“So we could go back to the Prince,” he said around a mouthful of caramel and apple.
“We played a few tricks,” the girl sighed. “He told us we couldn’t come back until we found a way to make it up to him.”
Thea hopped onto the third bar stool, grabbing for another of the partially consumed pies. “So he told you to cause trouble somewhere else, then?”
“Yes,” they both said.
“Hmph. That sounds like Forrest, all right,” Thea said, shoving a forkful into her mouth. “Always was careless with his words. And sprites aren’t smart enough to know the difference!”
“Hey!” they said.
I continued as if Thea hadn’t said anything. “But why are you ruining my chances to go to the Ball, then?”
“You can’t make those pies!” the boy said.
“Why not? Apple pie is a classic, and I don’t really specialize in anything other than pies. And everyone else will be doing pumpkin. I have to stand out if I want to win.”
“The Prince doesn’t like apples!” the boy said.
“But he loves blueberry!” the girl said.
I blinked at them. “But blueberry isn’t a fall flavor.”
“But it’s your best pie,” the boy said.
“And your favorite.” The girl grabbed a bite of pie from the pan in front of the boy.
“And his favorite,” the boy added, waggling his eyebrows.
“It’s meant to be!” the girl swooned. I could practically see the hearts in her eyes.
Thea chuckled. “Who’d’ve thought that two autumn babies would both love blueberry so much.”
“So you did all this...because I didn’t choose blueberry for my contest entry?”
“Yup,” the sprites said.
I thought for a moment. Blueberry wasn’t traditionally fall, it was true, but perhaps there was a way I could make it both stand out and fit in among the entries. And if the Prince loved blueberries already, it might just give me the edge I needed.
But there was one more thing.
“If I make blueberry, will you promise to let me bake without causing more trouble?”
They looked at each other, communicating silently. “Deal.”
Would that be enough? Or did they actually have to say the words? “Tell me you promise.”
They sighed in unison. “We promise.”
“You promise what?”
“We promise not to make any more trouble.”
“And I’ll need my potions back. At least, whatever potions you didn’t smash.”
Ruefully, sadly, they nodded and began emptying pockets too small to hold all the bottles they set on the table.
“Now, would you like to help me?”
Both sprites smiled.
Ten
Coconut Cream Pie with the Spirit of Competition
By the time we had finished negotiations, there were merely four hours until judging. That left little time for making the crust, filling, and garnishes. The Prince might just find himself with a hot pie fresh from the oven. Miraculously, the girl sprite, whose name was apparently Cardamom, had two pints of blueberries ready and waiting for me, so at least there was no need to run to the market. And according to her, they weren’t even imported; she had convinced one of the summer sprites to encourage a blueberry bush to produce one more crop for the season.
The sprites were true to their word. They didn’t cause any more trouble but instead set to work helping me as much as they could. They mixed the pie dough and rolled it out while I concentrated on converting my grandmother’s blueberry pie into something fit for the Autumn Court instead of a Summer Court. Which meant toning down the tangy citrus of summer and greeting the warm, fragrant spices of fall.
I poured the blueberries into a mixing bowl, adding just a bit of cornstarch to coat them, then began adding brown sugar; pumpkin pie spice with a little extra cardamom, anise, clove, and cinnamon; honey; and vanilla to the mixture. Then I zested one lemon and one orange right on top.
It was almost ready. There was just one little detail I’d forgotten.
“What emotion goes in a fall blueberry pie?” I moaned, staring at the perfect mix of fruit and spice.
I looked up at my shelf, everything back in its place. Bliss and serenity were certainly out of the question, though I almost wished those bottles were still smashed in the house to calm my nerves. The tendrils of hair that had escaped my messy bun during the night’s craziness were all flat gray.
My mind was blank. I didn’t know what emotion to use. I didn’t even know if I had an appropriate potion for this pie. I’d never tested a pumpkin spice blueberry pie with any of them, and sometimes my potions soured the mixture instead of sweetening it.
