Page 24 of Serving Bunt

“Apologies, Your Ladyship,” Penelope said with a theatrical bow. “And finally, the woman who has built wedding cakes for four generations of celebrities, royalty, and everyone in between. Meet your head judge, Keira Von Hustenberg.”

Keira gave a regal nod, her silver-streaked hair pinned up like she was ready for battle.

Penelope beamed. “Now, teams, are you ready to sleigh the bake?”

The cameras panned across the six of us as we clapped our hands and smiled, some more so than others.

“Then, crumb on. Let’s get down to it.”

“Cut!”

The word echoed through the barn. Someone from production yelled for final touch-ups and a team of makeup artists swarmed us like bees.

I let out a long breath and rolled my shoulders, trying to shake off the nerves. Matty stood to my right, hands clasped in front of him. He looked calm on the outside, but I knew better.

To my left, former teen heartthrob turned film director, James Jarrett, silently scrolled his phone.

Salt-and-pepper stubble framed his jawline, the same jawline that used to make fifteen-year-old me squirm any time he came on screen. In fact, I was ashamed to admit that I had spent more than one night jerking it to a nearly nude picture of him that I’d torn out of my sister’s Teen Beat magazine.

Because baking alongside one man I had jerked off to wasn’t awkward enough. Now I was literally standing sandwiched between two of them.

Merry fucking Christmas (in July) to me.

James caught me looking and arched a brow. “First time on one of these?”

“Is it that obvious?” I replied with a crooked grin. “You?”

James exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh but not quite. “Nah, I just wrapped Survival of the Fittest last month. Before that, it was House Hustle, and before that, Midnight Pantry.”

“Is that the one where you have to cook a meal using—”

“What you find in a college student’s fridge.” He shook his head. “But in my defense, I only do the shows I know my grandson can watch.”

I blinked. Grandson?

James Jarrett was only in his mid-forties, and he looked closer to his mid-thirties. The math wasn’t mathing.

“You have a grandson?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“Had my kid at twenty. He had his kid at twenty-one. Life comes at you fast.”

“Damn, I think I was still eating ramen packets at two a.m. when I was twenty.”

A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “I’m forty-six and I still eat ramen packets at two a.m.”

Nora Quinn leaned around James with a bright, knowing grin. She was more than James’s baking partner; she was also the star of his upcoming sci-fi flick. Her hair was the perfect shade of cotton candy pink, a stark contrast to the midnight-blue romper that hugged her body in all the right places and showed off one hell of a thigh tattoo.

“Don’t let him fool you,” she teased. “James pretends he’s too cool for shit like this, but the man cried when our casting director brought her Samoyed puppy to set.”

The old sap gritted his teeth. “I had something in my eye.”

“Sure you did.” Nora patted his arm affectionately, then turned her sparkling gaze on Matty. “Speaking of dogs, I’m in love with yours. I totally social media stalked you and your weenie queenie last night. Is she going to be on the team calendar, too? I preordered three copies.”

Matty blinked, clearly caught off guard. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning when his ears went pink.

“Oh, um—”

“I’m not hitting on you, I promise.”