Cupcake (The Fluffy Cupcake Book 1)

by Katie Mettner

  I grunted and came hard inside her, listening while she called my name over and over, her body shaking and spasming until she collapsed back to the bed in exhaustion.

  I trailed my finger down her cheek and kissed her lips tenderly, mine sweet with frosting and her. “As it turns out, we are the dream team.”

  Her sleepy, sated smile told me she finally agreed.

  Seventeen

  The weather was beautiful and the day was bright and warm. I was ready to get my cupcake wars on, but first, we had to sit through a boring preliminary bake-off where the top three teams were chosen for the final round tomorrow.

  “What do you think, can the dream team take them?” he asked with his lips near my ear.

  I shivered where I stood by the mixer and tried not to melt into a puddle of sex on the floor. Brady had that effect on me every single time he got too close to me.

  “I’m not even worried. Nice idea with the Hostess Cupcakes. Simple, nostalgic, and fun.”

  “True, but they wouldn’t be from The Fluffy Cupcake if they didn’t have a twist,” he said, winking at me while he finished mixing the frosting.

  I busied myself with preparing the finished cupcakes for filling and icing while keeping my eye on the other entrants. There were seven, some teams, some individuals, and all of them were scrambling to finish their cupcakes in the ten minutes we had left. Some had just taken them from the oven, which meant their frosting was going to be a drippy mess when presented to the judges. Since we weren’t allowed to make the same recipe twice, we saved the Berry Sinful ones for tomorrow and used the classic chocolate cupcakes to secure our spot in the top three today. Blocking the other teams, especially Darla, who was working alone, from seeing what I was doing, I grabbed the pastry bag and piped in the filling. Brady then expertly iced the cupcake with the chocolate dip icing and piped on the white squiggle. We only needed three cupcakes, so when they were finished, I checked the clock. We had three minutes to spare. While everyone else was running around like desperate chickens avoiding the chopping block, I calmly set the three cupcakes in front of the judges, smiled, chuckled at a joke Mr. Samson told me, and then walked back to my station to help Brady clean up.

  Daggers hit my back, and I turned to see Darla glaring at me like I was the devil incarnate. It had been a week since her tirade in my bakery, and she had been smart enough to stay away. I suspected if Darla didn’t get into this bake-off, my peace would end here. She’d have nothing to lose then, at least in her mind. Except if Darla showed back up in my bakery, Brady would have her arrested. She didn’t believe I’d do it, but I knew without a doubt that he would.

  We loaded the dirty dishes and bowls into a bin and set it on the cart. Brady pushed it over to the area marked for storage while we waited for everyone else to finish. We’d load it in the van later and take all the dishes back to the bakery to wash. The way Darla was eyeing Brady on his way back to our table told me she was plotting how to steal him away from me. The last few weeks ran through my mind and brought a smile to my face. He was way too addicted to my cupcake for that to work, but she was delusional enough to believe she could. When it came to what Darla thought about herself, she was every man’s dream.

  “Stop obsessing about McFinkle,” Brady said out the corner of his lip while we waited for the judges’ verdict. “She’s not even worth the thought you’ve given her in the last three minutes.”

  “I’m just worried she’ll do something stupid, and you’ll have to kick her ass.”

  He snorted with laughter, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I don’t hit women, but I’m not afraid to throw her out of the bakery by her ear. Your ass, on the other hand, I’d happily grasp, if we weren’t in public.”

  “My ass and I thank you,” I said, laughing, which only seemed to make Darla angrier. “She really can’t stand to see other people happy, can she?” I asked, a fake smile on my face.

  “People like that usually can’t because they aren’t happy. She doesn’t want anyone else to be either.”

  “Bakers, we have reached a decision,” Mr. Samson said from the judges’ table. “While all the entries were fantastic, the rules say we have to trim the teams down to three. With a delightfully light sponge cupcake, Darla McFinkle will move on to the final round.”

