“Oh, my Lord, this part always makes me nervous,” says Mom, fanning her face. Never mind the judging is still over an hour away.
I can’t tell her I’m even more nervous than she is. We need this win to keep up with repayments on that damn loan. Without it, we’ve got a huge kitchen we might not even need anymore because there simply won’t be as much of a demand for Cherry Picker pies and sweets.
“It’s going to be fine,” I tell her. “Your pie is the most awesome pie in the history of pie. It’s a shoo-in, I swear.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” says Bunny Hughes as she sweeps by, holding her cherry pie up like it’s the head of her enemy. She proceeds up to Candace like she’s leading a fucking parade and hands over her pie. “Be careful with it. I don’t want your clumsy handling to ruin my chances.”
Candace’s eyes widen as she gazes at the pie, and nausea rolls in my belly. Shit. I can’t see it, but judging by Candace’s reaction, Bunny has clearly gone all out with the decoration as well as the filling.
God, I really hate that woman. I hate her. Apart from anything, seeing her reminds me of the day Gibson rode with me to deliver cherries to her house and the way he put her in her place with barely a word makes my heart warm all over again. Problem is, immediately after that comes the crash into ice hard memories as I remember that he had my back, so many times, and I screamed at him over it and sent him away.
I’m such an idiot.
Bunny heads towards us, triumph personified, and I steel myself for more snotty remarks.
Sure enough, she stops in front of us, eyes glittering with hatred. “Gibson not here, or did he get what he came for?”
“Bunny!” snaps Mom. “That’s uncalled for!”
Bunny adopts her fakest expression of contrition. “Oh, Marianne, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just saying, as I recall, Gibson is a man of very specific…tastes. It was probably just a little too early in the season for him. I think he prefers mature fruit.”
It’s all I can do not to tear her hair out. I’m pretty sure she’s never actually been with Gibson—the man I got to know had better taste than that—but the implication of it brings bile into my mouth, as does the idea that I wasn’t experienced enough for him.
He had no problem with my experience level, or lack of it, that I noticed. It was my actions that blew my chance with him to hell and back, and as much as I wish I could, I can’t go back and change them.
She grins at me, no doubt able to see my pain written all over my face, but then she looks over my shoulder, and her face closes up. She storms past us and I turn to see her go up to a tall, dark-haired man. He looks vaguely familiar, and then I remember seeing him a few days ago, when I delivered yet more cherries to Bunny’s house. I didn’t see his face that day, but his build and the way he stands are unmistakable.
The way she’s standing, so close to him, one hand on his arm, the other on his chest, makes it pretty clear what their relationship is, but it’s none of my business. Part of me would love to tell Christian what his wife gets up to when he’s not around, but I can’t bring myself to do it. He’s a lovely man, and me blowing the whistle would probably forever sour me in his estimation as well. I sigh. I just can’t catch a break. I can only hope this contest turns our luck around.
Mom and I wander around the festival, pretending we can taste all the various things we sample and that the flavors aren’t turning to ash in our mouths as we wait for the judging to begin.
Finally, it’s time and we all gather in front of the judges’ table as Lulu picks up the microphone.
“Friends, neighbors, and valued tourists,” she says, to a ripple of laughter. “It’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for: the results of the eighty-fourth annual Cherry Festival Pie Contest!”
Behind me, I hear a voice I think I recognize, and against my better judgment, I turn around. A tall, broad-shouldered man is standing with Bunny, and my mouth goes dry. It’s...it can’t be...but it is. It’s Gibson! I lift a hand in greeting, but then realize he’s talking to Bunny. Or, at least, she’s talking to him. Her hand touches his cheek as her eyes focus on him with predatory intent.
He doesn’t appear to be responding to her flirtation, but the fact he’s standing next to her and not me seems to confirm everything I already knew. It’s hopeless continuing to pine after him. At my side, Mom looks at me, then over her shoulder.
