All’s Fair In Love and Cupcakes

by Betsy St. Amant

  And that was only because a competitor had happened to burn their offering to an iced crisp.

  She exhaled slowly. As hard as she’d tried to fight Lucas’s dose of reality in the lounge, she should probably just prepare herself for the worst. They were going home. And she’d be back to her usual strawberry, chocolate, and vanilla existence.

  The butterflies switched from salsa dancing to a conga line, and she pressed her hands against her apron-covered stomach. Would she ever be set free from her box? And more importantly, did she even have what it took to justify breaking free?

  What if her destiny, God’s plan for her life, was to remain at Sweetie Pies? What if she was already living out her calling and just needed to be content where God had placed her? Put aside her dreams, put aside her desires, and bloom where planted?

  But if that were true, why did she feel so wilted?

  “This round wasn’t an easy one for the judges.” Sam’s eyes swept across the contestants’ faces, and Kat struggled to keep her hands from shaking. It was just a contest. Just a contest. Just a—no, it wasn’t. It was more than that, and her heart knew it. Hence the uncontrollable tremors. This contest represented more than just a chance to prove herself. It represented the opportunity to finally identify herself. Outside of expectations, outside of her family, outside of resignations.

  Even outside of Lucas.

  She forced her eyes to remain on Sam’s face and not seek Lucas’s support. He wasn’t any more convinced they were staying than she was, so it wasn’t as if she’d find what she needed on his face anyway. Not this time. Besides, if by some miracle she did win, she’d have to figure out how to live without Lucas in her daily life.

  She might as well start the process now.

  “There were a few technical issues with almost everyone in the round.” Sam continued, pacing before the contestants like a drill sergeant while the judges remained expressionless from their table behind him. “But it finally came down to sending home the team who produced a bare cupcake . . . or the team who produced a cupcake the judges deemed simply not up to par.”

  He paused for effect, and Kat squeezed her hands into fists, her sweaty fingers slipping against her palms. Come on, come on. It was clearly between her and—who? In the last round of judging, she’d been so distracted by her own failure, she hadn’t paid enough attention to be certain who Sam was talking about.

  “But this particular round scores taste higher than decorations, so the decision was finally made.” Sam pointed at Kat, and her heart slipped into her shoes. “Despite your bare cupcake, you’re safe.” He swiveled in his shiny shoes. “Inky Dots, I’m sorry to say you have been eliminated.”

  Relief rubbed a balm over the slash of panic in her heart, and Kat nearly collapsed from the letdown of adrenaline. She was here. They’d made it. Another round . . . another opportunity.

  Another chance.

  Joy surged with a fresh burst of energy, urging her toward Lucas, who waited in the back. She rushed into his hug, her frustrations over his realism earlier long gone. “We did it!” She bounced, nearly catching his chin with the top of her head.

  “You did it.” Lucas caught her and held her back so he could see her eyes. Kat warmed at the pride beneath the surface of his gaze. “This is your show.”

  He was proud of her. Again. It made her giddy. “Whatever. I couldn’t have even gotten two of the three cupcakes decorated without you.” Kat gripped his firm arms in both hands and jumped up and down, shock and hope driving her feet to move. “Remember that. We’re a team, Lucas.”

  Then she stretched up on her toes and kissed him.

  The studio tilted, then faded away as their lips lingered against each other’s. Kat leaned into his whisper-light touch, his mouth gentle against hers, and a shiver danced up her spine. The butterflies in her stomach exited an abrupt stage left as warmth seeped through her stomach, crawling up her chest until her face flushed. She was kissing Lucas.

  She. Was. Kissing. Lucas.

  Lucas was kissing her back.

  And from the way his hand moved up her neck to cup the back of her head, he didn’t intend to stop anytime soon.

  sixteen

  He’d seen Kat move pretty fast before. Once in high school when a bee had landed on the shoulder of her denim jacket outside the mall, where she had begged him to take her picture by a flowering bush, before she’d become so shy and insecure. Then again, when she’d been on her laptop at one end of her house and thought her new recipe was burning in the oven at the other end. And there was that time they’d been washing his truck, and she’d attempted to dodge his sneaky attack with a water hose.

