Finding Ever After

by Pepper Basham

  She kissed him back, inhaling his forest scent, his beard tickling her chin. She gripped his forearms, her fingers digging into his plaid-covered biceps. How long had she wanted to do this? Since the first day he’d walked into her store, if she were honest. But she was Maggie—Margaret—and fairy tales didn’t come true for her.

  Until now. Until this moment. Suddenly, everything was falling into place. She and Griff. Her acceptance into her stepfamily. Their belated, longed-for approval. She was about to have it all. Griff would fake-propose today, they’d win the contest tomorrow and further seal the validation she longed for, and then go back home. They’d date for real, and eventually, well—who knew what chapter was coming next?

  Maggie pulled back, breathless, her eyes searching Griff’s. A laugh escaped her stunned lips. “I take it that’s a yes.”

  But Griff shook his head, his eyes somber. “It’s a no.”

  What? Her heart stammered, then crashed, right at her feet among the broken shards of expectation.

  The store clerk made a tsk sound as he pulled back from the counter. “Now that’s a fine kettle of fish.”

  8

  They’d brought too many apples.

  Griff ran a hand over his beard as he surveyed the rows of ovens plugged into the far wall of the industrial kitchen in the main lodge, and his stomach sank. He couldn’t even remember the recipe Maggie had drilled him on last night. Had they remembered to bring butter?

  Did they really need two dozen apples? He closed his eyes. Twenty-four apples. It seemed extreme.

  Seriously, had they remembered to bring butter?

  Tension stretched like a rubber band between Griff’s shoulder blades. Maggie was nowhere to be seen and the contest would start any minute. To make matters worse, Harper pranced around like a show pony, tossing her hair and laughing with the judges as she mingled among the crowd in a hot pink apron. She had Ronny practically eating out of her hand.

  He squinted across the kitchen. Make that literally—she was feeding him marshmallows.

  Griff’s stomach tightened. Maybe this had been a mistake. So much of the last twenty-four hours felt like that—a mistake. He’d tried on four different occasions to explain what he meant to Maggie yesterday when he refused to propose to her in front of her stepmom, but she either avoided him at the cabin or interrupted him at every effort with a cool “don’t worry about it”. After she’d somewhat robotically gone over the ingredient list and the plans for the contest last night, she’d gone to bed early, claiming she wanted to get a good night’s rest before the big day.

  He craned his neck to see through the gathered crowd, that was beginning to sit down in the available folding chairs on the far side of the room. Ronny was plugging a microphone into a speaker over by the swinging industrial doors.

  Where was Maggie? She was about to be late. They’d come down with their bags of ingredients half an hour ago and staked out a cooking station, which provided them with a microwave, an oven, a cutting board, and a set of measuring cups. The rest was up to them to bring. She’d muttered something about being right back and vanished before he could protest.

  He headed back to his assigned station and rearranged the wooden spoon so it lined up perfectly next to their square baking dish. Maybe this was her revenge—to leave him to compete alone. He might agree he’d deserve it—if she had at least given him a chance to explain what happened yesterday. But he’d seen that look in her eye, the look that might as well have been a metal gate clanging shut and effectively locking him out. He’d thought about giving her the book as a peace offering before the contest, just to put the spark back in her eyes, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was a victory gift—they had to win first.

  So the book remained wrapped in those two bags, leaning between the dresser and the wall in his room, ready for the opportune moment. Every time he saw it, Sam’s cryptic words rang in his mind. Don’t follow your heart unless your head is in agreement.

  His head and heart had not been communicating on this trip. He was a measure twice, cut once kind of guy. Agreeing to help Maggie this weekend by posing as her boyfriend had been the most impulsive thing he’d ever done—and the only reason he’d done it was because of the chance to prove himself to Harper.

  Yet even now the motivation rang hollow. Sure, maybe that was what had initially prompted the “yes” out of his mouth. But the moment he’d slipped into the passenger seat of her car and she’d handed him that thermos of coffee, Maggie had drawn him in. She was so threatened by Harper, yet she had no idea how much more magnetizing she was than her stepsister—and for all the right reasons. The lasting kind of reasons.

