by Tracy March
Cole had been so intent on making his pie and stealing glances at Liza that he hadn’t paid attention to what had been going on out front.
“Go on and say hi,” Paige said. “I’ll bring the pies in a little bit.”
Cole started to take off his chef’s apron—now stained with red and blue—but Paige stopped him. “Leave it on. It’ll give you some cred.”
Cole met Liza near the door. He tried to get a look at her pie, but she’d blocked it from his view. He’d done the same thing.
“Feeling confident?” he taunted good-naturedly.
“You didn’t smell anything burning, did you?”
“I figured that would be your grand finale—Orioles pie flambé.” He grinned. “Smarter to set the pie on fire in front of the judges. It might get you the sympathy vote.”
“Whatever it takes to beat you.”
“You’re not going to win.”
She playfully tipped up her chin. “Wanna bet?”
Her offer shocked him. He was so sure he would win, and he was so sure she knew it. “All right.” He couldn’t keep the cocky smile off his face.
“If I win…” She bit her lip as she thought about her wager. Cole gazed appreciatively at her mouth, knowing exactly what his wager was going to be. “I want you to give me autographed baseball cards for the BADD camp kids.”
It struck him how she’d picked something for others, instead of choosing something for herself. Cole remembered being a teenager headed to camp, carrying along his cherished John Sutherland card that he’d hoped to get autographed. He wasn’t keen on Sutherland now, but going to the guy’s camp had paved his way to the major league. Whether he won or not, he’d be happy to give Liza some signed cards for the boys going to camp next year.
“And you have to sing,” she said.
Crap. Now he had to win. There was no way he was going to sing in front of her or anyone else.
“What about you?” She cocked her head and he caught himself checking out the smooth skin along the curve of her neck.
“Hmm,” he murmured, as if he hadn’t already decided. “If I win, I get to kiss you.”
She blushed and quickly looked away. He could’ve sworn he’d seen a flash of fear in her eyes.
“Out you go, you two,” Paige called.
Still wondering about Liza’s reaction, Cole stepped into the front of the bakery with her and stopped short when he saw who was there. His heart thudded like a pitch in the dirt. Seated around the two-top tables that had been pushed together to form one big one were Mack and Brenda, Frank, and three sports bloggers Cole recognized. But with them sat John and Sylvia Sutherland.
Shit.
Frank had given him the rundown of who would be coming, and it hadn’t included them. Who invited Sutherland to ruin our pie contest? Cole couldn’t believe such a thought had actually crossed his mind. He never guessed he’d be hoping to win a pie contest, and he sure as hell hadn’t thought he’d have to cross paths with Sutherland tonight.
He took a deep breath, reining in his frustration. Sports bloggers were there and watching. Everything he did or said would be fair game, and he and Frank wanted all the press to be about his new relationship.
He glanced at Liza, who smiled at him, innocently beaming. “You invited everyone here?” she asked.
Frank must have invited the Sutherlands. It would make sense, even though Cole didn’t like the idea. He remembered Frank saying it was all about the optics. This happy-family gathering with Liza’s parents was a good way to convince the bloggers that Cole was serious about her.
“Frank rustled up the judges,” he said.
Paige came out of the kitchen with dessert plates, forks, and pink-and-yellow-striped napkins. “I told you the judges would be handpicked and hungry.”
Cole and Liza said their hellos to the bloggers, and Cole proudly introduced her to Frank.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Price,” she said, blushing. The guy was a big-time agent, and she was a true sports fan, so she might’ve been a little starstruck.
Mack introduced her to Brenda, then they got around to Sylvia. Cole swallowed hard.
“Mom,” Liza said. “You remember Cole.”
Sylvia opened her arms and gave him a warm hug. For a moment he felt as if nothing had changed, as if years of struggling hadn’t shaped him into the person he’d become. “We’ve missed you,” she said with a motherly smile. Her eyes sparkled with sincerity, and he noticed that they were the same shade of green as Liza’s.
