Page 4 of Holly Jolly Cake Fight
The eight bake stations were fully stocked with standard kitchen gear as well as miniature Christmas trees. Candace’s food safety sense tingled, but she let it go with only a passing thought that if they wanted something shedding plastic on the workbenches, it wasn’t her problem.
There was no nativity, everything as aggressively secular as always, but Candace was going to be that little lamb in the manger.
The back wall had been constructed with ten doors, each covered in foil wrapping paper and a bow like a gigantic present. The crew members corralled her through one of those doors into a snug booth with a ring light and a rudimentary camera on a tripod, and she didn’t say anything about her claustrophobia. Not a peep. Because she wasn’t a monster, and this wasn’t her first time in a reality show confessional box.
She refused to hyperventilate in here.
It seemed like forever passed while the walls shook around Candace and voices filtered through them. Glitter Greg’s voice rang out the clearest, and Candace was fairly sure that to her left was Perfect Patty. Identifying the contestants helped her pass the time even if she wasn’t invited in on the other regulars’ jokes.
A loudspeaker crackled to life directly over Candace’s head, making her jump. “—Thing on? Oh, there it is! Uh, hey guys. Sorry about the delay. Uh, I’m Mike, and I’m the new director out here. The whole crew is new, actually, and we changed the format up a lot, so we’re ironing out some kinks. Speaking of, uh, you guys are going to be sharing cabins. Like, two to a cabin. We’ll be choosing your cabin mates for you, so if you think you’re going to protest who we assign in your cabin right off the bat, like, for any reason, you can get out now. Just go. But the prize is $100,000 for the winner.”
Candace tilted her head up as she contemplated what was happening in the control booth — or outhouse; who knew where this was being produced from? — but that $100,000 was enough of an incentive that she would literally sleep with a banjo if it got her closer to winning.
Not with the director, though. She still got hate mail daily for that, which was an incredible amount of anger from fans, considering she hadn’t slept with him or even wanted his hand up her skirt.
“Everybody good? Great. If you back out now, you’re in breach of contract and you never get invited back. Wait, I should have told you that before. Right now if you leave, you’re not in breach of contract. Right now. Don’t forget that $100,000 prize on the line. Okay, three, two, one, and now if you leave, you’re in breach of contract. Hang tight a few more minutes while we geteverything started up.” There was some background chatter and the sound of a hand covering the microphone before Mike came back with, “Uh, set director wants everyone to test their door. Don’t walk out. Just open the door and make sure it opens.”
Candace did as she was told. The door opened fine, but a moment later she heard a tiny, “Help? Help me, I’m trapped.”
Debbie-Drops-It. Candace was sure of it.
A scramble, some banging with a hammer, and a power drill whir, and then Mike returned. “Okay, great. We’re bringing in the hosts now, and I’ll count us down. Contestants, we’ll be announcing you one by one by cabin assignment. When your name is called, walk out, stand at the . . . uh, I think there’s a gaffe tape line on the floor for you to walk to, but make sure you’re looking at the camera.”
God save us from freshman directors, Candace thought, but she held her tongue as the voice in the sky rambled through the rest of his announcement. He went silent long enough for the crew to get the lights and fans running, then someone else bellowed, “Quiet on the set! We’re rolling in five, four, three . . .”
In another couple seconds, she heard, very faintly from overhead where there was no ceiling to muffle the voices, “I’m Jannie!”
“And I’m Kate! And this is . . .”
“Food2Love Network’s Christmas Spectacular!”
Candace knew Jannie and Kate well enough to know they never spoke quietly. They must be facing the camera crew, and no one had thought to pump the sound into the confession booths. She leaned toward the door to hear Jannie and Kate explain to the camera that this was an extra-special seasonof the network’s perennial favorite. They promised the viewers that they would see a lot more than just baking from their contestants, who’d be working in teams.
Ugh. Teams weren’t unheard of, but Candace had only ever been on one in isolated challenges. She didn’t work well with others.
“For our first team,” Jannie called out, “hailing from Phoenix, Arizona, owner of the Pearl Pear, Patty Herfel!”
Jingle bells rang violently as Perfect Patty popped out of her cubicle.
“And her partner, from New York, New York, host of Crafts in a Pinch, Zara Muhammed!”
That was someone new. And what was Crafts in a Pinch? Did they snag a host of another show to participate? Were they that desperate? As far as Candace knew, the ratings for the Bake-Off rose with every season, but then, there was that gigantic prize they were offering. Perhaps Crafts in a Pinch was a major sponsor funding that prize.
The next few names were a blend of people she knew — Greg and Belle — and their newcomer partners, Mark and Harper. That was followed by, “Hailing from Trenton, New Jersey . . .” and then a moment of silence, as though Kate was about to say something else. There was nothing else to say, though. Not since the shop flooded.Viral instagrammerjust didn’t sound as good now as it did when she’d first struck social media gold seven years ago. Candace gripped the doorknob while waiting for Kate to make her lack of current credentials as painful as possible before finally saying, “Candace Coale!”
She walked out to greet the other contestants, all smiles even though the applause they’d given for each entry, whichhad gotten louder as each new person was added, now dwindled considerably.
$100,000 smile,Candace reminded herself.Be the nativity lamb. You are the nativity lamb.
“Partnering with Candace,” Jannie called, her voice booming now that Candace was out of her booth, “is Marietta, Georgia, native and co-owner of, err . . .”
She shot a panicked look at Kate, whose eyes bugged when she looked at her own card before slurring through, “Patisserie de la Vigne, Laurin Lavigne!” Candace looked over her shoulder in time to see the next door opening, revealing . . .
. . . The guy who had been outside her cabin earlier that day.
Growing up in Manchester as a French boy with a name nearly identical to a common English girls’ name had prepared Laurin for this moment. How many girls’ sports teams had he been assigned to before his reputation preceded him? In secondary school, despite all the paperwork he’d filled out and his athletic scholarship, he’d even been put in a girl’s dorm room. He’d found some peace during his early pro years in Spain, where his name was more commonplace, but man, he’d had some issues picking Vivvy up from her daycare in the beginning.
So he should have predicted this during the director’s awkward announcement, but he’d been too focused on listening to the distant voices to put thought into it.