  But he’d never seen her move as quickly as when she moved away from him after one of the cameramen let out a wolf whistle.

  Even now, strolling the breezy streets of downtown Los Angeles by her side, the memory of that kiss made his lips burn. She’d tasted even better than that magical torte of hers. Lemon, with a hint of raspberry—and a lot of extra sweetness.

  He missed her warmth, had felt the loss to the core of his gut the second she moved out of reach. The kiss had taken him off guard, though apparently not as much as it had taken her off guard. Realization had dawned with a vengeance, all because of an immature potbellied guy with a video camera.

  Still, it had been one of the best ten seconds of his life to date.

  And if anyone had ever preached on “best friends not having chemistry,” well, that argument was out the window. Gone.

  Out the window, over the river, and deep into the woods gone.

  He glanced down at Kat, subtly, as he’d done a dozen times already in the minutes it had taken them to abandon their cab and walk Main Street. She’d wanted to see the renovated area, laden with historic buildings. She had talked about it even before they left Bayou Bend—but she remained unusually quiet.

  Two guesses why, and the first one wouldn’t count.

  He matched his pace to hers, wishing she’d tuck her arm in his like she often did when they walked. But she didn’t. And then somewhere deep inside, foreboding crept in like a fog, took up residence, seeping through the cloudy edges of his subconscious. Dark and heavy. Sort of like the tension between them.

  Yeah, silence wasn’t good here.

  Torn between breaking the ice with a corny joke and forcing the topic between them to the surface, Lucas ran his fingers through his hair, opening his mouth, then closing it before he could decide the best play. He just couldn’t get the image of his ten acres out of his mind. As she always had, Kat filled center stage in the visual. Those two dreams went hand in hand, and after that connection, after that moment they’d shared a few hours ago, he couldn’t separate them if he tried. It’d be like trying to yank apart two pieces of paper that had been taped together without ripping them.

  Impossible.

  He had to say something. The silence was getting to be more unbearable than his fear of the reason behind it. Was she embarrassed?

  Or did she regret it?

  He had no idea guys actually wondered these kinds of things. He never had before, anyway, not with any girl he’d ever dated or kissed. He’d just gone with the flow, not worrying one way or another about what happened next or who was thinking what. He’d definitely never obsessed the way he did with Kat now, trying to read between the lines and interpret every nuance of her expression, shoving down his stuttering heart that stammered every time she coughed or indicated that she might be about to speak.

  If this was what women went through on a regular basis, well, he’d start a mass apology letter ASAP.

  She stopped suddenly in front of a boutique store window that was decorated with glittery pink material and filled with jewelry, and gawked. “Look at the size of that diamond.”

  He was so relieved she’d said actual words out loud that he didn’t even care what they meant. “Yeah, that’s pretty big.” He guessed. He wasn’t exactly an expert on jewels, but he sort of figured he couldn’t afford
much in any window in downtown Los Angeles. But hey, they were talking. He’d talk about cupcakes or diamonds or pantyhose or anything else she wanted.

  “I don’t think I could wear that thing even if I could ever buy it. I’d scratch myself up.” Her voice sounded a little strained, as if she were trying to shove her words around the boulder lodged between them and each syllable barely slipped through the crevices. Well, if she wasn’t going to force the topic, he wouldn’t either.

  Yet.

  “Yeah, you wouldn’t want to lose that one in cupcake batter.” Inwardly, he cheered at her responding chuckle. Progress toward normal.

  Then his eye caught a dangling charm on a silver necklace in the display, a cupcake, right there on a chain. It was small, pink with a blue wrapper and a red cherry on top . . . yet apparently valuable, if the price tag hanging from the chain was any indication of its worth. Or maybe it was just an indication of the shop owners’ opinion of their store.