Cole nodded, working to look pleasant. “Nice to see you again.” And he kind of meant that. He’d always been fond of Sylvia. But John was the one he hoped had missed him. Missed every stinkin’ stolen base, defensive out, and run he’d scored for the Nationals and not for the Orioles.
John stood next to Sylvia, looking straight at Cole, his lips pressed into a smile. He was several inches shorter than Cole—but that was still pretty tall—and he’d aged a little over the years. Even so, he was still a striking figure, in fighting shape, with a full head of silver hair. Cole faced him, feeling a little sick—like he shouldn’t have done so much nibbling and licking the bowl while he’d been baking.
“Dad,” Liza said, looking from John to Cole. “I don’t think you two need an introduction.”
Damn straight…
Cole wanted to throttle Frank for putting him in this position. But Frank hadn’t known the history, and Liza and the Sutherlands did come across as the picture-perfect family for Cole to be associated with.
John extended his hand and Cole shook it firmly, wishing he wasn’t wearing a chef’s apron right then. “Good to see you, Cole,” John said, sounding pretty convincing. But Cole had fallen for his fatherly shtick before. “Heck of a season you’ve got going.”
No thanks to you. Cole’s pulse pounded in his ears. “It’s been a lot of fun.”
Liza narrowed her eyes and shifted her gaze from Cole to her father.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Paige called as she came out of the kitchen balancing a covered pie on a tray in either hand. “It’s time for the celebrity pie death match.”
Everyone chuckled but Cole, who managed a small smile.
“I’m not a celebrity,” Liza said.
“Play along, girl,” Paige teased as she set the pies on a cart. “I’m trying to create some drama here.” She rolled the cart in front of the table where everyone could see it.
“Some things never change,” Liza quipped.
Paige motioned Liza and Cole over to the cart. They stepped behind it, and she stood between them.
“In the left corner,” Paige said, “we have Miss Liza Sutherland from Birdland, the home of the Baltimore Orioles. She’s made an Os pie that’s sure to be a hit with everyone.”
Cole groaned at the lame pun, along with several others. “Except me,” he joked.
Paige whipped the cover off of Liza’s pie. “Liza, tell them about your offering.”
Cole got his first look at the competition and was thankful he hadn’t had to work with black and orange. But he had to give Liza credit. Her pie was artfully done, even though it looked like something you’d whip up for Halloween. He winked at her, just to let her know he wasn’t intimidated.
She smirked at him playfully and straightened her back, looking tough, and he couldn’t help thinking about their bet. The girl could smirk all she wanted, but he was still going to get that kiss. He was amazed how real his desire felt in a relationship that was supposed to be fake.
“I started with an Oreo crust,” Liza said, “otherwise known as Oriole crust.”
Cole shook his head, while everyone chuckled.
“Then I filled it with a mix of vanilla ice cream, vanilla flavoring, and whipped cream.” Liza cupped her hand around her mouth and
whispered loud enough for everyone to hear. “I added orange food coloring—”
“That’s unnatural!” Cole said.
Liza lifted her hands, palms up. “I mean, come on. Try to make something orange that’s not pumpkin or sweet potato.”
“Then you would have lost for sure,” he teased. He couldn’t believe he was having this much fun with Sutherland in the room.
“That’s unsportsmanlike,” she said with a grin. “Where’s a good umpire when you need one?”
Frank hooted, and several others joined in. Paige seemed pleased that everything was going so well. Cole liked seeing Liza so animated and happy. The bloggers were captivated by her, and he could see why.
He was a little captivated himself.
“Then,” Liza said, “I added crushed Oreo cookies and brownie bits to the mix, so you have all that yummy texture and a rich vanilla ice cream taste. I topped it with a band of whipped cream with orange sprinkles and put a Sugar Sheet Orioles logo on an Oreo medallion and stood it up in the middle.” She gestured toward her pie in a Vanna White kind of way, and everyone clapped and whistled. Cole gave her props, too. Her pie looked good, but he was sure his had hers whipped.