“Mom, no!” I try to pull her back, but when she looks back at me, her lips pressed thin, I know she saw. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just focus on the contest.”
Her hand wraps around mine and squeezes, and I squeeze back. I suddenly realize that the day Gibson left was the first time since Dad passed that Mom held me while I cried. She held me up then, and she’s doing it now.
I look at her. “I love you, Mom.”
Her face softens. “I love you too, honey. Whatever happens, we’ll get through this, okay?”
I nod. She squeezes my hand again, and then we focus on what Lulu’s saying.
“Every year, the quality of the entries gets better and better,” says Lulu, “and this year saw some truly outstanding submissions. However, the judges have tested every dish extensively,” —more laughter— “and their decision has been made.”
I can’t stop shaking, my grip on Mom’s arm too tight to be comfortable. I don’t know when my life ended up being defined by the results of a pie contest, but here we are. We have to win. We have to. I’ve gambled on us winning, although I didn’t know that’s what I was doing at the time. It has to pay off. It just has to. If this goes wrong, we could lose the farm, and I won’t cope with that. Losing Dad was one thing, but I can’t lose the farm too. Such a loss would send me to my knees, and who’d hold me up?
No one.
Well, that’s not entirely accurate. Mom would try. I really don’t want her to have to, though. She’s already coped with so much loss. Neither of us would deal well with losing the farm.
So we can’t.
We won’t.
Just as I’m sure my heart is about to beat its way right out of my chest, arms wrap around me from behind, and I leap almost a foot in the air. Half turning and craning my head, I’m shocked speechless to see Gibson’s strong, hard face looming over me.
“I’m sorry for overstepping,” he murmurs in my ear, his breath warming my chilled flesh. “I should have had more faith in your ability to knock this out of the park all by yourselves.”
I’m so surprised my body is completely rigid, but he tugs gently and suddenly I melt back into him. “We haven’t won yet,” I tell him.
“It doesn’t matter,” he tells me. “Win or lose, the farm is safe. You’ve got a bunch more orders coming.”
I frown up at him, then hear Lulu’s voice announcing, “The winner is—”
“Fraud! Cheat! Cheat!!” yells someone behind me, and there’s a collective gasp as the entire crowd whirls to see what’s going on.
The tall man I remember from Bunny’s house is shouldering his way through the crowd, Bunny hanging on his arm, her nails digging in like talons as she tries to stop him. He acts like she’s not even there, though, storming over the grass like an avenging god.
“Zees ees not right!” he roars, in a very strong French accent. “You ‘ave debased my craft! I made ze most perfect tarte au cerises in existence and you ‘ave reduced eet to an entry in a two beet contest for pie?! Cheat! Charlatan! Impostor! Hypocrite!”
Everyone’s staring, as he appears to be directing his insults at Lulu, who’s never baked a pie in her life, and definitely hasn’t entered one in this contest, but then he turns and grabs Bunny by the shoulders.
“Eet is one zing to seduce me to your bed, but quite anozzer to claim my work as your own! I ‘ave two Michelin stars, you ignorant beetch! I took time off from my restaurant to come and bake you my tarte au cerises, just so you may prostitute my art for zees? Chienne! Salope! Dégueulasse!”
The poor man’s En
glish has apparently deserted him completely but everyone’s got the message by now. Rather than hold him back, Bunny is now trying to get away from him, but he’s shaking her and screaming what I can only assume are French insults in her face. Sheriff Watts and his deputies close in and usher the dramatic pair away from the crowd and silence falls. Up on the stage, Lulu has put down the microphone and is now having a whispered conference with the judges.
“Now I remember where I recognized him from,” Gibson murmurs in my ear. “That’s Chef Patrice de Barnard, one of the most famous pastry chefs in the world. He has a beautiful little restaurant about three blocks from the Eiffel Tower. I’ll take you one day. His pastry really is amazing.”
“Hi, Gibson,” says Mom, a very satisfied smile on her face.
“Hi, Mrs. Brooks.”