  Either way, it’d look great on her, especially if she won the competition. It could be a congratulations gift . . .

  No, wait. What was he thinking? She couldn’t win.

  He couldn’t lose her.

  But the what-if in the back of his mind wouldn’t go away. They’d come close to going home today after Piper’s petty attempt at sabotage. Talk about low. He’d been happy the unsportsmanlike ploy hadn’t worked, of course—but if he were painfully honest, he wasn’t exactly thrilled that they were one step closer to winning.

  Though more than likely, if Piper hadn’t made this particular round so difficult, Kat’s exuberance at making it through the session wouldn’t have ended the way it had.

  He blew out a slow breath. What a double-edged sword. That kiss had given life to his hopes for them, but at the same time, it threatened to turn him into a villain. How could he love Kat but want her to fail?

  And why couldn’t he get several specific ideas of how Piper should have sabotaged the round out of his head? There were so many more surefire alternatives if she really wanted Kat to bomb . . .

  No. What? He wasn’t that guy. He refused to entertain the idea a second longer. He supported Kat, no matter what.

  Even if it meant gritting his teeth and banging his head against a wall.

  He glanced at her to see if she’d somehow noticed the war raging in his head, but she seemed fixated on the rest of the window display. Either that, or she was simply zoned out in thought too. Maybe her default thought process went back to that kiss every time she hesitated as well.

  He hoped so.

  But what would the kiss change if they never talked about it?

  What would change if they did?

  He swallowed hard, noted the price on the cupcake charm one more time, and then coaxed Kat away from the window. They needed to move. Walk. Stir his brain away from the dangerous ground it seemed determined to tread. “Come on, you promised me another dessert that you didn’t have to cook.”

  She finally grinned, the light from the street lamps above highlighting her hair and the purple knit cap she’d thrown on before leaving the hotel. It made her eyes pop, and when their gazes finally collided for the first time all evening, he took a step back. He couldn’t risk repeating history right there on the sidewalk in downtown Los Angeles.

  Not until he knew where she was with it all.

  Then it was game on.

  She fell into step beside him, shoving her hands in the pockets of the jacket she called a peacoat. “So what do you want?”

  He nearly stumbled, then realized she was talking about dessert options.

  “I’m thinking apple pie.” He was thinking about a whole lot more than pie, which was the problem. He shoved his own hands in his pockets, feeling like one of his awkward teenage football players instead of a coach with a wise head on his shoulders. He sort of wished someone could tackle him and knock some sense into him. Where were Darren’s texts when even Lucas realized they were needed?

  “I could go for pie.” She nodded, her hat slipping down on her forehead. She stopped walking and reached up to adjust it, but he beat her to it.

  “Hang on. Hair’s in your face.” Why was his voice so raspy? He cleared his throat, reaching up gently to tuck the wayward dark strands under the purple covering. Her cheeks were soft under his calloused fingers, and he winced at the contact. “Sorry. Hope I didn’t scratch you.”

  She reached up and covered his hand with hers, gently tugging it down and away from her face. “Not at all.” Her fingers held on a little longer than they needed to, and he fought the urge to cling to her hand like it was a life preserver. It would be so easy to pull her back into his arms and kiss her until they both forgot all about dessert.

  But what if she didn’t kiss him back?

  Or what if she did, and that step dictated the rest of their trip together, one way or another?

  Such dangerous territory, full of too many unknowns. He needed a game plan, needed a play to call, and until he had one, it was probably best to do nothing.

  Her eyes searched his, full of silent questions, and unfortunately, he didn’t have a single answer. If he opened his mouth now, he’d mumble something incoherent about ten acres and toddlers with footballs and probably just end up tossing her over his shoulder like a caveman.

  Man, they needed to talk this thing out.

  But he hated the idea of putting words to whatever floated between them, afraid a conversation would shoot sniper rounds straight into it and never give it a chance to breathe.