“In the right corner,” Paige said after things calmed down, “we have Mr. Cole Collins of Natstown, home of the Washington Nationals. He’s knocked it out of the park with his Nats pie.”
Everyone groaned again, and Paige giggled.
“Cole, tell them about your pie.” She pulled the cover off.
Several people oohed and aahed, and Liza’s eyes widened. Cole gave her a gotcha look, and wondered how soon he could get his kiss.
“Wow,” Mack said. “That’s a heck of a good-lookin’ pie. If baseball doesn’t work out for you—”
Frank slapped his hand against his heart. “Don’t even say that out loud.”
“I started with a graham cracker crust,” Cole said. “Otherwise known as Nationals crust.”
Liza scrunched her nose and shook her head, then she busted out laughing with everyone else. “Those have nothing to do with each other.”
Cole nodded. “Now they do.”
“Then I mixed up a mean traditional pound cake. You know, butter, eggs, milk, sugar, vanilla—that wholesome all-American stuff—and baked it in the pie crust.”
“Then that’s not a pie,” Liza said. “It’s a cake. You’re disqualified.”
“Yours isn’t a pie, either. It’s ice cream.” Cole grinned. They sounded like five-year-olds. “We’ve got a double disqualification, or we keep this match alive.”
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” one of the bloggers called out—the one Cole would’ve least expected to join in. The guy had always been kind of quiet and serious behind his rimless glasses and side-parted hair. Everyone but Liza joined in the chant, clapping in rhythm.
She shook her head after the noise died down, an exasperated smile on her face. “Go on. Finish telling us about your cake-pie.”
“So then I added a layer of chocolate mousse—”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Liza said. “It’s a mousse-cake-pie?”
“And yours is an ice-cream-cookie-brownie-pie.”
Standing between them, Paige shrugged. “I couldn’t have scripted this any better.” She put her hand on Liza’s shoulder. “Can Cole finish now?”
“Yes.” Liza gave him a flirty, knowing look, as if it was inevitable she would lose and he’d be kissing her soon.
Happily distracted by the idea, he scrambled to get himself back in the game. “On top of the mousse is a layer of whipped cream, which made a nice white background for the star in the center—fresh raspberries edged with a double line of fresh blueberries. My round, Sugar Sheet red-on-white curly W logo is stuck on a pick in the middle, marking this as the official mousse-cake-pie of the Washington Nationals.”
The group applauded, and Cole nodded appreciatively. “Wait till you taste it.” He grinned. “I won’t mind if you call me Paula Deen.”
Paige raised a shiny silver pie server in front of her. “Judges, those are our contenders. Now it’s time to eat some pie and pick a winner.”
…
Liza tasted both pies, sure that hers would be ten times better than Cole’s. But it wasn’t. Hers was simple goodness, and she’d have been proud to take it to a potluck. But Cole’s was incredible, with its layers of pound cake, chocolate mousse, and whipped cream. Add the graham cracker crust and berries, and his was a grand slam.
Across the room, Cole chatted with Mack and Brenda, looking relaxed and heart-stoppingly hot, all broad-shouldered and blond. Liza might as well be sixteen again. Sometimes she forgot to breathe when she looked at him.
Could she really date Cole for two months and not fall for him? He had everything any girl could want, and he could bake, too. Even so, there was no way she was going to vote for his Nationals pie-cake-mousse-cobbler-whatever. She voted for her Orioles pie. Go Birds!
“The votes have been counted,” Paige announced, “and I’ve saved them in case of a lawsuit.” She grinned. “Ladies and gentlemen, the smackdown goes to Cole’s Nationals pie.”
Everyone clapped, and Frank chanted, “Paula Deen, Paula Deen.”
Cole grabbed the sides of his apron and did a mock curtsy that had the bloggers clambering for their cameras.
“Was it close?” Liza asked.
Paige grimaced. “Um, ten to one.”
