Forget about it all.
That was the power of Ian Lennox’s mouth.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” someone yells into the microphone on the stage, “we have a situation with the recipe contest.”
The crowd murmurs.
By “situation,” they mean me.
And I agree with them. This is a situation. One I would like resolved immediately before I become the woman who blew into town and broke Miss Bettie’s heart, which is clearly made of sugar and spice. Not to mention I was caught kissing Wanted’s most eligible bachelor in broad daylight.
“See?” I tell Ian. “There’s a situation.”
“What’s going on?” Ian calls out.
I make my way to the judging table clutching the blue ribbon. Barrel walks proudly beside me, tail wagging like he personally orchestrated the whole disaster. Which he might have. His paws are suspiciously sticky with what I’m pretty sure is bourbon caramel glaze.
When I was walking around the festival I got caught up in a lively conversation with Clogging Casey. I’d let her ten-year-old daughter and her bestie walk Barrel around the festival in a loop. I have a sinking suspicion now that he might have gone Born Free on them and wrecked havoc.
Across the square, the festival band stops mid-song.
People are staring.
Apparently, dethroning Miss Bettie is a cardinal sin. Ian comes up behind me and crosses his arms over his chest, all casual curiosity.
“It turns out that Miss Bettie’s entry was eaten by a wayward mutt,” the man says over the mic. “So she is automatically disqualified.”
Oh, God.
Barrel ate her brownies. Which is a double disaster. Because not only did it ruin Miss Bettie’s entry in the contest, chocolate is dangerous for dogs.
Also, how dare he call Barrel a mutt?
“What kind of brownies?” I call out, heart rate kicking up. I pull my phone out to call the director of the animal shelter. He’ll have the information for an emergency vet. “Is there chocolate or cocoa in them?”
I bend down to inspect Barrel’s snout for remnants of smeared chocolate or signs of intestinal distress.
“They’re blondie brownies,” Miss Bettie says. “No chocolate or cocoa, Winnie, so the dog is fine.”
Relief courses through me. I appreciate Miss Bettie jumping in to reassure me so quickly. Maybe she’s not that upset with me after all.
“Well, theywereblondie brownies. They’re nothing but crumbs now,” she adds pointedly.
Okay, so she’s a little mad.
I squeeze Barrel’s face between my hands. “Don’t scare me like that, Barrel. Also, way to make enemies our first weekend in town.”
Ian squeezes my shoulder as he moves past me.
I stand up and eye Miss Bettie. “I”m so sorry about that. I think we all know this rightfully is yours.” I hold out the ribbon for her to collect.
She just stares at me but doesn’t take the ribbon. “I’m not taking that. No one tasted my dessert. I can’t claim a victory when no one even judged my blondies.”
Great. She’s ethical to boot. Couldn’t we just pretend they had judged her blondies?
“I didn’t win,” I insist to the frazzled festival volunteer beside me.
She gives me a tight smile. “Oh honey. That’s not helping.”