This was why I’d needed to experiment yesterday.
The boy, whose name was Oak, reached into his shirt pocket, extracting two bottles. One was a small blue vial I now remembered from when they picked up the blueberry pie, and I eyed it warily. But the other was a bright, warm, burnt orange color, and this was the one he held out to me.
“Use this,” he said.
Cautiously, I took it and pulled the tiny cork free with a pop. The same vision of dancing and swirling leaves wafted up from the open bottle, but this one also had a toasty campfire and warm mulled wine and cozy blankets and fond embraces.
He’d given me a party! An autumn party!
I couldn’t stop the smile from taking over my entire face. “Thank you! This is perfect!”
“Just don’t use too much,” he cautioned.
“Yeah,” Cardamom said. “Or else no one will want to go to the real party!”
I nodded and turned back to my bowl, feeling confident again. I nodded a second time, at the mixture, then began pouring Oak’s concoction in drop by drop, until the fragrance of pumpkin spice and blueberry and autumn all mingled like the warmth of a harvest party. I plucked one coated blueberry out of the mixture, testing the uncooked concoction. It was a little hard to tell without baking the filling, but usually the raw ingredients would have an obvious foul odor and taste if the potion was the wrong type or if I’d added too much.
The blueberry was perfect: a bit tart but surrounded in warm, fragrant sweetness.
I filled two pie shells, and the smaller shell for Thea, who actually smiled at me, and added a crumble to the top before setting the pies in the oven to bake.
***
The pies were done only forty-five minutes before judging, and they still had to cool. The sprites and I danced around the kitchen impatiently, waiting, while Thea munched on another apple pie. At some point, Thea pushed me up to the bedroom to change and put on some deodorant, telling me how much I needed it. I thought I heard the doorbell while I was changing, but Thea must have taken care of it, judging from the warm rumble of her voice drifting up the stairs. I reappeared too quickly in a bulky hunter-green sweater, brown leggings, and tall brown boots, but whoever was at the door was already gone.
Then we were all back to waiting. Several times I had to scold Oak and Cardamom when they began trying to eat my house again, but it didn’t stop them from trying over and over.
I really hoped we could fix that. And my website. And anything else that might have gone wrong while I was busy with the pies and the sprites. But there wasn’t time to worry about it now.
As soon as the pies were remotely cool enough, I packed them into a basket that had been passed down from my grandmother—a large, sturdy thing with a quilted cover depicting a fresh pie. Then, all four of us hurried out the door.
The town was abuzz with excitement. Children ran by, laughing and screaming with their games, and adults strolled the sidewalks with paper cups full of hot cider, mulled wine, or hot chocolate. The scents of wood smoke and fresh, savory food danced on the cool October wind. There were booths with games, carnival rides, and other competitions filling the park, but we had no time to admire or enjoy any of them. If we didn’t check in at least fifteen minutes prior to judging
, my pie would be disqualified.
I checked the time on my phone, and we doubled our pace.
Finally, we reached the tent in the center of the park where the sign for the contest was posted. I spoke to the lady at the registration table, one of Mom’s friends from church, and was given my name badge and placard to fill out.
Pumpkin Spice Blueberry Pie, I proudly wrote in curling calligraphy.
I thanked her, handing back the shining gold pen (Fae magic?). Oak and Cardamom bounded down the aisle to find our number, and Thea and I followed more slowly, scoping out the competition.
So. Much. Pumpkin. And apple.
It was a good thing the sprites had convinced me to go with blueberry, even if it was a little out-there. None of my pies would have stood out in a crowd of these brown and orange and yellow desserts. The Prince’s taste buds would be exhausted by the time he got to mine, number thirty-one.
We finally reached my spot among the lines of tables, and none too soon. At the end of the row, I could see a gathering of Fae already examining dessert number one, the air glimmering around them.
They were early.
