by Ciara Knight
Ms. Horton retrieved her phone from her purse.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling the girls.” Ms. Horton typed away on her phone and then grabbed an apron. “You stay. Don’t move.” She whizzed around the kitchen, wiping down the counters and tossing dishes into the sink.
Carissa sat there with energy draining from her. “Why, if Tabitha already won?”
Ms. Horton didn’t say anything or even look up from a texting frenzy.
The bell at the front of her store jingled.
“I thought I put the closed sign out front.”
“You did.” Stella walked into the Kitchen, thick leather jacket already sliding down her arms. She tossed it on a chair and headed toward the stove.
Felicia stopped at the edge, her normal neutral expression morphed to shock and disgust. “Dear Lord, this is worse than you said.” She looked to Stella. “Truce for one hour?”
Stella gave a sharp nod. “Let’s get you upstairs.”
“Why? What’s going on? I thought Tabitha won.”
“No, dear. She blew it. When Mr. Lancaster showed up, Tabitha had burned the cookies and set fire to a towel. They had to call the fire department. Mary-Beth is stalling him at her coffee shop to give us time.”
“This is on you.” Stella crossed the room and lifted Carissa up by the shoulders. “Based on the smell in this place, you’re gonna wow them, sister.”
“Then it really is all on me,” Carissa mumbled, the weight of the truth resting like a forty-pound, century-old fruit cake on her shoulders.
Stella offered her best attempt at a friendly smile. She looked constipated. “What is?”
Carissa blinked away the sting of no sleep. “The town. If I don’t wow them, then this could be the end of the road for the entire show. Which is what I want, but not what is best.” She rubbed her temple, trying to get rid of the conundrum pounding at her skull.
Ms. Horton waved Felicia to the sink. “Work on those dishes. Stella, you get that girl upstairs and find her a change of clothes. We need all hands on deck here, ladies.”
The door chimed again, and they all froze. Mary-Beth entered with her crazy container of makeup and jewelry supplies.
“Whoa, good thing I’m here.” Mary-Beth rushed into the kitchen, crossing a proverbial line by entering the bakery. She stopped at the edge of the stove. “Thought we called a truce.”
Stella waved her hands to get Carissa’s attention. “I know this is asking a lot, but the truce holds until sundown, got it?”
Carissa nodded, unable to say the words. But there were a few she had to ask. “What about Jud…I mean Jackie?”
Mary-Beth snatched Carissa by the elbow and led her to the stairs. “I thought it best that she kept Mr. Lancaster company while we worked together here.”
“Good thinking,” Ms. Horton said. “I really miss this. The teamwork, I mean.”
They all ignored Ms. Horton’s attempt at untwining the barbed wire fence.
“Come on, girl. We’ve got some work to do. Good thing I brought the concealer. You look like you haven’t slept in ten days.”
“Try ten years,” Carissa mumbled under her breath but followed Mary-Beth, who ignored Carissa’s quiet dig and pushed her into the bathroom. “Shower and wash your hair. I’ll go pick out a dress.”
Carissa fought past the anger and the exhaustion and did what needed to be done. She couldn’t let everyone down. And she knew that Mary-Beth was the best chance at making her look presentable. The girl had always had a gift at working makeover miracles. A flash of the prom-saving makeover made her laugh. Only Mary-Beth could fix a fall-down-the-stairs-dress-ripping-hair-disheveled-makeup smear into a Runway Cinderella look.
The aroma of her favorite pumpkin and maple cookies were replaced by floral shampoo and soap.
“Hurry up in there. No time to waste. Jackie texted. She’s having trouble keeping him there.”
Jackie. Such a familiar name for such a foreign friend. “I guess not every man will fall for her charms.” Carissa shut off the water, dried, and wrapped a towel around herself and then opened the bathroom door to face her fate.
Mary-Beth took Carissa by the shoulders. “I know you still hate her and me, but we’re going to ignore that for now.”
A slap of realization stung her insides. “I don’t hate you.” Carissa fidgeted with the edge of her towel. “It’s just that I can’t be around you when she’s there.”
Mary-Beth turned her leaf earrings between her fingers twice before she popped back into action. “Here, sit. I’ll dry your hair and apply makeup.” She ran a comb through Carissa’s long hair. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not hating me. I hate myself sometimes.” She turned on the blow dryer before Carissa had a chance to ask why.
Halfway through blow drying Carissa’s hair Mary-Beth checked her phone again. “Out of time. Project Jackie failed. Here, put this on.” A dress with a silver bodice and sage bottom was tossed in Carissa’s lap.
“Isn’t this a little much? I’m supposed to be baking, not modeling. I’m not Jackie. I won’t win this guy over with looks.”
At least the shower had provided some energy and woke Carissa up enough to remember to put on a bra before she slid the dress over her head. Shoes were shoved onto her feet, and she was nudged back into the chair. “No time to finish drying, so a quick updo it is.”
