Page 12 of Peaches & Cream
Shelby
On the morning of the competition, I’m a bundle of nerves. There’s a lot riding on today, but I’m confident in my abilities. I can do this. Ihaveto do this.
“Ready?” Ben says as I approach, smiling from where he’s waiting at our baking station. It’s one of six set up under a massive marquee, buzzing with activity.
“As I’ll ever be.” I move in beside him and put the apron with my name stitched into the fabric over my head, securing it around my waist.
“And now you look the part too.”
“Good luck today, Ben,” I say, slipping my hand into his and giving it a squeeze.
“You too, peaches,” he says, giving me a wink before we move to our designated area and listen for the judges’ instructions. The room goes quiet as the timer gets put up on the screen, and then it’s on. No going back now.
The day goes by in a blur, dishes piling up as sweat drips from our collective brow. I do my best to keep my cool and not let that countdown timer or the nervous energy in the room get to me, but it’s hard, and when my plates are ready with five minutes to spare, I wonder if I’m doing it wrong. Even Ben is still putting the finishing touches on his.
“Looks perfect,” he says, nodding in my direction. “A winner for sure.”
“Maybe against these other guys but I can’t win against you,” I tease.
He smiles then winks, and my stomach does a little flip. I love it when he winks at me. It makes me realize I want him winking at me every day for the rest of my life.I think I love him.
An announcement comes over the PA, “If you'll all step up one table at a time, the judging will commence.” My heart was already hammering a mile a minute, but now it’s going double time.
“We're first,” Ben says, lifting his serving dishes.
Nodding, I pick mine up too and follow him, setting them on the judges’ station. One by one, they taste and compare, and just like he did that first time on stage, Ben wraps his big hand around mine. Except this time, it doesn’t freak me out. This time, it gives me comfort.
“Is there burnt butter in this?” one judge asks, pointing to Ben’s pecan pie.That doesn’t seem like a mistake he’d make.
My brow knits, and I turn my attention to Ben, who swallows hard. “Ah,” he starts, before the judge declares it a stroke of genius.
I watch the moment Ben’s mouth drops open, and it’s then I realize he was trying to throw the win on purpose. Just like he promised not to. I pull my hand from his and look straight ahead.
And it’s what I continue to do when we’re told to sit down and await the final judging. Ben tries several times to get my attention, but I’m not having it. Not right now, not here.
“Shelby,” he tries again. “Talk to me.”
“What’s there to say? Even when you try to shit the bed, you still come out on top.”
“They haven’t even announced the winners yet.”
But then they do. And it’s exactly the same as it was before. Ben in first, me in second. The moment I can escape, I get the hell out of there.
“Shelby,” Ben calls out after me, catching up with me in the car park. “Don’t do this. I’ll trade checks with you.”
“No, Ben!” I yell, losing control of the tears that were pushing against my eyes. “I don’t care that you beat me. I care that you broke your promise.”
“Shelby…I…I couldn’t just do nothing. You’ll lose everything without this money.” He holds his prize envelope out to me. “Take it, please. I want to help you.”
“Ben Watson,” a booming voice calls out. “You’re wanted in the judges’ tent.”
“You should go,” I say, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. “They probably want you to give the recipe or pose for photos of something.”
“Shelby,” he pleads, just as his name is called again.
“Go, Ben. I’m fine, OK? Just go.”
He takes a step backward. “This conversation isn’t over,” he says, turning away from me and jogging in the opposite direction.
“Yes, it is,” I whisper to myself.
