The lovely woman at the other end of the long table jumped in. “I’m Charlotte King Royale—”
“Boss 1,” Peg confirmed Gretchen’s suspicions. “Aka. Charlie.”
“Nice to meet you.” Gretchen moved to her, noting the very pregnant lady. She shook hands, realizing the hidden strength in her grip and in her direct gaze.
“You’re interrupting our meeting. Obviously you must know what it’s about.” Her smile reached her eyes. “Just how did you get by security?”
“Details?” Peg snorted. “My slip-up. Never you mind.”
“Peg?” Griffin didn’t seem to want to let it go.
“I know, you can still fire me. Yada! Yada! Yada!”
Gretchen chuckled and so did most of the others. Griffin, however, did crack a smile. Promising.
As they were talking, Rico had passed around the goodies and the two other King sisters were biting in their pastries.
A knock sounded at the door and it opened a second later. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic. Call from my overzealous sister…” Noah held up his cell phone and stopped in his tracks. “I missed something, didn’t I?”
God, he was good at playing along! And even more handsome! Why did she forget that part when she wasn’t with him?
“Blackstock, you know Miss Hart already.” Griffin seemed to gauge their reaction.
“Baby, right? Spit up all over your face. Can’t forget that, now can I?” He cringed as he made his way to the only empty seat.
Gretchen couldn’t help but take note of how broad his shoulders were in that black T-shirt or how fitted his faded jeans were. Gulp!
“Leave the puke out of the conversation, will ya?” Rico slid a small box toward Noah. “Try.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
“No.” Charlie’s firm voice bounced off the walls.
Gretchen flinched. “As in what exactly?” No, you can’t compete? Or no, you need to leave?
“Judges cannot taste test prior to the competition.”
Her heart stopped beating for half a second as she caught Noah’s bold gaze. She jerked her head away and centered her attention on the owner of King’s.
“I’ll escort you out, Miss Hart.”
Nope, it might have just jumped up to her throat now. “You’re kicking me out. Of the contest?” The words were gritty and dry in her mouth.
Charlie hefted herself out of the chair, laughing. “Talk about a bun in the oven.”
The strained air filled with nervous chuckles.
In less than three minutes, Gretchen stood outside the glass doors of King’s executive offices and stared at the boss. Her future rested in this woman’s hands.
“I’m sorry. I want a fair chance.”
“Do you?” But Charlie smiled as she searched her face.
“Of course.”
“Max and Danny rave about your treats so often I feel like I know you already. And I heard about Noah helping you yesterday.”
Gretchen shrugged. Was there no way to erase that image? Noah, so damned concerned, stepped in and saved the day. Now, would that act of kindness ruin her chances?
“I saw and felt the way you two avoided each other in there.” She rubbed her stomach. “Uh, another kick. No rest for momma.”
Her dreamy smile stirred a well of deep-seated emotions in Gretchen. “Can I?”
“Here.” Charlie held her hand against the upper portion of her extended belly. “Wait for it…”
The hard poke took Gretchen by surprise. She gasped and pulled back her hand. “Wow, that smarts, doesn’t it?” She giggled and looked up at Charlie.
“My family means everything to me.” Charlie’s whispered words struck a chord.
“Me, too. Mine, that is. There’s only three of us, but…”
“You’d do anything for them, wouldn’t you? Including risking failure or embarrassment, just to give them anything you could.”
“How did you know?”
“Been there. Done that.”
“I’m all they have.”
“I know.”
Shaking her head, she frowned.
“What? Didn’t you think I’d check you out? Besides Max and Danny’s stellar endorsements, of course. By the way, if it were up to them, you’d win the contest hands down.”
A cold, sinking sensation settled in her gut. “I’m out then.”
“You should be.”
“Should?”
“I’m using my one and only exemption in the contest. Executive privilege, we call it. We get to use it on this round and only this round. It’s in the rules.”