  Clapping ensued, and Darla preened like a beauty queen accepting her crown. It took everything I had to keep from rolling my eyes, but the judges were watching.

  “After submitting a wonderful strawberry creamsicle cupcake, Team Barton will be on to the final round.”

  More clapping and I swallowed around the lump in my throat. There was no way the owner of the cupcake business wasn’t going to make it to the final round, was there?

  “The final entrant, offering a beautiful throwback to our childhood with their strawberry filled Hostess cupcake, is Team Fluffy Cupcake!”

  The rest of the teams clapped wildly, and I figured the other teams were probably glad someone was going to give Darla a run for her money if it couldn’t be them. I let the breath out I’d been holding and smiled a real smile—the first one all day.

  “Thank you for judging the competition today. I’m glad you enjoyed the cupcake. It just might make it into the bakery case soon,” I said when I shook hands with the judges as they came around to the tables. Once they’d congratulated everyone, Mr. Samson grabbed the microphone.

  “Remember, the bake-off starts tomorrow at one o’clock sharp. You’ll have thirty minutes to prep your ingredients beforehand, but you cannot mix anything until the clock starts. Once it’s running, you’ll have ninety minutes to complete the cupcake, exactly as entered on your form, other than your secret ingredient, and present them to the judges. The judges then have one hour to make their final decision and crown the cupcake winner. Any questions?”

  We all shook our heads since we’d been through this every year for at least six. While the teams who made it to the final round every year changed, the rules never did, and I had them memorized long ago. Tomorrow morning I’d be putting all my ingredients in individual containers at the bakery. The judges checked everyone’s supplies before the time started, so as long as I followed the no mixing rule, being prepared when I arrived wasn’t against the rules. Once the clock started, all I had to do was begin the mixing. If I didn’t have everything ready to grab and go when the timer started, the cupcakes wouldn’t be cool enough to frost in our allotted time, as many of the teams learned today.

  We had the process down to less than ninety minutes because Brady and I were a great team. That was something I would have known sooner if I’d let him break through my tough exterior years ago instead of holding everyone at bay to protect my heart. I will say, with much reluctance, that my heart was as smitten with Brady as my body was. I just wasn’t entirely sure what to do about it. I didn’t want to tell him that and ruin whatever we had going when he didn’t feel the same. I could enjoy the fling for what it was, I suppose, but my birthday was crawling closer with every sunset and sunrise. So, while that red X was no longer visible on the calendar, I could still see it in my mind’s eye.

  “Congratulations, Team Fluffy Cupcake,” Darla said when she passed our table on the way up the aisle. “I hope you bring your A-game tomorrow because I have the winning recipe this year. Don’t count me out of this competition just yet.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, Darla,” Brady said while I ignored her completely. It was smarter to do that than say something that would only serve to get me into hot water with her, or worse yet, disqualified from the competition.

  “The sass with that one is strong,” Brady said as she strut away like the prima donna she is.

  “I would like to forget she exists. At least until I have to see her again tomorrow.”

  Brady grinned and untied his apron from around his waist, his trim hips making my mouth water. Since it was July and nearly eighty degrees, we decided to wear shorts with our bakery coats. I wasn’t in the mood to sweat to death, an
d to be honest, I loved nothing more than him in shorts. His were the color of sand and the texture of seersucker. I was a sucker for everything about him if I was honest with myself. I also had a thing for a nice pair of man calves. Does that make me weird? Probably. Moving on.

  “I think we should have a little fun at the fair. What do you think? There won’t be any time tomorrow, and there’s a pronto pup out there with my name on it somewhere,” he was saying when I tore my gaze from his legs.

  I tossed my apron in our bin and snapped the lid on it, glad our work was done. “I’m game. Let’s stash this in the van and head out. First, we better check on Amber.”