Within two minutes, Carissa’s hair was in a neat bun on top of her head, and Mary-Beth turned her around with lipstick in hand.
Carissa preferred natural, no-fuss kind of wear, but she knew better than to argue until Mary-Beth went at her with an oversized cherry blossom earring. “Nope, no way.” She held up a hand.
“Just wanted to see if you were awake.” Mary-Beth winked and then handed her two studs with sage and silver flowers.
“What were you saying about not being pretty enough to win over Mr. Lancaster? I think he’s going to fall flat at your feet when he sees you like this. Dang, girl, you’re hot.” Mary-Beth’s southern drawl made her words sound more legit, but Carissa never wanted to be the hottest girl in town. Just hot enough to keep a man from Jackie.
She spun Carissa to face herself in the mirror. Who was that girl? “I forgot how good you were with friend makeovers. The last one you did for me you helped me get ready for…” Her words had gotten ahead of her brain.
“The proposal dinner.” Mary-Beth’s eyes watered, and she sniffled. “I’m sorry. I know.”
Flashes of no ring, only her all-but-ring-on-finger fiancé’s exit from the restaurant with her best friend threatened to send her back to bed. A place she avoided except when extreme exhaustion took hold, since it was the loneliest spot in her apartment. “What did you mean about hating yourself?” Carissa stood and faced one of her oldest and dearest friends she’d barely spoken to in a decade, and that’s when she saw it. The pain in Mary-Beth’s eyes that she’d felt in her heart.
“Girls, he’s here. Hurry up!” Ms. Horton shouted up the stairs.
Mary-Beth smoothed a wayward hair back from Carissa’s face. “Let’s go. You’re ready.”
She didn’t feel ready, but she shuffled down the stairs, following Mary-Beth, and managed to reach the kitchen before the front door chimed.
“At least it smells better in here.” The deep voice of Mr. Lancaster echoed from the storefront.
Stella whistled like a construction worker at Carissa. “Didn’t know you were gonna win the show that way. You go, girl.”
Felicia nodded. “You look nice. You’ve got this.”
Ms. Horton opened the curtain between the kitchen and storefront and whispered, “You look lovely, darling, and your baked goods smell amazing.”
“Thank you.” Carissa stepped out into the bake shop and stopped behind the display case, where the girls and Ms. Horton had obviously finished setting all the baked goods out.
“Wow,” Mr. Lancaster said, looking straight at Carissa.
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The way he looked at her almost made her think he was commenting about how she looked instead of about the scones and cupcakes and tarts. All the words of affirmation flung at her from her friends had messed with her crazy brain. “Thanks. I worked hard on everything.” She moved closer to the display case and wished she knew which item would be the best to start with, but it might be the only one he tried. If it wasn’t good, he’d call this off. Which would be great in her book, but not good for the town.
The woman next to him elbowed him in the side. “Hi, I’m Lori Brewster, Mr. Lancaster’s assistant.”
“Nice to meet you.” Carissa stood there not moving. Dang it, she should’ve offered her hand. This was business. Jackie appeared behind them, and all senses vacated Carissa’s brain. All thought was sucked into the pit of betrayal instead of the plan for the future.
Jackie sauntered to the case. “If you like the aroma, you’ll like the taste even better. Our little small-town girl here was meant to be in the kitchen.”
Carissa knew Jackie meant it as an insult, but she was too tired to care.
Mary-Beth shot forward and took Jackie by the elbow. “So, let’s allow them time to taste it. We need to head back to my coffee shop. See y’all later.”
Perhaps it was exhaustion, but there was no way Carissa could hold a grudge against Mary-Beth any longer. She didn’t decide to steal the man Carissa loved; she just didn’t want to hate anyone. That’s when Carissa realized it was time to let go of the past and think about the future. This was her shot to do something real with her life. To make a difference in the town she loved.
“The smell of cinnamon and sugar doesn’t sell a product on television.” Mr. Lancaster straightened his tie, the way he had when entering Ms. Horton’s office yesterday. Carissa wanted to snug that tie up tight around his smug expression.
“Smell is part of the tasting experience.” Carissa broke through the blockade of emotions crippling her and removed a pumpkin and maple cookie from the case. “That being said, I assure you that it tastes even better.”
“Taste doesn’t translate to television either. It’s all about visual presentation.” He marched forward, looked down his nose at the case, and then shook his head. “This is plain, hum-drum, no life to it. This won’t sell anything, certainly not Knox Brevard’s fans. They have distinguished tastes.”
Lori joined him. “If you mean buying blow-up poop emojis as Christmas gifts distinguished.”
Carissa didn’t know Lori, but at that moment, she wanted to get to know her more than Mr. Lancaster.
“That’s something we can work on, maybe hire one of our own pastry chefs to help put a sprinkle of pizzazz on these obviously tasty items.”
“Then it wouldn’t be my creation, would it?” Carissa opened the case again, retrieved one of her tarts, and placed it on the top of the case with two spoons. “Take a taste before you judge my work.”
