I felt like shit. I should have insisted she win. That was what a good boyfriend would have done.
“Stop looking so guilty,” she snapped. “I don’t need you to just hand me stuff because you feel sorry for me. I’m a big girl. I can handle some disappointment. Fiona's dessert was better than mine. I'm a chef. I know what quality is. Hers was better. Someone wins, someone loses. I would have made the same choice. That’s the way the cookie crumbles.”
69
Holly
Icouldn’t freaking believe it. I’d lost. Not just the contest but everything. When the judges announced that Fiona was the winner, I realized the weight of my loss would ripple into an implosion of epic proportions. I tried to keep it together in front of the cameras as my world crumbled around me.
What was I going to do? I had no money. I hadn't paid off my debt. My grandmother's decorations were going to be auctioned off in the next few days because I couldn't make the payment. I was a cold, hard failure. Again. I should really take down the webpage that had the sign-up for the subscription baking box, since I had nowhere to bake it. I didn't even have anywhere to live. I needed to find a job though, like right now. But all I wanted to do was curl up in bed and drink a gallon of hot chocolate and watch Christmas movies.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry you lost,” Fiona said, running to hop into the elevator with me after I blew off Owen.
I didn't want his pity. He'd just spent all that money on me. Any sob story I gave him would just make it seem like I was begging for more handouts.
“It’s fine. Your dessert was awesome; you deserved the win,” I assured her. We rode upstairs in silence. I felt bad that Fiona felt bad for winning.
“Are you going home for Christmas?” she asked.
“With Amber? No way. I don’t know where I’m going,” I admitted.
“Come stay in my apartment! You can use the obnoxiously tiny kitchen to bake the rest of your subscription boxes,” Fiona said, grabbing my hand.
“I don’t know…”
“Come on! It’s Christmas. It’s the season of giving,” she said as we stepped off the elevator. “I would love to have you.”
Owen called me. I sent it to voicemail.
“Or you could just move in with your boyfriend,” she said slyly.
“I don’t know, I’m not really the moocher type,” I replied as Fiona unlocked the door.
It opened before she could pull the handle. Morticia stood there.
“Dana said we have to be out in one hour. Apparently Owen wants his penthouse back.”
I looked around at all the Christmas decor. “We have to take all this down?” I asked, starting to panic.
Morticia snorted. “You can if you want to.”
I didn't.
I ignored the text messages and other calls from Owen while I hastily packed.
“You can come back to Harrogate with me,” Morticia offered.
“You're going back now?”
“In a few days.” Her face softened, and she hugged me, the buckles on her jacket poking me. “You'll be fine. It's likeAmerican Idol. Everyone likes the runners-up better.”
I groaned and lay down on the bed. Morticia pushed me aside and stripped off the sheets.
“Come on,” she said. “I had to order an extra-large Uber to fit all your stuff. They're going to be here soon.”
A half hour later, Fiona, Morticia, and I had hauled out all my possessions, which mostly consisted of my costumes, baking supplies, and the Christmas decorations from my grandmother I had managed to keep out of the soon-to-be auctioned storage unit, outside to the Uber.
I looked back up at the tower to where Owen's office was. His light was still on. I could tell it was his because of all the garland I’d hung on his balcony. I should go up and talk to him. That would have been the adult, mature thing to do. Instead, my friends and I rode across town to Fiona's tiny but very cute apartment.