  The ‘til death do you part kind of reasons.

  “I know you’re my arch enemy today, but I wanted to tell you something.”

  Griff turned at Carolyn’s voice behind him. She wore a spotless white apron and had her shiny hair pulled up into a tidy bun.

  He started to ask her if she’d seen Maggie, but he didn’t want her to get the idea that anything was wrong. Because today, she was right—she was the competition. And Maggie really needed this win.

  He tried to relax and unclench his stressed-out jaw. “What’s that?”

  “I know the smart thing to do is wait for a bid, but I’d really like you to build something for me.” She smoothed the front of her apron and offered a gracious smile. “I’ll get you the details later, but last year, I purchased some acreage a few miles north from Wintercrisp Cabin. I thought it’d be a good investment for future family vacations, and a source of income if I decided to rent it during the off season.”

  Griff nodded, but couldn’t force a response from his lips. His mind raced. Where was Maggie? He had no idea what he was supposed to say. Part of him wanted to celebrate the opportunity to build one of these amazing, hand-detailed cabins he’d been admiring for so long. The other part of him felt sure Carolyn would change her mind once she realized his relationship with Maggie had been a farce all along.

  Who would want to hire a liar?

  She leaned in with a wink and lowered her voice. “After all, we might be family soon.”

  Griff choked. “I don’t know about—”

  Carolyn held up one hand, cutting him off. “You don’t have to tell me all your secrets. But I’d also like you to know, I’m sure Maggie’s dad would give his blessing if he were here.” Her regal expression never wavered, but the corners of her mouth trembled.

  Griff swallowed back the next round of protests at the mention of Maggie’s dad. “Yes ma’am.” Guilt prodded him in the stomach. They shouldn’t have lied. This had gone too far—and the ramifications ran too deep. For everyone.

  Carolyn reached over and patted his shoulder. “We’ll talk more later. Good luck out there today.”

  He managed to mumble a similar sentiment as she headed to her designated workstation across the room, where Harper waited, popping marshmallows into her mouth. He pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled deeply. He was good at building—apparently too good. He’d helped construct a monster lie.

  Maggie appeared at his elbow, breathless. “I brought the butter.” She dumped the sticks on the cooking station, then took one look at him and froze mid-action. “What’d I miss?”

  So she was speaking to him now. He dropped his hands to his side, unsure which issue to address first. His thoughts were too scattered. And looking at the windblown pieces of dark hair wisping around Maggie’s eyes—eyes that were bottled up with worry—made his emotions feel just as messy. That probably wasn’t what Sam meant by having his head and heart line up.

  He started with the most recent bomb. “Your stepmom wants me to build her a vacation cabin.”

  “She wants you to what?”

  “Because we’re going to be family soon.”

  Maggie flinched. “Ugh.”

  “Yeah. And by the way, your father gives his blessing.”

  She closed her eyes, and he immediately regretted his rash choice
of words. “I didn’t mean it like—”

  “No, it’s okay.” She drew a tight breath. “I did this, so I’ll fix it. We’ll confess.”

  “Maggie.” He caught her hand, and mentally rejoiced when she didn’t pull away. He lowered his voice. “Listen, I’ve been trying to tell you since yesterday why I didn’t want to agree to your proposal plan.”

  She tugged her hand free, her expression ten degrees cooler as she began stacking the sticks of butter on their work station. “You don’t have to—”

  “Yes. I do.” He took a deep breath. “The proposal would be fake. And correct me if I’m wrong, but that kiss was anything but.”

  A squeal of feedback echoed through the kitchen.

  Ronny jerked the microphone away from his face, then brought it back slowly. “It’s that time you’ve been waiting for, ladies and gentlemen!” He waited for the smattering of applause to die off. “Bakers, please man your stations.”

  “This is it.” Maggie shook her head briefly, as if to clear it. “Griff, we have to focus.”