  He grabbed the cart and followed me out of the convention center and toward the van. We locked everything in the back before heading for the food tent, where Amber was stationed with a wide variety of bread, buns, and cupcakes from the bakery, including our strawberry cupcakes à la Hostess. Tomorrow, the crowd would get their first taste of Berry Sinful after the competition was over. Win or lose, I knew the cupcakes were going to be favorites with the community during the summer months.

  When we arrived, the tent was less crowded than the one that held all the hot food, which was okay. It was hard to drool over loaves of bread and piles of cupcakes when you couldn’t get near the booth to check out the selection. What I saw when I found our booth stopped me dead in my tracks. There were two loaves of bread and a tray of cupcakes left. Everything else was gone.

  “Amber!” I exclaimed, jogging around the end of the table to hug her. “What the heck happened here?”

  She was already laughing before she spoke. “I swear, Haylee, everyone wants a taste of your fluffy cupcakes!”

  “Too bad,” Brady growled under his breath, “She’s all mine.”

  I snorted, and Amber rolled her eyes, the shine of us getting together having worn off the second week we spent making googly eyes at each other, as she put it. While she was kidding, we did try to keep our relationship, to whatever extent that was, to a minimum at the bakery, just like we’d promised each other. It was easy right now. We were too busy to worry about anything other than getting our orders done. It would get harder if this lasted into winter when the tourists left, and we didn’t have as much to do every day.

  “Someone tried the new chocolate cupcake, started telling everyone about it, and they were like a pack of rabid wolves in here. It was something else. I was afraid I was going to lose a finger.”

  “But the question is, did people actually like them once they got one in their paw?” I asked, leaning my hip on the table.

  “I’m telling you—it was like nirvana around here the way people’s eyes were rolling around in their heads when they took a bite. If we could package that feeling and sell it, we’d be rich.”

  “Well, we can,” Brady said from the other side of the table. “It’s called cupcakes in a box. Voila.”

  Amber and I both chuckled. He was right. I was thrilled to hear that they had gone over so well. “I’m honestly surprised. Usually, you have the people who love Hostess cupcakes and the people who can’t stand them. There’s very few who sit on the fence about them.”

  Amber pointed at me. “I had many who bought them so they could complain about how fake they tasted blah, blah,” she said, waving her hand. “One bite, and they were moaning along with everyone else. The Able Baker Brady cakes gave people that feeling of being a kid again, but also they pleased their more grownup palate.”

  “The Able Baker Brady cakes?” Brady asked with skepticism, and she nodded. “That’s what I started calling them. They were your idea, after all.”

  I nodded and winked at him. “They were your idea and a damn good one. We need to make another batch to sell tomorrow then,” I said right away. “People can fill up on those until we break out the Berry Sinful samples.”

  “We can whip them up fast in the morning,” Brady agreed. “We don’t have to be here until one, and we don’t have any special orders for the morning, which we did on purpose. The lack of bread here is a problem we have to address, though.”

  Amber spun to face him. “They heard that Able Baker Brady’s bread was on display, and they all wanted to poke a loaf or two.” Brady and I burst out laughing at the same time, our shoulders shaking until Amber couldn’t hold it in either. “You two are sickos!”

  Brady glanced at the two loaves left on the table. “It looks like all the kitschy flavors are gone.”

  “Kitschy,” Amber said, laughing, “exactly what everyone was calling them, too.”

  “You know what I mean,” he said with laughter filling his voice. “I’ll make more of those tonight and worry less about the others. There will only be so much time, even if I go in a few hours early.”

  “You know what they say,” Amber said on a wink. “Better to leave them wanting more and knowing where to get it than wear them all out in a weekend.”

  I hugged her one last time and walked back around the table where Brady put his arm around me. “I didn’t know anyone said that. As for me, I’m all about being worn out all weekend.”

  We walked out of the tent with grins on our faces and her laughter filling our ears.

  Eighteen

  The fair was bustling. There were families with young kids and the elderly wandering down the paths to check out the displays. Later tonight, when the midway opened, the teens and young people would flood the place. I was glad I would be at home sleeping. Haylee took a bite of her pronto pup and moaned softly, garnering a look from me as we walked toward a bench under a tree.

