A wicked look crosses her face, and she grins. “If you don’t see yourself going for a business degree, you could always take Plan B.”
“And that would be?”
“Snag yourself a handsome, successful musician and make your blog a hobby,” she jokes.
I shake my head like she’s ridiculous, but for one brief moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to date Mason—not for his money of course. Just to be with him. I give up after a few moments, because I’ve never been that fanciful, and I simply can’t picture it.
“He invited me to go with him to New York on Tuesday. He’s performing in a live Christmas special Wednesday evening.” I resume my original task, looking for cookie inspiration.
When Riley doesn’t answer, I turn to her.
Her mouth is agape. For the second time in two days, my sister has been rendered speechless.
“Do you think I should go?” I ask.
“Um—yes,” she says like I’m the slowest person in the world. She tosses her blond hair over her shoulder, reaches between us, and closes my laptop, making sure she has my full attention. “I can’t believe you’re even thinking about turning him down. New York, Harper. Live Christmas Special.Mason Knight.”
Butterflies flutter in my stomach. It sounds so unreal—magical even. Mason’s right; I have a cynical side, and this is making it flare in a big way.
“Things like this don’t happen, Riley,” I tell her.
“But it’s happening to you. Why are you fighting it?”
Because there’s something in me that feels like I need to be above it…and if I’m not, then I’m no better than all the girls I’ve rolled my eyes at over the years. The last thing I want to be is a groupie. Just the thought makes the butterflies in my stomach up and die.
Riley hops off the bed. “Brood later. Cole and Jerome made a decadent looking chocolate cake this morning, and I want to snag a piece before it’s gone.”
“Traitor,” I tease. “Eating other people’s desserts.”
She laughs as she steps into the hall.
I give my laptop one last glance and then follow Riley out the door.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
There have been no moresurprises in our interview sessions, but I think it’s understandable I’m still hesitant. Sadie must feel the same way because she keeps crossing and uncrossing her ankles as we wait for the man who I’m starting to think of as “my” cameraman to finish fiddling with his equipment. Mr. Australian Accent’s actual name is Dave, but he’ll always be the former to me.
He makes a final adjustment and looks at us. “Are you ready?”
“That depends. Do you plan to throw more intensely personal questions our way?” I ask, just like I have at all the interviews after the one last Tuesday.
Sadie laughs, nervous.
Dave gives me a flat-mouthed look that makes him resemble a frog.
“We’re ready,” I say, putting him out of his misery.
Dave asks us how we’re feeling, if we’re worried we’ll be eliminated, and what it’s like to have made it this far in the bake-off. We give him the chipper, we’re-going-to-go-out-there-and-give-it-our-best answers he wants, but before he lets us leave, he has one more question.
“Sadie, explain why you want to win the bake-off.”
Again, she talks about her grandmother, but this time, she tells us how her grandmother first taught her to bake when she was so little, she had to stand on a stool to reach the counter. It’s a sweet story, and I almost bet they have pictures to flash on the screen when the episode airs. We were all required to give some to the show when we found out we’d been chosen.
When Sadie’s finished, Dave looks at me. “Your turn, Harper.”
WhydoI want to win the competition? The obvious answer is that if I don’t win, I lose. And I don’t care for losing.
The money is a factor as well, but there’s more to it than that. If I were to win this bake-off, it just might prove that I have what it takes to bake professionally. No, I don’t want to open a bakery like Scott and Misty, and I don’t have dreams of one day hosting my own HBN show, but I could write my cookbook. And with all the publicity I’m getting, there’s a real possibility that people might buy it.