  She was right. Darn that lovable man and his microphone. Part of Griff wanted to ditch the entire contest and run outside. Press her against a tree in the forest. Kiss her as the birds sang.

  But first, the tarts. He reluctantly nodded. “Talk more later?”

  She nodded her agreement as Ronny continued his speech. But the slight smile around the corners of her lips gave him hope. Maybe he’d get a chance at a second kiss after all.

  “Special thanks to our sponsors, Northgate Appliance, for donating the use of their ovens. Along with a hundred-dollar gift card and bragging rights, the grand winner will receive their oven free as part of the prize—so don’t be letting things bubble over, now.” Ronny winked as the crowd chuckled. “The remaining ovens will be sold at a discount, so if anyone is in the market, today’s your day!”

  Griff shot a glance at the contestants to their left—a middle-aged man and wife in matching sweatshirts, and to their right—two girls who looked to be in college, wearing high ponytails and feathered tutus. Across the room, Harper and Carolyn stood poised and ready. Harper caught his eye and winked. He looked away.

  “You’ll all have exactly ninety minutes to prepare your creation and present it to the judges.” Ronny pointed to the table opposite their work stations, where several men and women sat with bottles of water and a stack of scorecards. “Bakers ready?”

  Multiple heads around the room nodded. Someone let out a whistle from the back. A burst of adrenaline pumped through Griff’s veins.

  “Ready, set, bake!”

  She whisked the caramel glaze so fast her hand cramped.

  Maggie cast a quick look over her shoulder at Griff, who was sprinkling cinnamon over the sliced apples. “Is the pan ready?”

  “Here you go.” He slid it in front of her, apples layered over white tufts of dough eager to be baked, and she dusted turbinado sugar over the entire concoction.

  Across the room, she noted Harper and Carolyn worked quietly and efficiently—strange for Harper. The quiet part, anyway. Maggie had half expected to hear rounds of “duhs” and whiny protests from her stepsister over the past hour. The room was a bit loud, though, with the clanging of metal spoons, the murmur of the seated crowd, and Ronny cracking jokes over the microphone.

  Baking is a crummy job, but I knead the dough.

  Remember, a good baker will rise to the occasion. It’s the yeast he can do.

  How can you tell a blonde’s been baking chocolate chip cookies? There’s M&M shells all over the floor.

  Maggie looked up in time to catch Harper’s blank expression at that one, and shook her head. Then she did a double take at their station—what were they making? They’d never said, and she never thought to ask. She brushed her hair back from her cheek with the back of her wrist and squinted across the room. Cookie sheets were stacked to one side of their counter, and a giant bag of marshmallows sat next to Harper’s elbow as she stirred a bowl full of dark batter.

  Maybe it wouldn’t matter. Griff seemed to think they had this one wrapped up. Her tarts were a hit everywhere she went. He believed in her, so she would try to believe in herself for a change. It was time to start thinking like a champion—and stop thinking like a lovesick princess, which was exactly what she felt like when Griff had said those magic words. That kiss was anything but fake. Her stomach released a swarm of butterflies on cue.

  It wasn’t just a ruse to convince her family they were together. He’d kissed her and meant it.

  And she’d kissed him back.

  Her cheeks warmed at the memory. The fact that he refused to fake propose to her afterward made more sense now—if he meant the kiss, of course he wouldn’t want to risk whatever was developing between them by faking something that special.

  And after what Carolyn said about her father giving his approval on Griff, well—they needed to come clean. With all of it. Then they could start fresh and see what happened.

  Griff opened the oven door for her and she slid the pan of tarts onto the top rack. She carefully set the timer, double-checked the set temperature, and sighed in relief. Now they just had to wait twenty-five minutes.

  She turned to start cleaning up and saw Griff already doing so, carefully wiping the counter top clean and discarding the spilled flour and sugar into a trashcan. “You missed a spot.”

  He stepped back as it to evaluate where, then apparently noticed her smirk. “Nice one. You treat all your sous-chefs this way?”

