The weekend with Jack had been magical, but now I was back in reality. At least my reality included cookies and sugar and chocolate, so it wasn’t all that bad. I smiled to myself, thinking about Jack. He had called me his girlfriend. I giggled as I triple-checked all my equipment.
Dana wasn't the one I was worried about. The only reason she had said anything to me was because of Hartleigh. Nina swore she had slept in front of our bedroom door to keep Hartleigh from tampering with our stuff, but I was paranoid.
"This is the Twelve Days to Christmas challenge," Anastasia announced. "We have less than two weeks to go until the big night, and we want to mark the festivities with a countdown. This is going to be a grueling challenge, which is why we're starting early. Judges, do you have anything to add?"
"The key to this challenge," Anu said, "is that you have to make twelve distinct desserts. But they cannot be too disparate—they should build off of and complement each other. It will be quite difficult, I think."
"Yes, but these bakers can handle it," Nick said.
"Once again, you have all day to complete this challenge," Anastasia said. "Pace yourselves."
The four of us contestants left—Nina, Maria, Hartleigh, and me—hustled to start baking. I heard Maria tell Anastasia she was making some little fried pastries among other things.
Instead of making a set of large desserts, I wanted to serve the judges tastes of twelve desserts. I decided to make my twelve desserts constructed on a spoon, essentially one bite of flavor. They should range from more salty desserts to sweet, with maybe even a piece of candy for the last one. The first spoon would be cheese and fruit, which was what people in Europe sometimes served instead of a sweet dessert after dinner.
So that I wasn't just serving a piece of cheese, I decided to make a sherry reduction to drizzle over the cheese. Next in the lineup would be a mini cheese soufflé topped with cranberry compote. Another spoon I knew would be chocolate mousse. The next would be orange shortbread with a custard. I wasn't sure what the others would be. Maybe an ice cream? I should have been thinking about this instead of spending so much time with Jack. I looked over at the judges’ table.
He was about to leave, but he was lingering, looking at me, a possessive light in his eyes. When he saw me watching, he grinned and licked his bottom lip. I shivered slightly.
Because the mousse needed to set, I started on it first. The custard also needed to set, so I made that next. For the rest of the day, I worked on making various cakes and little tarts that I cooked in one of the wide spoons. I tasted one, and it seemed all right.
Hartleigh was skipping around the studio, flitting from the fridge to the fryer to the pantry. I tried to ignore her and concentrate on my desserts. Unfortunately, I wasn’t happy with the way they turned out, and Hartleigh's nonsense was adding to my irritation. The progression of my dessert bites was not convincing—they were all somewhat soft. The tart provided a little more crunch, but maybe it was all too one-dimensional.
When I looked at the clock, I saw we didn't have much time left. I hastily made a tempura batter and dipped some fruit in it, then made some little round pies.
"Are you frying those?" Nina asked me.
"Yes, I think my spoons don't have enough diversity of texture. I wish I had planned a bit better," I confessed to her.
"Too busy with Jack?" she teased.
I smiled to myself, remembering just how much of a distraction Jack was.
"Something like that," I said and took the platter of my additions over to the fryer and started adjusting the temperature.
Maria walked behind me a moment later. She had a large tray of pastries to fry.
"I need to deep fry some of my desserts," I said to Maria. "I'll be quick—I just want to try something out—but I don't want to mess up your frying schedule."
She chewed on her lip. "But I've been waiting for Hartleigh to finish. But you have less, so go ahead," she told me.
"No, no," I said. I set my plate down. "Here, I'll help you."
Maria smiled at me gratefully and dropped in the first few pastries.
The fryer immediately went up in flames.
Maria screamed and jumped back, banging into me, causing the large tray of pastries to scatter all over the floor. One of the production techs ran over with a fire extinguisher and sprayed white foam over the fryer and us.
Coughing, I wafted the smoke and chemical mist away from my face and looked at the carnage.
"It’s ruined!" Maria cried, her eyes wide and wet with tears. She and I were both covered in little flecks of white foam, and I wrapped her in a hug.
"It's okay," I told her.
"My dessert is ruined!" she sobbed.
"You'll make more," I said, trying to be consoling. Would she, though? The fryer was obviously out of commission.
