Page 3 of Peaches & Cream
Shelby
The judges sit at one side of a long table that spreads across the stage. The bakers, friends, and family members, as well as any spectators, gather in the audience, watching as each cobbler is tasted and scored. The tallies going up on the screen behind the judges, shuffling each time. It’s torture for us bakers. Not only is it difficult standing here waiting for the final verdict, but no one knows whose cobbler is whose since we’ve all been reduced to a number and won’t find out which one until the final rankings are revealed.
With the suspense getting to me, I try to distract myself by looking around at the sea of faces. You can tell who the bakers are because they’ve all got the same anxious expression I can feel etched into my own face. Then you have the husbands and wives who are here for support, lending a supportive backrub or hand clasp. Then there are children who wish they were anywhere but in this crowd watching other people eat. And finally, the spectators who don’t have any stakes in the game but are interested just the same. I think I like watching them the most. They seem so calm.
As my eyes keep moving and cataloging people into their groups, a set of curious bright blue eyes catch my gaze and hold it. My heart flips and flutters as my cheeks burn like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t. But then those eyes shift from curious to amused, and the man’s face transforms with a grin that has my panties melting right off me and my cheeks getting even hotter.Who is this guy?And why is my body reacting like this? In all my twenty-nine years, I’ve never locked eyes and felt my body go all gooey before. Up until now, that feeling has been reserved for Zac Efron when he was running along the beach shirtless inBaywatch.I’ve never had it in real life before.
Tucking a strand of my golden blonde hair behind my ear in a nervous gesture, I drop my gaze and try to get a handle on this reaction I’m having to a man across the crowd.
Our eyes locked across a crowded room and we knew…The cliché pops into my head, and for a fleeting moment, I’m convinced this means he must bethe one, but then I realize how silly that sounds and laugh at myself, shaking my head slightly.
“Are you OK?” Victoria whispers, touching her hand to the outside of my elbow.
I take a deep breath to compose myself. “I’m fine,” I say, lifting my head and risking a glance across the room again, finding the tall, dark, and handsome stranger looking curious again. I suck in my breath and look away quickly this time, turning my attention back to the stage as they announce the final entry is being tasted.
“That one at the top has to be you,” Victoria says, her eyes on the leaderboard. “It’s been sitting up there for too long not to be.”
“Gosh, I hope you’re right,” I say, sneaking another glance at the handsome stranger whose eyes I can feel like he’s somehow touching my skin.This is crazy.This time he seems to smile and nod at me like he’s sayinggood luck.I do the same in return, but it’s more of an awkward head jerk that probably comes across like I have a tic of some sort.Fabulous.
“You’ve got this, Shelby. I know you do.” Victoria takes my hand in hers, and together we cross our fingers and our toes and stare at the board as they reveal the top twelve contestants going through to the final round.
One by one, the names flash across the screen, the crowd clapping for each one. It’s strange to stand here without having your name called. It’s a mixture of hopefulness and dread—I mean, what if they don’t call out my name at all?
“Before we reveal our top three alongside their scores, I’d like to invite them to the stage. These three cobblers where a mix of traditional and innovative flavors. They were a delight for the palate, and as you can see by how close the scores were, it was anyone’s game. On top of making it to the final twelve, these three bakers receive a cash prize and a two-page feature in our Better Southern Baking magazine. Please welcome, in no particular order, Chelsea Dane, Ben Watson, and”—Oh, God. I think I might vomit if my name isn’t called next—“Shelby Dougherty.”Thank you, Lord.
Victoria lets out a tiny squeal. “I knew it! Get up there and claim your prize,” she says, urging me through the crowd who are currently craning their necks to see who the three named people are. I can’t even risk looking at the hot guy from before because I’m likely to trip over my feet and make a fool out of myself with all these people watching, so I just focus on putting one foot in front of the other until I make it to the stage.
“Congratulations, Shelby Dougherty,” a warm accented voice—Australian, I think—says as I reach the stage.
My breath catches as a strong hand extends to help me up the steps, and when I look up, my knees forget how to hold me upright and wobble side to side.It’s him.The hot stranger from the crowd is Ben Watson, my competition.
“Ah,” I say, sounding intelligent as I just stare at his hand and freeze. It’s not that I don’twantto take it. It’s just that I don’t know how to. Now that I’m face-to-face with him, I’ve become a bumbling fool.
“Come on up here, Shelby,” he says, descending a couple of steps and taking my hand anyway, unperturbed by my wide-eyed reaction. “I’ll keep you safe.”
“Eh.” I’m only making sounds, and he seems to find it amusing, because he grins all the way to his eyes as he wraps our fingers together and leads me up the stairs, one at a time.
“That’s the way. Just keep your eyes on me, and we’ll get through this together,” he says kindly. He obviously thinks I have stage fright and he’s helping me conquer my fears. How do I break it to him that I have hot guy fright, and the fact he’s touching me right now is making it so much worse!And oh so wonderful at the same time…
He’s so pretty.
Standing in a line across the stage, Ben keeps his fingers twisted with mine, and all I can do is think about how sweaty my palm feels against his.How embarrassing.He offers his other hand to Chelsea, a middle-aged woman who’s all smiles and excitement. She takes his hand without hesitation, which kind of makes me feel less important to Ben than I was feeling a second ago—not that I was actually important to Ben before since we just met and all…ugh, I’m being irrational.
“In third place, we have Chelsea Dane. The stand-out of her cobbler was the elderflower syrup she stewed her peaches in.”
The crowd cheers and Chelsea beams as Ben drops my hand to give her a hug, congratulating her with genuine excitement. I manage a, “Well done,” to her while I clap and notice how empty my left hand currently feels without Ben’s warmth, and how ill I feel seeing him holding another woman.What on earth is going on here?
I try to look away, but I’ve turned into a person I don’t recognize, getting possessive over a man I’ve met for only a second. And then he slips his hand back in mine, and suddenly I’m OK again.
“Good luck,” he says in that smooth voice of his.
I nod and meet his eyes. “You too,” I manage, causing his grin to widen.
“She speaks.”
My cheeks burn again, and I’m grateful for the judge taking to the microphone again. “In second place, we have a wonderful creation that tastes like summer itself. Light and airy with a buttery finish, it was like tasting your childhood again. Congratulations, Shelby Dougherty!”
The crowd cheers and Ben beams, giving me a hug the way he did Chelsea. But instead of enjoying the way his manly arms wrap around my soft body and hold me firm, I’m caught in the glaring truth of the moment. I came second. My family’s peach cobbler came in second…to an Australian.Do they even make peach cobbler in Australia?
“Go and get your prize,” Ben says, urging me to cross the stage. “You can do it.”
I feel like an absolute bitch, because he’s being so kind to me. But he doesn’t understand how shameful it is to lose something this momentous to someone who not only isn’t Southern, but he’s not even American either.How did this happen?I feel like a fraud.
The rest of the event is a blur. Ben accepts his cash prize and kisses the envelop holding it above his head while the crowd cheers for him like he just won a Grand Prix and is spraying champagne everywhere. After that, the top twelve are ushered to a roped-off area where we have to pose for photos, both as a group and individually. Then we gather around the judges who inform us of our next task—a team-up that will test not only our baking prowess, but our ability to teach. I’ll give you a single guess as to who I’m teamed up with…
Ben Watson. The hot guy who’s now my biggest threat.
