“You know what?” I told him as I drove off down the snowy country road. “I had a whole over-the-top honeymoon planned. It was going to be amazing. I had a whole private island rented. Maybe you and I should just go.”
The dog whined.
“You’re right. It does sound sunny, hot, and miserable. Maybe we’ll go to Iceland instead. At least Merrie can’t show up unannounced in Iceland.”
11
Merrie
“Who’s the best baker in New York?” Olivia yelled the next morning, bursting into the shop, her large cat hanging on for dear life on her shoulder.
I was eating a breakfast cookie and sipping a nutmeg spice latte.
“Girl, you need protein. You have to bring your A-game.”
“Sugar and caffeine are all I need,” I said. “And all I can afford.”
“So, you don’t want a sausage, egg, and cheese breakfast biscuit?” she said, taking a brown paper sack out of her purse.
“I can’t believe you brought me a biscuit after I ruined your job.” I hung my head.
She grimaced. “It’s not like Matt Frost is going to be a repeat client. All those billionaires are irrational and superstitious, even though they try to pretend like they’re these super-smart investors. The fact that I was designing the house that he and his cheating fiancée were supposed to spend their happily-ever-after in means he would have never used me for another architecture project ever again, even if you hadn’t loudly insulted him and called him a weak little boy in his own multi-million-dollar home.”
I took a bite of the biscuit. In hindsight, I had probably overdone it a little on the sweets and caffeine that morning. Some protein was probably a smart move.
“Remember,” Olivia pep talked as she put some finishing touches on my sparkly Christmas makeup, “it’s you against everyone else. They’re probably going to have the fan vote component like they did last year. So, make sure you stay fun, happy, and full of Christmas cheer.”
She pulled a stray thread off the red satin skirt I had paired with a white sweater. The skirt, which had a big red bow, was a knee-length A-line and felt a little bit retro. It was also comfy. I knew from the past episodes that the first competition could be a doozy.
At least I was familiar with the kitchen layout. I picked up my box of baking items.
“This time you are not competing against Myra and her godforsaken icebox cake,” Olivia reminded me as I pulled on my coat and mittens. As we headed out the door, she said, “You’re competing against pastry chefs. It’s you against the crowd, all alone, standing there with your rolling pin. Be the brownie. Let the icing flow through you. Channel that Christmas dessert energy.”
I locked the shop behind me, shivering slightly in the cold morning air. We headed through the now sleepy Christmas market to the town square where the stage was set up.
“You’re totally going to make it through the first round. “There are several other people who are weaker bakers than you,” Olivia assured me. “Just keep your head in the game.”
The production assistant checked our IDs, then Olivia helped me carry my box up to the stage and put it at the station with my name on it.
“You have this,” Olivia whispered to me. “Give them Christmas cheer!”
I was not feeling very confident. In fact, I felt like an imposter. Also, I wished I hadn’t stress-eaten quite so much because I was also feeling a little nauseated. All these contestants were from Manhattan. Many of them had restaurant experience. What did I have?
You can bake.
I closed my eyes, breathing in the cold air through my nose.You have this. Just take it one bake-off event at a time.
Part of me wanted to go back to bed and wake up to all my problems solved like my favorite scene inThe Little Princess.
Think of cookies.
But that made me think of all the cookies I had eaten last night to calm down from embarrassing myself in front of Matt. My stomach swirled as I remembered how close he had been to me for just that brief moment. How his breath had felt against my cheek, slightly cool.
We are going to cut back on our sugar intake, I lied to myself, trying to will my stomach to stop flip-flopping.We are eating a salad after this. No dressing. Just lettuce leaves and carrot shavings.
I looked around at the other contestants, my mouth dry.
Along with the snooty Manhattan girl were several girls who had that restaurant-chef vibe. They were dressed up in crisp black shirts with their hair in neat buns. I tugged at my own hair, which I had carefully braided with red, green, and silver tinsel.