Gretchen pressed a hand to her chest, gasping for air. “You mean—me?”
“Yes. You’re in.”
“Why? Have you even tasted anything I baked yet?” You couldn’t keep your yap shut just this once? What if she changes her mind?
“Sometimes, Gretchen, it’s about guts and determination. Sometimes it’s not about what you can do at the moment, but it’s about what you will do. What you dream of and what’s in a person’s heart.”
She gulped at the intense, probing stare. “I won’t let you down, Charlie.”
“See that you don’t, Miss Hart.”
Chapter 9
Long, grueling days of watching Gretchen go through the rigors of the baking contest without speaking to her bothered Noah more than he dared admit.
Her concentration blocked him and everything else out.
Silently, his admiration grew. He cheered her on, hoping she’d get through round after round. However, this part seemed especially dicey because they’d stacked the decks in smaller groups, eliminating several contestants at a time as they headed toward the last hours of the day.
As a judge, he observed the skill, techniques, and overall decision-making of the entries, noting the stiff competition side by side at baking stations in the large converted space where King’s housewares department transformed into the reality baking show.
“Pretty darn good, don’t you think?” Marcus halted beside him and crossed his arms over his chest.
“High caliber.”
“Even for some of the self-taught ones, too. Dolly,” he nodded to the sweet, older woman, fussing with some of the assistants, “can’t wait to start tasting.”
Noah grinned. “A force to be reckoned with.”
“You’re telling me.”
“Mr. Marcus, don’t you think we should give them a hand?” Dolly halted in front of them. “You know,” she winked, “that chocolate soufflé has my name all over it.”
“No can do, my friend.”
She threw up her hands. “What’s a judge for anyway, honey, if you can’t eat any?”
“I’ve got some more wine coming today. The judges can commiserate later over a glass or two.”
“Make it three and you got me, handsome.” She nudged his arm. “Don’t tell my Eddie, though. He says I get silly when I drink wine. Huh, me?” Her chuckle rang through the air, causing them to join in.
Marcus groaned. “Don’t look now, but the cameras are headed our way.”
“When I signed on, I didn’t think my face would be splashed all over King’s website,” Noah muttered. He glanced at his cell phone and tucked it in his top shirt pocket. His sister, Bethany, would surely have more comments about his frequent appearances on the daily feed. According to her, Blackstock wine sales were up—especially with women buyers—due to his mug being plastered on the Internet. Oh, the price he was paying to revive the winery!
“Not my favorite thing, either. Dolly, head them off at the pass, will you?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Marcus. I got some commentary I just gotta get out of me.” She practically jogged to the four-man crew. “Hey, fellas!”
They cheered at the sight of her, knowing she was far more entertaining than the male judges.
“Phew! Close one.” Hopefully, his sister wouldn’t have anything to say today, especially if his time was limited on the broadcast. All up until the fina
ls.
“The consequences to this, I’m afraid.” He looked around and nodded to an area maybe ten yards away. “Have you noticed those three over there? They’re battling it out.”
Noah’s voice stuck. Yeah, he’d seen it. Too bad Gretchen was among them. He never thought she’d get this far, not when the group she was in seemed to see her as a weak link. On day two, he assumed she was a goner. She hung tough and edged out the win, earning her and the rest of her group a higher ranking position.
“Neck and neck.”
“It’s down to a few groups and then individuals at seven, right?” He’d briefly read through the rules and process. For lack of time, King’s weeded out thousands of contestants, lumped entrants in groups, and had mini bake-offs every few hours to narrow the field to a manageable one.
“Lucky seven will be transferred to the top tier and that’s when the competition really heats up, no pun intended.”
“Time’s up!” a male voice called out over the microphone.
A collective groan rose from the bakers.
Gretchen wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, leaving flour and who knew what behind.
