lucky, he’d never see her again.
If he were really lucky, though, the network would like him enough that his and Candace’s paths would cross on more of these bakery sets.
If he were the luckiest man in the world, he’d never see her again, because the network replaced her with him.
He told himself that, but his gaze still lingered on her calf, and he still foolishly planned to invite her along on his free-time activities. He did want to see her again. Hell, he wanted to drop back down to the floor so he could take hold of that leg in a show of solidarity that was in no way intended as an opportunity to look up her skirt. One way or another, Candace Coale felt very much like either his salvation or his disaster in the making.
Candace’s attention stayed on the judges as they crossed over to the second row of contestants, so Laurin lingered on her a bit longer, noting that as soon as she was off-camera, she startedgnawing away at the matte sugarplum stain on her lips. The habit was bad enough the production crew had interrupted her multiple times to reapply for video continuity, but now they were about to get a break while the judges decided. She could chew her lip in peace.
Not wanting to get busted for looking too closely at her mouth again, Laurin dropped his gaze down to her workbench, clean now except for the Coco Chanel notebook, still opened to one of her recipes. He wasn’t interested in the recipe, but the plain, cream, unlined paper and the neat handwriting caught his attention. In all the adrenaline of the last few hours, he hadn’t had a chance to make up his mind about who had written the note to him, but now—
Loud, hacking coughs snatched Laurin’s attention from the notebook, instincts nearly vaulting him ahead before he saw it was Lacey spitting out a partially-chewed cookie at Greg’s station and scraping remnants off her tongue. Everyone around her was aghast, glancing among themselves and backing away from her as she smacked the uneaten sugar-encrusted fortune cookie out of Dorothy’s hand.
The older, austere editor clucked her outrage while Jannie handed Lacey a glass of water. Lacey swished it around and spit it out into the sink without concern for where the cameras and Greg were.
“What is it?” Jannie asked as Lacey resumed pawing at her tongue. “What’s wrong?”
Lacey glared at the remnants of the shattered cookie on the floor. “I can’t get it out of my mouth!” she cried, attempting the water again. “It tastes like . . . like . . . like . . . “
“Like what?” Kate asked.
“Like the Michelin Man’s asshole!” Lacey squealed before being saved by a hunk of strong ginger provided by Patty at the next table.
Chapter 8
Everyone tried toconsole Greg. Everyone except Candace, of course, who had perched herself up on the picnic table farthest away from the cookie buffet that had been set up on the backside of the pavilion.
It was all leftovers, the ones the bakers had decided weren’t pretty enough for their displays and not baked just right for the judges’ plates. At least a dozen from each contestant was laid out, although there was a noticeable hole in Greg’s offering. Some crewmember must have scurried back to destroy them before anyone else could take a potentially toxic bite.
Greg was sprawled out on a nearby table, covering his eyes with one hand while shoveling cookies into his mouth with the other. Laurin had a feeling he was used to eating his emotions on his back without choking.
“It might not be so bad,” Patty said. “Remember when Soppy Susan used garlic powder instead of ginger in her French toast? I swear we were drying her eyes with that gross bread, and she managed second place that season.”
“Are you kidding?” Greg blubbered through a half-full gob of cookie. “They couldn’t even eat my cookies.”
Laurin wanted to support the guy, maybe attempt a manlier pep talk so Greg wasn’t a complete wreck when filming started back up — but he also wanted those damn cookies. His metabolism still burned fast enough that he could try every oneof them and still feel great about life, even run a few laps around the pavilion. He didn’t want quite that many, but he did want to try about half, several of which were in Greg’s devastating reach.
This was his first opportunity to try the other competitors’ goods, and he didn’t want that ruined by glitter grief.
Harper took Greg’s hand and gave it a comforting squeeze, giving Laurin his chance to nab some of the endangered varieties. “Would you like to do a breathing exercise with me?” Harper asked Greg, who clearly didn’t want anything to do with any exercise.