  “Only the good ones.” She tossed an oven mitt on top of their work station and leaned in to lower her voice. “What do think they’re making?”

  “I think it doesn’t matter. You’ve got this in the bag.” Griff rolled his eyes. “Or as Ronny would say, in the piping bag.”

  Maggie snorted. “Those jokes were pretty bad—and apparently contagious.”

  Griff tossed the damp napkin he’d been using to clean into the trashcan. “Don’t worry, he’ll remember who you are after you win.”

  Maggie looked over her shoulder at Ronny, who was twirling the corded mic at his side as he talked to the other judges on the panel. She’d seen that man almost every winter for many of her teen years—plus the last few winters with Harper and Carolyn. He never could get her name right, but remembered Harper’s every time. It’d be nice to have her own identity at the resort and finally escape her sister’s reflection. If winning a contest was what it took, then hopefully her tarts wouldn’t let her down.

  She snuck a peek at them bubbling in the oven and inhaled deeply. They smelled right on target—sweet and tangy. They’d never failed her before, but she’d also never cooked under so much pressure. Her insides felt a little like that apple filling right now—about to boil over.

  She shut the oven door with a thud and turned to Griff. “I think we should talk to Carolyn right after the contest and tell her the entire truth.” Her stomach knotted just imagining the look on her proper stepmother’s face. Admitting to such a big lie, especially after Carolyn had come to like Griff, wasn’t going to sit well. But what else could she do?

  Maybe once Carolyn saw their relationship—or whatever it was she and Griff had—was developing for real, it would ease the sting.

  “I think we should wait to tell them.” Griff turned so his back was to the rest of the bakers and crossed his arms over his chest. “Until we’re back in Charlotte. What’s the rush in stirring the pot now?”

  The heat from the multiple ovens was catching up to her. Or maybe it was nerves. Maggie pushed up the sleeves of her sweater. “Isn’t it better to get it over with?” Why was he hesitating? He’d be free of the ruse and the pressure, and they could move forward with a clean conscience.

  Unless he was having second thoughts about moving forward with her?

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been in this position.” Griff glanced over at her stepfamily, and Maggie followed his gaze in time to catch Carolyn and Harper taste-test their finished product.
Harper danced a little mini-jig, while Carolyn gave a perfunctory nod before wiping her mouth with a napkin. “I don’t know what’s best.”

  The timer chimed. Maggie donned her oven mitt, pulled out the tray, and set it on the cooling rack. Griff handed her a soft spatula and she carefully began scooping up the tarts

  “Bakers, five minutes!” Ronny paced the main aisle between the workstations and the judges, mic in hand. One of the ponytailed contestants next to them let out a panicked whine, while the couple to their left slapped a high five.

  This was it. Maggie hurriedly plated three sets of tarts and Griff took them to the judges. He delivered each plate with a murmured one-liner that had each judge chuckling.

  The anxiety over the contest and over confronting Carolyn faded slightly as she took in his broad back, and his profile’s strong jaw. The angles of his handsome face were obvious even through the thick layer of facial hair.

  Griff.

  Masculine, plaid, bearded Griff. He was like something from her fairytale stories, come to life from the page. She didn’t want to lose him. Wasn’t sure if she even had him completely yet—but she wanted to know.

  The fact that he wasn’t on board with confessing immediately niggled a little. Like a mini-red-flag rippling in warning, but she couldn’t quite figure out why. It wouldn’t have anything to do with Harper—would it?

  What if he’d been lying when he told her his reason for not wanting to propose was because of their kiss? What if Harper’s man-catching charms had been working behind the scenes, and she’d been blind to it? Didn’t they always fall for her at some point?

  No. It was just her anxiety over the contest talking, bunching everything up. Griff had no reason to lie to her. He wasn’t a liar.

  But weren’t they lying to her stepfamily?

  The next ten minutes went by in a blur as the judges sampled the goods, made notes on paper, and swigged bottles of water. Maggie tasted one of her tarts—perfect—and then paced the floor behind their workstation while Griff kept finding more crumbs to clean.