“Oh, please, call me Marianne.”
“As you wish, Highness,” he says, with a regal nod. Mom smiles and looks away.
“Did you just quote The Princess Bride?” I whisper to him.
“The Shrieking Eels always grow louder when they’re about to feed on human flesh,” he whispers back, and I have to stifle my giggle as Lulu picks up the microphone again.
“Well,” she says. “That was...unexpected. It appears we must disqualify the Hughes entry from the contest.”
I can finally relax. No other pie will have come close to Mom’s. That said…
“I’m a little disappointed,” murmurs Gibson. “I’d love to have seen your mom beat Bunny fair and square.”
I turn and look at his face. “Are you psychic? I was just thinking the exact same thing.”
He grins down at me. “Great minds, darling. Great minds.”
He drops a light kiss on my mouth. It’s quick, far too quick, but the heat it promises is reflected in his eyes as he raises his head again. I swallow, mouth dry, pussy damp, clit throbbing, and do my best to focus on what Lulu’s saying.
“The good news is, that doesn’t actually change the results!” She gives a triumphant smile and a cheer goes up from the crowd. Then people start clapping.
I don’t know why they’re clapping. They haven’t announced the winner yet. It could be anyone. Jackie DuPres has been working really hard on her baking these last few years. She could be good enough to beat Mom. Or Sissy Palinsky. She’s got real style, although her fillings—
“It’s okay,” says Gibson, his arms tightening around me. I hold onto him. For the first time since Daddy passed, I let a man hold me up.
“We are delighted to announce, although I don’t think anyone will be surprised, that the winner of the eighty-fourth annual Cherry Festival Pie Contest is...Marianne Brooks!”
The applause is deafening, totally over the top for what is, at least for everyone else, just a pie contest. Within a heartbeat we’re being mobbed by well wishers, but it’s Lulu who answers the question I haven’t even put into words.
She comes down from the stage, hugs Marianne, and then hugs me. “I’m so glad you won,” she whispers in my ear. “No one likes Bunny Hughes.”
And then I laugh and laugh and hug everyone and at some point tears take over, my stress pouring out of my eyes, but Gibson draws me away to a quiet corner and holds me close while I cry.
“I know it’s stupid,” I sob into his shirt. “But it came to mean so much more than a pie contest.”
“I know,” he says, stroking my hair and my back. “I know.”
“I can’t believe I broke up with you over pie,” I wail. “And we weren’t even together!”
He eases me back. “Oh yes, we were.”
I stare up at him, still sniffling. “We were?”
“Yes, and we still are. Why do you think I’m here?”
I try to come up with an answer, but my mind has gone blank. All the stress over the loan and pie and losing Gibson and stupid, horrible Bunny fucking Hughes has washed my brain clean. “I don’t know.”
He smiles. “I love you, McKenna Brooks. I love your loyalty and your sharp as hell business brain, and your fierce independence, and the way you trusted me when you had no reason to.”
“I had every reason to,” I growl at him. “You stood up for me without pushing me aside. Wait, you love me? But I love you.”
His smile widens into a full-blown grin. “Pretty sure those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”
I aim a mock punch at his chest, then push up on tiptoes, my mouth seeking his. His kiss is a hard, hot, demand, driving all the air from my lungs and setting my blood on fire. When he finally lifts his head, it takes me a full minute to recover my breath enough to speak.
“How often will I see you?” I ask him. The farm is here. His business is almost everywhere else, but I’m damn sure we’ll make it work. Somehow.
“How about...every day?”
I gape at him. “Wha— How?”
“It’s why I stayed away so long. Flynn pulled my head out of my ass last week, but it took a while to get things sorted out so that I could actually move here.”
“Move. Here. You’re moving here?” I daren’t believe I actually heard that right. Hope is such a dangerous thing and I want this so badly.
“Declan knows the business inside out. I’ve promoted him to Chief Operating Officer. That was quick. Setting up everything else so that he can make the necessary decisions while also keeping me in the loop took a little longer.”
