“Lachlan!” She shoved him harder.
“Kidding.” He grinned wider. “I do hate to break the news to you, Snow, but you will be the center of attention when they call your name. Can you handle that?”
Her stomach did a little tumble. “I honestly haven’t gotten that far. I imagine I’ll do just about anything to win that grand prize.” She sighed. “I just hope they’re good enough.”
“They’re perfect,” Lachlan reassured her, squeezing her arm. “Just like their baker.”
Eliza hugged the box tighter to her chest. She didn’t have to respond because up ahead was the glow of the Christmas Village. In the center of the square was a glittering three-tiered fountain, all the gingerbread buildings around decorated with string lights and glowing ornaments. A banner shimmered in the evening light, “Welcome to the Reindeer Games!”
Eliza’s heart stammered when she spotted the tent with the sign “Baking Spirits Bright” above. She felt ready in a way she hadn’t before.
Lachlan stopped her just before the opening. He looked at her, then, his brown eyes calm and reassuring. “I can’t enter with you because you’ll already have Gretel and Puffcake there with you as your helpers. But just know I’ll be watching in the crowd. My eyes are on you, Snow. You got this.” Then, he brought her in for a hug, careful not to tip the box in her hands.
Inside the tent was a vision of holiday splendor. Twinkling vintage lights hung above like colorful stars. The amalgamation of different baking dishes filled the air. Tables were decked out in crimson and green runners with grand poinsettia arrangements. Next to her, an old lady with hair the color of baking soda set up what looked like mini pecan pies.
“Mrs. Elle Toe’s back at it again with the pecan pie. Bold move.” Gretel whispered, her eyes scanning the room for Eliza’s other competitors. “Who likes nuts in desserts?”
Eliza laughed despite herself. “Old people,” she whispered back. Then she looked to the front of the room, where the judges were. All of them were old. “‘Suppose she knows her target audience.”
Her hands trembled as she unboxed her scones and carefully set them on display. Puffcake nestled himself in her new apron pocket. From across the aisle, Mrs. Elle Toe grinned widely, the lines cracking out in a fan along her eyes and lips. “What lovely-looking desserts,” she complimented. “I don’t believe I’ve seenyou around before. I’m Mrs. Elle Toe.” She stuck out her hand in greeting.
“Hi,” she shook the elderly woman’s hand. “Eliza Snow. My family and I come—came,” she corrected, “here for holiday every year.”
“Snow as in Marjorie Snow?”
Eliza’s eyes lit up. “That’s my nan. You knew her?”
“We go way back, dear.” Mrs. Elle Toe patted Eliza on the top of her hand. “Will she be here later to watch the contest?” she asked.
Eliza’s face fell. “Unfortunately not. She, um, passed away, actually. In July.”
Mrs. Elle Toe looked genuinely sad. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Marjorie was a lovely woman. Never complained about anything.” She leaned in close to Eliza, “Even when the baking was properly fudged. She used to be a judge in these contests ages ago.”
Eliza bit her cheek, forcing the tears to stay hidden. A woman in a bright yellow suit jacket and matching trouser took the stage. Her long, ebony hair was braided into several thick plaits and twisted into a bun on top of her head.
She tapped on the mic to test if it was hot, and parted her cherry red lips into a smile. “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the seventy-fifth annual Baking Spirits Bright competition! Bakers, please take to your tents and make your final touches. You have five minutes,” she sing-songed the last part in a jolly jingle before tiptoeing off the stage.
“It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Elle Toe,” Eliza smiled at the old lady. She wanted to stay and chat more with her about her nan. It felt good to hear old stories about her. “Oh, and good luck in the competition.”
“Good luck, dearie! And Merry Christmas.” She parted in a flurry, crossing the tent to her station.
Eliza did the same, and double-timed it as she began unboxing her desserts and setting it out on display. She set each of them neatly on the platter, careful not to fudge anything up. Once she was satisfied with her display, she took a step back, wiping her hands clean.
A man across the way from Eliza caught her attention. He appeared even older than Mrs. Elle Toe, which was saying something. He looked ancient. His hands shook as he slowly placed his Watergate Salad into a delicate glass bowl. His name tag read Frank.
Eliza checked the clock. They had only two minutes to go before the competition started. Frank was going so slow that she was sure he wouldn’t finish his display in time. She stepped over and cleared her throat. “Excuse me. Would you like some help setting up? I don’t mind.”
Frank looked up, his glasses set low on his nose. He looked through them at her, his eyes looking twice as big through his particular lens prescription. “What’d you say?” he said, inclining his ear toward her.
She repeated herself, this time speaking much louder for him to hear. “Oh,” was all he said.
Eliza had half the mind just to snatch the spoon out of his hand and begin shoveling it out for him. But Frank eventually slowly handed it to her, looking like a video using the slo-mo feature. Quickly, she scooped out the rest of the contents for him, and even put several cherries on top to further the appeal of the poor excuse of a Christmas dessert.
Who brings salad to a dessert competition?She shivered, feeling sorry for the judges who would have to test it.
Frank nodded his thanks before she rounded the table of her booth and took a seat next to Gretel. Puffcake was sitting there, too, and gave her a disapproving glare. If he could speak, shecould practically hear him saying, “Frank is our competition, not a friend. Don’t help him.”
“It’s the season of giving, Puffy. Lighten up.” She scratched one finger under his chin.
