“After the show, I’ll have post-production to do, and then I’m all yours.” If you’ll have me.
“Since it’s Christmas Eve, I’m staying at my parents’ house tonight. It’s tradition for the kids to open a gift at midnight. Then we celebrate Chloe’s birthday on Christmas afternoon. With her sick...”
“You don’t want to miss it. I completely understand,” she said, trying to keep herself grounded. Had he confirmed the truth, that Chloe’s birthday was on Christmas Day?
He said celebrated. Not born.
She opened her mouth, ready to go all in and ask him outright if that was her real birthday but snapped her jaw shut. It was a foolish notion, even for her. Nothing good would come of exposing herself. Even if Chloe wasn’t her daughter, it didn’t mean she wasn’t the girl’s donor match. The donor program didn’t give names. They gave generic information. Alice knew for a fact that she was donating to a girl in Seattle. A juvenile female with no specific age or nationality, just a girl who needed a life-saving treatment.
“I’d like you to come with me.” He removed his gloves, lowered his head, and shuffled his bare feet on the rubber mat. Visibly inhaling, he lifted his chin and met her direct gaze. “Tonight will be quiet. Tomorrow it’ll get crazy. I have a big family and we’re loud. We have a good time. And Brooke can come too if she likes. We have plenty of room.”
Her heart melted and if she were made of ice, she’d be a puddle at his feet. She’d never seen the bashful side of Niko. This was big for him. It was big for her. Her practical side said to make up some excuse. She nodded instead.
Alice wanted to spend every last minute with him and with Chloe. Good or bad, she had to learn everything she could about Chloe. What better way than to be at her house, around her extended family.
“Brooke is flying out tonight to be with my mother. But I’m a yes. My flight tomorrow is at--”
He put a finger to her lips, his grey eyes dimming. Words weren’t needed. They both felt that the end was near and it was bittersweet. She kissed his finger and nodded, forcing a smile when she wanted to cry. “To coin a tired phrase, break a leg.”
Without looking back, she rushed out of the apartment. The tears hit her on the third step and she brushed them back. There was no time for self-recrimination. She had a show to put on. Replacing the earpiece, she clicked on the mic, and turned on the radio frequency to chaos.
“Four hours and counting,” Brooke reminded the team.
“I’m back.” Alice fought the dizziness of panic. She’d never done a live show, or a show where she had so much invested. Niko would shine tonight; she was sure of it.
“Alice, I’m getting ready to test the lights on the Christmas tree set and need final approval,” her lighting guy said over the mic.
She rushed to the Christmas tree area where Chloe sat on a bench, waving to her, Hallie by her side. They wore matching red Christmas dresses and Hallie’s hair was curled, her makeup flawless. Mother and daughter, happy, the love between them evident even from a distance. She waved back, forcing a smile. My goodness, where was all this emotion coming from? “I’m here, if you want to start.”
“Here it goes.”
The angel on the top of the tree lit up first and then the cascading multicolored lights popped on. They’d placed spotlights around the tree, diffusing it with a soft red, green, and gold glow. Chloe’s head moved back and forth, straining to watch the flood of colors. The faux fireplace began to crackle and cheerful flames warmed the pale skin of her face. What a precious child she was and how much she deserved to live. Alice clenched her teeth against the rage that burned inside her throat. This wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. And yet there Chloe sat, ravaged by a disease that didn’t discriminate across class, or color, or country of origin. It simply was a disease. It didn’t have to be deadly.
Chloe had to live.
She had too.
Chapter Forty-Two
“The timer starts…now,” Grace said.
Niko spun around to find a picture of Santa Claus projected over his station. Santa: red suit, hat with a white band, white beard, black shoes with a gold buckle. Shit. Diana was already at the pantry while Niko stood staring at the stupid Santa.
What to do? What to do? The judges had asked to see something different from him and his mind raced through all the options he’d considered until his temples began to throb. Then he heard a soft whisper from the shadows beyond his station.
“Do what you know Niko,” Alice said.
Her words of encouragement snapped him out of his trance. Feet flying across the kitchen, he put water on the stove for his double boiler and ran to the pantry to grab butter, eggs, powdered sugar, vanilla, brandy, and flour. Do what you know. He pulled four saucers from the shelf, parchment paper, and plastic wrap. What he knew was chocolate and the importance of family.
Back at his station, he dumped the last of his custom made milk chocolate from the container into a glass bowl and placed it on top of the boiling water. Inhaling a deep, soothing breath, he began to mix the ingredients he’d gathered from the pantry. His grandmother had made these cookies every year and he’d memorized the recipe. It was because of her that he’d developed a passion for cooking. If her cookies won, she’d be thrilled to no end.
He stirred his chocolate with the spatula and half listened to the conversation beyond his station. Ronan had placed a large projector screen in the area above the judges’ table and the show was broadcasting an interview with Diana and her family. He glanced over at her station. Her head was down as she concentrated on her batter. From the looks of it, she was mixing a spice cake.
Hadn’t she made a cake in the last round? Like you’re making chocolate. Taking the chocolate off the stove, he picked up the first plate, covered it lightly in oil, and then wrapped it tightly with plastic. Don’t worry about your competition, worry about yourself. Because of his little freak-out fest, he was down three minutes. Three minutes in a cooking competition was a long time. He covered the bottom of the plastic wrapped saucer in chocolate, tapped the edge, and using his thumb and finger, cleaned off the excess.
Dip, tap, clean, repeat. He echoed the mantra in his head, a little game he played to set the pace when he had a lot to do in a little time.
Saucers complete, he cut out four rectangles of parchment. While he preferred a marble countertop, he had to make do with the back of a sheet pan. He poured chocolate over the parchment and smoothed it out with his putty knife. Like in the other rounds, he’d never actually made these cups before, but he’d seen a master chocolatier in Beijing make them.
