Page 10 of Peaches & Cream
Ben
Imeet Shelby at her family bakery the next day. It’s her turn to teach me a recipe for Monday’s bake-off, and I’m eager to spend more one on one time with the buxom beauty. She featured pretty heavily in my dreams last night, which would be a great thing, except for the part where she kept fading away because I ruined her reputation by beating her. Kind of put a dampener on the whole evening. And even though they were dreams-slash-nightmares, the sentiment has weighed heavy on me all morning.
What happens between us when Idobeat her? I’m not saying that because of my ego—I know I have a big one—I’m saying that because I’m simply the most experienced out of both of us.
Sure, Shelby can bake. She is fantastic, actually. But I feel that being in the same town, same bakery all her life, cooking the same recipes has robbed her of the opportunity to grow, which is needed to win a competition such as this.
As I stand outside the old building, I can understand why restoring this place is Shelby’s motivation for entering the competition. It’s rundown. Back in its heyday, it would’ve been beautiful. But the years haven’t been kind, and as well cared for as it appears, it could do with a facelift. Shelby wants to win so she can restore this place to its former glory—and she mentioned needing to bring the wiring up to code too. As high-quality as her bakery and goods are, a small town bakery doesn’t exactly bring in the riches. That prize money could make a world of difference to her life, and stop her from having to close those multigenerational doors. I feel like a bit of a cunt for being the guy standing in her way.
But what am I supposed to do? I have a noble reason for wanting this prize money too. And I havetwofamily members who are counting on me to come through. I can’t let them down. But on the other hand, if I go through with this and Shelby loses, her bakery is at stake. Do I really want to do that to her? I’m caught between a rock and a hard place, and I’m not really sure what to do.
“Planning on staring at the building all day? Or are you going to come inside?” Shelby asks, standing in the doorway with a big smile on her face.
“Just absorbing the history here,” I say, looking up at the building and inhaling deep as I tuck all of my worries aside.I guess I’ll figure out what to do on the fly.
Shelby moves out to the sidewalk and stands next to me, mirroring my pose. “Four generations of Dougherty women’s blood, sweat, and tears have gone into this place. It won’t be much of anything if I can’t afford to fix it. I got the estimate back from the electrician today.” She lets out a heavy breath and rolls her eyes. “It’sa lot. The blow out from Friday night used up my semi-final money. So it looks like we’re in hardcore competition, Mr. Watson. I need to win that bake-off more than anything now.”
“And there are no other options for you?” I ask. “I mean, Can you get a small business loan or something?”
“I already tried,” she says. “This competition is my Hail Mary.”
“Then I think we should drop our wager,” I say. “First three places get prize money in the final and the grand final. That way, no matter what place you come, you’ll still have something to help fix this place.”
“You don’t think I can win?” she asks, turning to face me.
I place my hand on her hip and drag her toward me. “Oh, I think you can beat them all. I just don’t think you can beat me.” I lean in to press my lips to hers, but she dodges me, her smile a mix of offended and amused.
“And I suppose the sun comes up just to hear you crow too,” she says, stepping away from me. I catch her hand.
“Don’t go getting all pissy on me,” I tease.
“Oh, sugar, I’m notpissy. I just think you should reserve your judgment until you’ve tried my pecan pie. Then we’ll see who you think is going to win tomorrow.”
This is the part where I have to admit that I’m being an ass, following along behind her while going off on a diatribe about how pecan pie is the most basic dish she can put forward besides the peach cobbler. “The judges have probably tried it a thousand times in their lives, but they’ve only had a lamington a handful of times if they’re lucky. And you know how delicious those things are.”
She turns to me with a forkful of pie, her lips pressed together in a tight line. “Quit your yammering and open your mouth, Ben,” she says, sliding the pie past my lips and waiting while I chew.
“Holy fuck.” My eyes go wide as flavor explodes in my mouth.
“I know,” she says, her expression filling with pride. “You’ve never tried anything like it, have you?”
I snatch the fork from her hand and scoop up another bite. “Is that bourbon I taste?”
A huge grin takes over her face. “You picked that? I’m impressed. An ounce of bourbon and some smoky maple syrup are the tricks to getting it to taste like that. You want it sweet, but not too sweet. Every Thanksgiving, the orders I get for these have the kitchen stacked ceiling high with pie boxes.”
I place the fork back on the bench. “OK. I concede, you have just as much of a chance to win tomorrow as I do. Still, I don’t think either one of us should drop out if we lose. You’ve got this place to save, and I promised Stacey and Chris this competition would get us the seed money to start our own bakehouse. And since they followed me around the world on this crazy jive of mine, the least I can do is make sure they have a stable place to raise a kid. And maybe, if you’re interested, I can make sure we lay down roots not far from here.”
“You want to keep seeing me when this is over?” she asks.
I nod. “Very much,” I say. “In fact, if I had my way, I’d see you every morning when I open my eyes for the rest of my life.”
She sucks in a ragged breath. “You’re so very sure of yourself, Ben. And you seem so sure of me too.”
Pulling her close to me again, I brush a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s because I am. When we were standing in that audience on Friday waiting to hear our scores, I spotted you in the audience, and…I couldn’t look away. There was something about you, something that called to me. All my life, I’ve been following my gut, and so far it hasn’t steered me wrong. It’s why I know I’m right about you.”
“Gosh. It must be nice to feel that certainty. Why, every decision I make, I have to weigh the pros and cons, and even then I go back and forth with my decision. I’m never sure.”
My brows knit tightly. “Then how do you feel about me?”