I squeak and hug him tight. His soft laugh reverberates through me, and I glory in the feel of it, the heat of his skin through his shirt, the solid strength of him against me.
“I’ve wanted out of the clubs business for a while, not just the sex clubs but all of it. My heart hasn’t been in it for a long time. Not since Mom passed. It was all about her, really, about building a safe environment for women like her. Without her, it just wasn’t the same. So I was ready for a change, and then I found this little town I really like, and this little farm I had the pleasure of staying at recently—”
I punch him again. “It’s not that little.”
“I am going to be working a lot,” he says, with an apologetic tone. “I’m looking forward to showing you the new resort I’m building, though. It should go a way towards boosting the town’s economy.”
“I look forward to seeing it. Wait,” I say, as a thought occurs to me. “What did you mean when you said we’ve got a lot of orders coming in? Right before Lulu announced the results of the contest?”
“Ah, yes. I talked to Declan. We agreed sensual cooking classes would be a great addition to the Black Cherry brand. We’re going to want some nice things to, uh, get people in the mood.”
I gaze up at him, too dazed and overwhelmed to really take it in. “You did that for us?”
“I did it for you,” he says. “Your mom’s awesome, but I’m not in love with her. That would be a bit too kinky, even for me.”
He absorbs my laughter with a kiss, and eventually, we rejoin the festival for pie and drinks and hugs and catching up with our friends. And later, quite a while later, he takes me home and looks after me in the best possible way.
Epilogue
Two years later...
Gibson, waiting on a woman who has every right to be late…
I’m standing in the shade of a pair of ornamental cherry trees. Both are in full bloom and pale pink blossom fills the air with scent and color. McKenna’s going to love it.
At least, I hope she is.
After all, a woman has a right to the perfect wedding day.
Most of the guests have been here for a while. This is the Black Cherry Valentine Hotel & Resort’s first anniversary, and we invited everyone to stay for a week before and after the festivities. McKenna and I won’t be staying at the main lodge for our honeymoon, but we won’t be going far. There’s a brand new lodge on the other side of the property, built specifically for this situation. The Del Monte Sonata is another little in-joke, with a full playroom attached, for those who like to indulge their BDSM interests in complete privacy.<
br />
Which isn’t to say the place isn’t protected against clients overstepping their bounds. Between the four of us, Hunter, Flynn, Nash and I have made damn sure of that. That won’t be a problem for me and McKenna, though. My girl’s always happy to try new things. Her trust in me is absolute, and it’s the most precious gift she could ever give me. I’ll never abuse it.
Speaking of Hunter, the man himself nudges me in the ribs, and I refocus on the job at hand, suddenly recognizing the face in front of me. “Christian! Thank you for coming, man. I really appreciate it.”
He grins at me. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I don’t believe you’ve met Sherry?” He indicates the stunning brunette at his side.
“I have not. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Thanks. It’s a pleasure to be here. Congratulations on getting married.” Her voice hitches slightly on the last word, and my curiosity is piqued, but I don’t show it. Clearly she’s got something going on, but now is not the time.
I’m glad Christian is moving on, after his marriage to Bunny imploded so publicly. He’s been single for a while now, although not due to a lack of offers. Bunny’s very clear adultery violated the pre-nup she’d signed before they tied the knot. As it was backed up by photos from a very talented photographer I know who just happened to be near the ranch, and just happened to be looking in the right direction at the right time to catch some very explicit images, she had no recourse. He didn’t have to pay her a cent. Last I heard, she’d moved back with her parents in Idaho. As I recall, they own and manage a potato farm.
I won’t lie and say I don’t get a real kick out of that, given all the times she looked down her nose at McKenna for running a farm. Bunny isn’t even in charge of her parents’ farm, probably because she couldn’t manage her way out of a potato sack.
Eat Your Heart Out: A Romance Charity Anthology Page 38