  “This reminds me of my teenage years,” she said, licking mustard off her lip. It was my turn to release a soft moan because I wanted to do the licking.

  “You came to the fair a lot as a kid?” I asked, licking my lips of the ketchup I’d put on my dog.

  “I worked here as a teenager. All the fair food you could eat and six bucks an hour cash. It was every kid’s dream. My hips and ass are proof.”

  My eyes drifted to her lower half. “Remind me to thank the fair before we leave.”

  She snickered and lowered herself to the bench, our early morning catching up to her. We were used to working early and long hours, but working those hours and then baking all afternoon added to the fatigue we were already fighting. Of course, if we stopped making love all night and got some sleep, that might help. That wasn’t nearly as much fun, though. As much as I hated the idea, we’d have to leave soon and head back for a nap before we had to bake again tonight.

  “We should head home,” Haylee said, finishing her food. “We need to be baking again in,” she checked her watch, “eight hours.”

  “Can we spend those next eight hours in your bed?” I asked, tossing our garbage in a can and sitting next to her to people watch.

  “Only if our eyes are closed, and we’re not wrapped around each other.”

  “Zero out of ten, do not recommend.”

  She laughed, her head tossed back as it shook back and forth with her beautiful brown hair gleaming in the sunshine. “You are too much, Able Baker Brady.”

  “Where did this Able Baker Brady thing come from?” I asked, perplexed.

  When she turned to me, her face was filled with shock. “You know, Able Baker Charlie from the Richard Scarry books?”

  My head tipped to the side. “Uh, no, but I didn’t have your typical childhood.”

  She nodded, her eyes clouding over for a moment. “I didn’t either, but when I moved in with Amber, she made sure I had all those experiences I missed out on as a kid. We watched the cartoon shows that I wasn’t exposed to before, and read books that were silly when you were fifteen, but helped me understand why people held them in their hearts so dearly. We watched old movies like E.T. and Back to the Future, and listened to music from the eighties. She even made me work with her at the fair, so I could experience what other kids took for granted. I wasn’t a fan of the midway, it did nothing for my stomach, but the food?” She rubbed her belly and grinned. “I apprec
iated the hell out of that experience. The fair is the reason I became a chef.”

  “Seriously?” I asked in shock. “I guess you’ve never said what brought you to that decision.”

  She motioned out across the open field they used for showing animals and at the barn beyond. “Every year, the kids who were in 4-H, and women in home economic groups, submitted items to the fair to be judged, right?” she asked, and I nodded. “I loved going to the barn at the end of every shift to see what had been added. Some of the meringue pies were fabulous, Brady. Seriously, it took me years to learn how to make a meringue stand up like that. I was fascinated by it and started experimenting at home. Trust me, Amber’s family never argued about tasting my experiments. When I graduated from high school, the idea of becoming a chef never crossed my mind. I just wanted a stable career, so I never had to worry about where my next meal was coming from again.”

  “Which you wouldn’t have had to if you’d become a chef,” I said on a chuckle.

  “I was eighteen, out on my own for the first time and scared. That never filtered into my brain, Brady.”

  “Understandable. Let me guess. You chose business.”

  She pointed at me with a grin. “I did. I went to St. Paul College for business and needed to find a job quickly that would work around my school schedule. I got hired on at a little bakery called A Pinch and A Dash. I worked with the owner, Mr. Hennington, who was just the sweetest guy I’d ever met. He was about seventy when he took me under his wing and didn’t just ask me to do the work. He taught me to do the work. He taught me to love it and respect the process. I think I was in school about a month when I was sitting in Business Principles 101, and it hit me. I wanted to be a baker. I changed my major to culinary arts to learn the basics while still working with Mr. Hennington. I took a few business classes at night, so I could successfully run a bakery and get my master baker certificate. The rest is history.”