I chuckle.“No bite, but I do have a six-foot-nine Bigfoot shifter fiancé who can toss full-grown pine trees around like they’re toothpicks.”
Dakota pales slightly under his fake tan.Good.Anyone who knows Ollie knows he’s a gentle giant, but there’s no reason to let Guy Smiley here in on that fact.
“Yeah, well, I’ll let you get back to baking,” he says meekly before slinking off.
Andie and I don’t dare look at each other, but I make the mistake of looking at my sister.She and Daphne are both giving me two thumbs-up, and I need to duck down and pretend to look for something in the mini fridge at our station until I can compose myself.I’m conscious of wearing a microphone, so I can’t set the snort-laugh free that I’m desperate to.
I pop back up after a minute because even if I’m an immature twit, I have a job to do.And for the next half hour, I’m busy stirring and timing and decorating, and I barely have time to think about the audience or skeevy Dakota Dallas or anything but cookies.Dakota is wandering through the audience, talking to the supporters of the different teams.I wonder if he’s going to approach our friends and family or if he’s too afraid.When I hear Ollie’s voice, I look up, surprised Dakota is risking it.
“How does it feel watching your fiancée compete?You’re used to being in the spotlight, and now you’re on the sidelines.Does that bother you?”
What the fuck?This is a lighthearted baking competition for the family to watch, not a hard-hitting journalistic interview with Dakota channeling his inner cable news host.
“I’m incredibly proud of Phoebe,” Ollie says.“Andie too.They’ve worked hard to get here, and I’m happy to be on the sidelines cheering them on every chance I get.I prefer not to be in the spotlight—let me be in the shadows doing my thing.”
Oh my god, that was basically 10,000 words for him.I’m trying to concentrate on this petal, but I’m almost glowing and vibrating.That many words from a man like Ollie feels like a better gift than the ring hanging around my neck.
We’re done a few minutes early, but they want us to look stressed, so we start decorating the spare cookies and saying the typical things like, “How much time is left?”Andie drops one of the spare cookies so we can overreact like it’s a giant catastrophe.The other teams are truly having meltdowns, so I feel guilty that we’re pretending to falter.Hopefully it’s that we’re so organized and good at what we’re doing and not that we’re making something too simplistic.
The audience counts down the last few seconds, and Andie and I do the classic hands-up-and-step-back maneuver that’s standard in baking competitions.We decided I’ll be the one to present our cookies to the judges because Andie is more likely to apologize to the judges if they criticize, where I can answer questions and probably not cuss.A production assistant will put our plates before the judge when it’s our turn to be critiqued.We’re lined up in order of our cooking stations, so I’m the last one.
They critique each team in turn.First up is team Cake Daddy, a father/daughter baking team from a small town on the Delaware Bay who made mini rosewater-flavored bundt cakes with candied violets decorating them.They are pretty, but apparently, they went heavy on the rose water, so as Paulie so eloquently put it, “I feel like I’m eating perfume.”Not a good impression.
The second team I call Team Karen.They own a bakery near Philly, and they made cinnamon rolls with thinly sliced apples that look like blooming roses.They’re beautiful, but the judges agreed with my private opinion that they looked more appropriate for an autumn brunch treat than for a spring bridal shower.Even worse, the rose water they used was overpowered by the cinnamon and apple, so it wasn’t noticeable at all.The biggest sin was that they used store-bought puff pastry because it would save time.
Biff was aghast.“You know these types of competitions have tight time constraints.Why plan something that takes so much time to do right that you must cut corners to accomplish it?It’s a baking competition.We expect things to be done from scratch.You were allowed to bring in premixed doughs from home.I don’t get it.”
The poor woman with her “I’d like to speak with your manager” haircut looks near tears, and my heart aches for her.As much as I want us to win, I don’t like seeing someone else devastated.
Team three calls themselves the Sweet Sorority Sisters because they met in college over a decade ago.They’re a pair of home bakers like me and Andie, but other than that, they’re nothing like us.The size of the diamonds on their wedding rings, as well as the smooth, Botoxed planes of their faces, reveal they married extremely well.They’re both blonde, thin, and tan.There’s a joke about never trusting a skinny baker, but it appears the judges like the chamomile cupcakes with honey buttercream frosting they made.They were elegant in the simplicity of their offerings.A tasteful swirl of frosting and a fresh chamomile blossom on top.They look like the perfect treat for a shower held at a country club.
Team four is a couple of dude bro twin brother bakers from North Jersey, cut from the same cloth as Paulie.They look like they spend more time in the gym than in the kitchen.It takes every ounce of my restraint not to roll my eyes when Mario or Luigi—okay, not their real names, but close enough—gives me a chin nod and a whispered Joey Tribbiani, “How you doin’?”while we wait for our turns to be judged.Ollie stares at him, and dude bro lets out a barely audible whimper.Things get testy when he’s questioned about the lack of a floral element in their individual apple upside-down cakes.
“Apples and cinnamon,” Luigi, or maybe Mario, says, like Biff’s an idiot for asking.He gives Paulie a “Can you believe this guy?”look that Paulie ignores.
“Apples are a fruit,” Felicia says.“And cinnamon comes from the bark of trees.”
“Apples come from appleblossoms,” and he does the mic drop gesture like he schooled all of us.Whatever the decision on the apple-is-a-flower debate, they baked good cakes.
Now it’s our turn.I take a deep breath to steady myself as the plates containing one of each cookie are placed in front of each judge.These are the six most important cookies of my life.Felicia tries my hydrangea cookie first, and her brows shoot up in surprise.Paulie and Biff are sampling Andie’s lemon lavender daisy cookies.I’m not sure if Biff’s furrowed brow is a good sign or not.After everyone has tried both cookies, it’s time for my interrogation.
Felicia goes first.“Do you think cookies are the appropriate choice for a bridal shower?They are rather simple.”
I resist the urge to shrug, reminding myself I need to behave professionally.“Cookies are appropriate for most situations.They’re handy to pick up and eat while standing and chatting.You don’t need to use a utensil.You don’t need to peel away and discard a wrapper.”Take that, Barbie Bakers.“Sugar cookies can be dressed up elegantly, as we’ve done here, or be playful, if the shower is more laid-back or naughty.There’s a shape for almost anything, and when you have an artist like Andie, she can create designs for any occasion with buttercream or royal icing.”
“Would you serve these at your bridal shower?”she asks.
“Not these flavors because they aren’t my personal style, but I’d do sugar cookies for sure.”
My answer seems to satisfy Felicia because Paulie asks, “Tell us about your flavors.For these cookies.”
“Sure.Our cookie is our vanilla no-chill sugar cookie dough?—”
“Why didn’t you chill it?”Biff asks.
My stomach sinks.Did we make a mistake?“We knew with the time constraints we couldn’t make a traditional sugar cookie dough from scratch, chill it, cut it out, bake, and decorate with the detail we wanted in an hour.We have our traditional sugar cookie dough with us, but we wanted to show off what we could do.”
Paulie taps the table with two fingers.“Back to your flavors.”