Thea and I carefully arranged the pies on the table and the provided cake stand, trying to make them look as artful as possible without the aid of the decorations most of the other entrants were utilizing. But then Oak and Cardamom reappeared with handfuls of leaves, acorns, and blueberries, adding a little fall magic to the magical pies.
“Thank you.” I smiled at them, butterflies flitting around my stomach.
More and more of my hair turned gray with anxiety as we watched the procession make its way slowly down the aisles toward us. It was stark silver by the time they were two desserts ahead.
And then the judges were there. The whole Fae committee, headed up by the Prince himself. He turned to face me, his hunter-green tunic matching my sweater and his eyes a bright (and familiar) sunflower yellow.
My jaw dropped. “Emmett?”
His smile quirked, and my heart flopped in my chest. “It’s Forrest, actually. Emmett is my middle name.” He glanced at my hair. “I love the new color. Very frosty.”
I blushed, heat climbing from my toes to my scalp. I didn’t correct him, tell him it was just my nerves changing the color, but I didn’t have to. The embarrassment shifted the shade from silver to a rosy pink.
He looked down at my dessert, his eyes intrigued.
Oh, those eyes!
“So what do you have for us?” he said, oblivious to my inner swooning. His smiling eyes flicked to Oak and Cardamom and Thea, then back to me, boring into me with the intensity of the sun.
“Pumpkin spice blueberry pie,” I said, slicing into the perfect pies and preparing plates for each member of the Fae committee.
The Fae murmured among themselves, an excited ripple as they glanced at the Prince and then each other, tittering behind long, slender fingers.
But all of them fell silent as they bit into their slice of blueberry pie. Well, other than a few moans of pleasure.
I could feel the anxiety and embarrassment fade as pride took center stage. My pie was good. Like, really good. And the Prince’s eyes, those beautiful, gorgeous, bright eyes, kept returning to me.
Once they had all tried the pie and made notes on their scorecards, the group moved off, but not before Prince Forrest offered me a wink and a smile.
As soon as they moved on, I turned to my Fae friends, and we all squealed in delight. We might just have a chance at this.
Eleven
Pumpkin Spice Blueberry with the Best Autumn Party Ever!
It would be another hour before the judges completed their evaluations, and the winner wouldn’t be announced until the evening’s festivities. I tried to enjoy the festival with Thea and the sprites, but anxiety kept resurfacing and obscuring any fun I was having. Eventually, we sat down in the food tent with mugs of hot cider and wine and huge plates piled high with turkey, potatoes, and vegetables.
And then it was finally time.
Right before the night’s live music, the mayor and Prince Forrest climbed the stairs to the stage near city hall, the Prince’s hob assistant holding a stack of cards that was half her size.
My heart fluttered in my chest, and I suddenly regretted all that food at dinner, and the wine I’d washed it down with. I clenched my hands together to stop picking at the loose threads in my scarf and stared at the stage without blinking.
The mayor approached the mic amidst cheering and drunken yelling. He smiled brightly and held up his hands while other city hall officials tended the bonfire near the stage, its light reflecting off his glasses and outlining him in bright orange.
“Welcome, Cider Hollow!” he boomed, and the people cheered again. “It’s another glorious fall day, and a perfect day to welcome our Fae friends to our small community. Thank you all for opening your arms so warmly to them.” He turned slightly toward the Prince. “And thank you, Prince Forrest, for selecting our small town to be the beneficiary of your Harvest Ball! I know I can’t wait to attend, and I hope many of the town will visit as well!”
The Prince smiled and nodded. He said something to the mayor, but he was too far away, and the crowd too rowdy, to hear.
“And without further ado,” the mayor continued, “let’s welcome the Prince to announce the winner of the dessert competition!”
He stepped aside, clapping as the Prince and the hob stepped forward. Thea and the sprites grasped my hands, the two sprites sharing one of them, and we bounced on our toes, all anxious to hear the outcome.