“Ten to one?” Liza shot an incredulous look at her mom and dad. “Even my own parents didn’t vote for my Orioles pie?” She smiled and shook her head. “What gives? You guys are co-owners of the team.”
“Never let it be said that I don’t play fair.” Her dad slung his arm around her and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a hitch in Cole’s expression. But when she looked at him square on, it was gone.
“I’m sorry, sweetie.” Her dad patted his stomach. “But that Nationals pie deserved a division title.”
“Thanks,” Cole said, but didn’t look at her dad. He swept his gaze over everyone gathered at the tables. “I was thinking more World Series.”
The contest had distracted Liza, but now that it was over, she couldn’t think about anything but the kiss she owed Cole.
Her stomach churned. She’d had too much pie, but that wasn’t why. The crazy thing was that she wanted to kiss him. The battle between guilt and excitement had her torn up inside. Guilt over Wes…guilt over her deal with Frank. And how could she not fall for Cole if he was going to be kissing her and making his All-Star moves? She should’ve thought a lot further ahead than she had, but she’d been focused on everything BADD could do with Frank’s donation. She pinched her eyes closed for a moment. This was her fault. She’d agreed to Frank’s terms, and she’d challenged Cole to the bet to begin with.
Liza stepped next to Cole, figuring a coy way to pay up. She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He smelled like cake, with a tinge of that blue-scented cologne. “Congratulations,” she said, loudly enough for others to hear, then whispered in his ear, “You won the bet—that was your kiss.”
He casually skimmed his fingers across her lower back and clutched her waist, pulling her close. “There’s no chance you’re gonna get away with that.” His voice was as rich as warm honey and nearly twice as sweet. He gave her a slow-and-easy smile with that perfect mouth, and a flurry of tingles swirled through her. “The bet was that I get to kiss you.”
Liza’s heart did a backflip.
They said good-bye to everyone and insisted on helping Paige clean up. She and Liza headed to the kitchen while Cole stayed out front and put the tables and chairs back in place.
“You could’ve hooked me up with a better recipe,” she teased Paige as she wiped the tops of the stainless steel tables in the kitchen. She and Cole had made a mess of the place.
“Yours was scrumptious.” Paige ran steaming water into one of the deep sinks, and frothy bubbles rose between the dirty bowls and pans, stacked several high. “And using orange and black was a challenge.”
“Remind me to pick my next favorite team based on their colors.” Liza joined Paige at the sink and started rinsing the freshly scrubbed pans Paige handed her.
“My heart was on your side.” Paige raised her eyebrows suggestively. “But other parts of me were rooting for Cole.”
“I know what you mean.”
Paige nudged Liza’s shoulder. “I say go for it.”
“This is only our second date.” And it isn’t what it looks like. It’s all part of a slimy scheme to help me meet my fund-raising goals. Liza was thankful Paige wasn’t watching her closely. She had an uncanny ability to read Liza’s mind.
“So what? You’ve known the guy since you were sixteen, and crushed on him for years.”
Liza shook her head. “You’re hopeless.”
“Come on. Your friends and family approve—that’s pretty obvious. You can’t tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind.”
“I just don’t want to make a mistake.” She tipped her head toward the front of the bakery where Cole was finishing moving the tables and chairs. “He’s dated so many women—I mean, Victoria’s-Secret-model kind of women. Now he wants me?”
Paige lifted her hand out of the water and flipped it dismissively. Soapsuds splattered against the backsplash. “You’ve got way more going on than any airhead angel model. Cole’s smart enough to see that. And he’s with you, isn’t he? Jeez—he freakin’ proposed to you.”
“That wasn’t real.”
“Even so, that stunt with the reporters last night told me he’s pretty interested in keeping you around. But then you two came in here today and I saw it for myself. He’s crazy about you. And you’re crazy if you don’t see it.”
“Don’t see what?” Cole asked from behind them.
Liza’s stomach leaped into her throat. She turned so quickly that she almost wrenched her neck. Paige was just a beat behind her.
Cole leaned against the doorjamb, casually folding the apron he’d taken off.