God, she was adorable in her pink Just Desserts T-shirt decorated with various ingredients, the dark smudges under her eyes, and the way she glowed. Her cute smile inched across her lips—the luscious lips he ached to kiss again—now as the guy shoved the mic in her face. Noah strolled closer, hoping to hear what she had to say.
“How do you think you did, Gretchen?” He squatted down to stay out of the camera angle. He seemed a little too familiar with her.
That tidbit concerned Noah. He’d stayed as far away as possible while this guy got closer to her, placing an arm around her shoulder to interview her the other day, to nudging her when she showed him how to fold instead of stir, and to playfully grab her wooden spoon away so she had to reach around him to get it. Yeah, this guy did not do that with all the contestants.
“That was a tough one, Zane. A second sooner and I wouldn’t have plated my sticky buns.” Gretchen shook her head and sighed.
The slightly older woman on her team sauntered over. “And we all know she has big bums—oops, I mean, buns, don’t we?” Her overly dyed green hair stuck out like a sore thumb. And the fake giggle and the loud snort that followed made everyone cringe.
“You should be a comedian, Hilda.” Gretchen rolled her eyes, which caused the mic guy to chuckle.
A slow burn began in Noah’s gut. He didn’t think. He reacted. “Gretchen Hart, isn’t it?”
She cut a glance to him and then looked away. “Wow, you remembered!”
“Don’t forget me, sugar!” The woman bent forward and stuck her hand across Gretchen to get to him. “I’m the next winner of the baking contest.”
“That’s to be determined.”
Her face fell and then she pasted on a smile as she pulled away. “Oh, you know, I’m just teasing you, Noah. I can call you Noah, can’t I?”
Going around the counter, he stood beside Gretchen. She came up to his shoulder. And she smelled like vanilla. He sucked in a sharp breath. Noah glanced up and nodded at the camera. “So Gretchen, what’s your favorite dessert to bake? The go-to one when you’re in a pinch? Your comfort food? I’m sure the viewers would love to know.”
“Mine is chocolate cake with buttercream icing,” Hilda piped up.
“So…simple.” Noah switched from boring at the last minute, highly aware they were being filmed.
“I make an awesome whiskey cake,” Gretchen confessed.
“Whiskey?” He planted a hand on his chest. “I’m wounded. Why not wine?”
She actually blushed, a delicate dusting of pink over her cheeks. “I’ll have to try that next time.”
Something warm splashed through him—warm and delicious. “Blackstock makes several wines you can practice with.” Was he flirting with her?!
“Recommendations?”
“Hey, how’s it going over here?” Marcus interrupted, slapping Noah on the back. “Great techniques, ladies. This phase is ready to be taste tested and then we see who goes on to the next level.”
Silently, Noah thanked Marcus for cutting in when he did. How much of a fool can you make of yourself? However, by the odd look from the mic guy, he knew he had exposed his growing attraction to Gretchen.
Whoa! Did I just think that?
He glanced at the red light on the camera. Had it picked up the undercurrents? His cell phone buzzed with a message. If he were a mind reader, he’d bet his sister had seen something and let him know.
Can you say, disaster in the making?
***
Gretchen let out a shaky breath. Noah Blackstock was not good for her health. That slight grin and the way he cocked one eyebrow… Do not go there, Gretch!
He occupied her mind way too much, especially now when she should focus on the bakery orders for the next day. Pulling all-nighters hadn’t done her in. However, Noah surely would if he kept insisting on watching her every time they were near each other.
Tingles sprinkled through her, like fine crystals of sugar dancing in her veins. She groaned. “Just say no!” she whispered under her breath.
“Earth to Gretchen!” Harrison stood there with a sleepy Lola in his arms.
“Hey, how long have you been standing there?” What had she said out loud?
“Couple minutes. I’m off to tend bar.”
“What? Wait! When did you get the job?”
“I mentioned it this morning.” His dark frown stopped her cold. “You okay, sis?”
“Distracted. Sorry.”