All I could think about was the lost revenue. The broken website. The opportunities this contract would mean for Pie-Jinks, and the loss I could suffer if I didn’t win.
And of course the Prince. His eyes. Those lips kissing mine.
I flushed and banished the thought. It was time to focus.
“Thank you, Cider Hollow. I could not have asked for a warmer welcome, and we are excited to throw the Harvest Ball with all of you next Saturday!” the Prince said in that delicious British accent.
More cheering.
After it died down, he continued, reaching a hand toward the hob. “And now, our runner-up for the dessert competition.” He opened an envelope, reading quickly. “Annette Green, homebaker, for her unique take on a pumpkin cobbler.”
The hob stepped forward, holding out a gleaming, glowing silver medal. A scream came from the crowd, and the sea of people parted to allow a squealing Annette to approach the stage. She accepted her medal amidst more screaming and cheering, then retreated to her family and friends.
The hob prepared another envelope and a trophy that had a pie at the top gleaming with gold and magic.
“And now, the winner of the competition, this lovely trophy, and the contract for the Harvest Ball desserts...” He paused, glancing up at the crowd, then tore open the envelope.
My heart pounded in my chest. I almost couldn’t hear anymore, the crowd’s roar suddenly gone and my pulsing blood taking its place.
This was it. Either I would win and my finances would be secure for at least the next couple months, or I would lose and have to come up with a plan B...or start moving back to my parents’.
“Pie-Jinks for their incredible—and unexpected—pumpkin spice blueberry pie!”
The crowd erupted in cheers, and I stood frozen in place, staring at the stage.
Did I hear it right? Could it really be...?
Warmth blossomed in my stomach, and my hair shifted from anxious gray to overjoyed yellow. Sunshine yellow, the same color as Emmett’s—no, Forrest’s—gorgeous eyes.
Thea gave me a slight nudge. “Go get your prize!”
The two sprites ran behind me and began pushing at my knees. When I finally started moving my wooden legs, they stepped back and continued jumping up and down in place.
The cheers were deafening as I reached the steps up to the stage and took them slowly, afraid I’d fall on my face. But the Prince waited patiently, beaming, his
eyes glittering and the air shimmering around him. I reached cold hands toward the hob to accept the trophy, then turned back to the Prince, tears in my eyes.
“Thank you,” I said softly as the first of the tears slid down my cheek and my glasses fogged with the heat of my emotion.
“You deserve it,” he said.
My heart pounded in my chest. I’d made a bold choice, and it had paid off. My bakery was safe, at least for now, and I could finally see my future as a baker.
But there was just one more thing I had to do, one thread left loose.
I leaned in toward Emmett—Prince Forrest. “Would...would you like to get coffee with me?”
Epilogue
A Simple Cup of Coffee
I set the last of the pumpkin spice blueberry pies—as well as a few other more standard desserts—on the table and stepped back, admiring my and the sprites’ work. The table was loaded to capacity with baked goods of every kind, and it shimmered with magic and the bright colors of autumn.
I’d done most of the baking at home, now thankfully removed of its candy and cookie parts and back to its old quaint self, but the final touches had to be done here, in the middle of the woods, right before the Harvest Ball.
And the woods were spectacular indeed. The Fae had outdone themselves: fairy lights glittering in trees; small, intimate fires spread around a large clearing; large tables piled high with both human and Fae fare. A few guests had already arrived, including my parents and the King and Queen of the Autumn Court, and stood sipping warm spiced drinks at the fires.
I felt someone approaching behind me, and I turned slightly to see Prince Forrest, resplendent in a burnt-orange tunic with gold detailing. My heart fluttered at his approach, the butterflies in my stomach doing backflips. We’d been on a couple dates that week, and I hadn’t been so happy since my first sale at Pie-Jinks. And he’d been by the house/bakery several times, helping to clean up after the sprites and fix my broken (vanished) website. Apparently the sprites thought I needed to focus on the contest more and my business less.
Seasons of Magic Volume 1 Page 12