  As much as he wanted “next,” they needed to breathe.

  Because “next” was too important to sacrifice.

  He squeezed Kat’s fingers, then let go, putting his hand lightly on the small of her back and ushering her down the sidewalk draped in street-lamp shadows. “Let’s go find that pie.” Their silhouettes formed before them in an inaccurate picture of reality, tall and oddly thin and misshapen.

  He refused to take that as an omen.

  If mirrors could talk, hers would probably tell her to shut up.

  Kat squinted at her reflection, shoving her hair back from her forehead and then fluffing it forward with a ragged sigh. It was no use. No hairdo helped eliminate the stress lines by her eyes, the new, seemingly permanent wrinkle between her brow, nor the bags under her bottom lids that could hold a week’s worth of groceries. Short of attending that morning’s taping segment as Cousin Itt from the Addams Family, she was out of luck.

  Maybe the proverbial ten pounds the camera added would distract from her puffy, tired eyes.

  And was it any wonder? Between the stress of the show itself, the pressure of the end result looming before them, Piper’s sneaky, immature attempts at playing dirty, and her constant proximity to Lucas, well—it was just short of a miracle that she could stand upright and not stay curled in the fetal position under the hotel bedsheets.

  She ran a brush through her hair, determined not to think about Lucas and that kiss. The kiss that had—

  No.

  She brushed on a little more blush to counter her paleness and fatigue. Still not helping. She looked as tired as she felt. Sort of how Lucas had looked yesterday when they’d come back to the hotel.

  Hopefully he hadn’t noticed how strained things were between them last night. Strolling Main Street should have been a highlight of her trip, and while the apple pie they’d found in a little bakery off a side street had been a delight, and some shoe shopping afterward had been fun—at least for her—it hadn’t been enough to cover the awkwardness hovering between her and him like a—

  No.

  Oh, what was the use? Sort of like her hair and that one kinked spot by her ear, it was just as inevitable that she replay that kiss over and over in her head. Maybe it would go away if she gave it attention for a little while.

  She turned off the bathroom light, mentally reliving each moment of their lips pressed together in vivid replay, and perched shakily on the edge of the bed to put on her shoes. Her jeans w
ere too long today, the ragged edges fraying over the tops of her sneakers, but they were the only shoes that didn’t kill her feet after hours on the set. Hours she would shortly spend baking, hovering, stalling, and killing time beside Lucas.

  Funny how his name today made her want to simultaneously swoon and snarl. Why hadn’t he asked her about the kiss yet? There’d been a moment last night when she thought he would, and she had held her breath in anticipation, stomach shooting off bursts of adrenaline like the Fourth of July shot off colorful rockets.

  But then he’d just nudged her on down the sidewalk as if getting to that piece of pie was the only thing that could possibly matter. She knew the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, but good grief. Lucas couldn’t put off dessert long enough to have a discussion about something important?

  No, he could.

  And that was the problem. It wasn’t about his eagerness for pie.

  It was about his eagerness to avoid that particular conversation.

  She yanked the laces of her sneakers tighter than necessary. Great. She’d freaked him out. Again.

  Not that it hadn’t been worth it, maybe.

  But she’d messed something up, let her excitement over going on to round three turn a friendly kiss into something so much more.

  He’d kissed her back.

  Her fingers fumbled on the laces, and she scrambled to retie them. She hadn’t imagined that part. He’d kissed her, too, but the question was, why? Had his excitement about the round just taken over?

  Or had he meant it?

  And more importantly, what did they do about it now?

  Her frustration built as she tied her other shoe. She might have initiated the moment, but he was still the man. Was it too much to ask for him to step forward, speak up, and rebuild the bridge teetering between them?

  Maybe it was too much.

  Maybe she was too much.

  Tears pricked the backs of her eyelids, and she drew a ragged breath. No time to let emotions pile up today. Today mattered toward the rest of her future. Mattered more than Lucas, if she would just let that be true long enough to believe it.