“Look, Jana’s still out sick. And you're working too much with the bakery and the contest. I can pitch in more during the days—”
“But your woodworking. You need to find time for that. Don’t you have that piece to finish for whatshername?”
“I stain it tomorrow.” He shrugged. “I’ll fit it in.”
“No need. You, brother, are not a baker.”
“Nor a cook.” He hugged Lola once more before he set her in the playpen outside Gretchen’s tiny office. “Just ask my daughter. Cereal all over.”
“Projectile sneezes, among other things.”
“Hey, thanks. I couldn’t raise her without you, you know.”
Tears pricked her eyes. She was not a crier, by any means. You’re just tired. Sleepy. Hungry. You name it. For years now, they only had each other, never returning to the people who couldn’t bring themselves to love two helpless, little children, desperately needing a mother. She shook free of the past. “What are sisters for, right? Wouldn’t have it any other way. Now, off with you.” She glanced at the clock and realized she had at least four more hours of baking ahead of her.
He came over and hooked an arm around her neck, dropping a noisy smack on the top of her head. “How did you end up so short?”
“Get, Giant! Out of my kitchen.”
Laughing, he strolled to the back door, halted, and then said, “Gretch, someday I’ll repay you for all you’ve done.”
“Ha! You can’t afford my bill, brother.” Peeking at him, she noted the dark shadows cross his features as he glanced over at a sleeping Lola. “She lost out on the best guy in the world and the best baby. Her doing. Not yours.”
“Doesn’t make sense.”
“Sometimes life doesn’t.” What else could she say? Sorry your wife left you high and dry with a baby to raise?
“Maybe it doesn’t for us, right, Gretch?”
The click of the door echoed in the heavy silence that followed. Only the sound of her wooden spoon against the side of her favorite ceramic bowl could be heard.
Except her thoughts.
They tumbled through her mind, leaving her confused as to why good, lasting things eluded both of them. Were they doomed to struggle for any smidge of happiness for their rest of their lives?
***
The ringing phone cut through her dreams. Gretchen slapped a hand on the receiver. “S
top!” Still sleeping, she picked it up and held it to her ear. “You better have a good excuse as to why you insisted on waking me up.”
Laughter, warm and raspy, washed over her. “Good morning, Gretchen Hart.”
She gasped, blinking awake. “Noah? How? Why?” Sitting up, she shoved her covers back and glanced at the alarm clock. “It’s four in the morning, for crying out loud!”
“Hello, this is your wake-up call.”
His voice tugged at all the sensitive places behind her ribs and scattered along her nerve endings. She let out a soft sigh, sank down in the soft pile of pillows, and then pulled the covers up. He’s here! In my tiny, pale pink bedroom with me!
“I miss you.”
A delicious curl of heat tangled in her belly. Her sleepy smile stretched. “You see me every day.”
“Not enough.”
“It’s for the best.” Keeping him at arm’s length proved frustrating. But, she must.
“For who?”
His breath whispered over the line. A sweet rush of yearning nudged her.
“You still there, Gretch?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Squeezing her eyes shut, she hugged these precious moments to her chest. “Noah.”
“Hmmm…”
“This is crazy.”
“Did you see the website video?”
“Didn’t get a chance.”
“Really? Because I watched it over and over again. I love the way you blush.”
A blast of heat sprang to her cheeks. You should see me now, Mr. Blackstock!
“Nothing to say for yourself?”
“Nope.”
His hearty laugh plucked invisible strings and left her wanting more.
She bit her lip. “How have you been?” I’ve missed you, too.
“I’d rather talk about you.”
“Dodging me?”
“My sister.”
“Still or again?”
“Both.” His sigh whistled over the line. “More problems back at the vineyard. My dear mother thinks she should have a stake in all future earnings.”
“Should she?”
“You’re so calm.”
“And you’re not.” She figured out his troubled thoughts in a few minutes.
Baking From The Hart (Once Upon A Romance, book 10) (Once Upon A Romance Series) Page 6