Lori lifted a spoon, but Mr. Lancaster took a step away. “I don’t eat sugar. As I said, Ms. Donahue, the items must be visually appealing.”
“Excuse us for a moment, please,” his assistant said before ushering him to the corner and whispering something to him. Her brows were furrowed, and she had a firm grip on his arm.
Carissa looked to her remaining friends, but they only shrugged, and Ms. Horton stood with her typical analytical gaze.
Mr. Lancaster argued something, but in the end, he swiveled to face Ms. Horton. “My assistant has graciously offered to provide some guidance on this project. You, Ms. Horton, need to make sure that your baker is willing to make some adjustments. She might know baking, but I know television.”
Without another word, he blew out the door like a frosty wind gust with his assistant following behind him.
Stella slammed her palm down on the counter. “I dare him to speak to you that way. This isn’t going to work. He needs to go.”
“As much as I hate to admit it, why couldn’t they start with the fashion segment of the town? Jackie’s much better at this than I am. She can win any man over.”
Ms. Horton crossed the kitchen and placed a motherly hand on Carissa’s shoulder. “Trust me when I say that you are the only one right now who can do this. It was my choice to start with the baking segment because I know you’re our best chance. You’re sweet, kind, and determined. It’s time for some tough love here.” She cleared her throat and glanced at Stella, as if to warn her what she was about to say she might not like but that she should keep her big mouth shut.
Carissa straightened and looked up, ready to face whatever it was that Ms. Horton would throw at her. “Jackie doesn’t have the power to steal this away from you. Just like she didn’t have the power to steal Mark from you. You two weren’t meant to be together. You wanted it to work out because your parents had left, you were graduating high school, and you didn’t know what you wanted to do with your life. You were scared, and that’s why you wanted Mark in your life. I believe that Jackie did you a favor.”
“That’s going too far.” Stella closed in, but Ms. Horton held one hand up.
“Do you know what Mark is doing now?” Ms. Horton asked.
Carissa shook her head. “No. Last I heard, Jackie dumped him eight months after they left.”
“No, he dumped her. He tried to get back with her, but she said no. He’s unemployed and living with his father in Texas.”
“How do you know that?” Carissa asked.
“Because he wanted to come back to Sugar Maple to work. His application came across my desk.”
Carissa’s pulse clicked away like a timer on hyper speed.
“Don’t worry. His application was rejected. That isn’t the point. The point is that you were too good for him. If you two had married, you wouldn’t be who you are today. You’re a strong, independent, beautiful, and talented woman who created her dream job, despite having no family here, or resources, or a husband. You earned this job, and I believe you’ll earn this contract.”
Ms. Horton’s words of encouragement touched her heart, and she logically knew some of it was true, but self-esteem played cruel jokes at times. She wanted to be confident and feel good about her accomplishments, but in actuality she wanted to do more. She’d been holding herself back, afraid she’d push too far for her dreams and she’d lose everything. “Jackie’s right. I belong in the kitchen. Someone else will always need to dress me up to be worthy of people like Mr. Lancaster. I won’t give up, but we all know what Mr. Lancaster is saying is the truth. TV doesn’t care about smells and tastes or even how kind a person is. It is all about appearance. I can cook and bake and provide delicious treats, but someone will always have to dress up my food, just like people have to dress me up. I’m simple, and I don’t belong in the world of television.”
Chapter Four
Drew shuffled from the bakery, admitting to himself that Lori had saved him from a concussion with the boots she’d packed for him. She was right about that and everything else about him. Except this project. His gut was all twisted. It had to be a sign to end this ridiculous project. He hadn’t felt like this since he was in Iraq.
“What are you doing? We already talked about this; you need this to work.” Lori snuggled her scarf around her neck. Was she as cold as he was? He needed to get the heat working in those darn offices better.
He halted and pointed to the quaint bakery building with a brick front, orange awning, and wrought iron touches. “You saw those desserts. They were plain. They won’t translate to viewers.”
“Then why’d you say wow when we walked in and you looked—wait a minute.” She halted mid-step, placed her foot down, and tapped her lips. “You were talking about her, not the desserts. It was the girl, not the food who got you all twisted up.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I saw right through Jacqueline Ramor the moment I met her. Trust me. You’ve got nothing to worry about.” Drew walked around Lori and headed across the town center toward their very-temporary offices. “She’s a Knox girl.
Not for me at all.”
“Not Jackie. Carissa. Your eyes nearly popped out of your head when she walked out.”
“Carissa?” Drew snorted at the absurdity. “She’s not my type. Do you know when I saw her yesterday, she had flour on her hands? She didn’t even have her shirt buttoned correctly.”
“And OCD Drew noticed these things. That’s why you said wow. She caught you off guard. Mr. I-got-women-pegged was shocked by an unexpected change, and that broke the perfect façade of Drew Lancaster. I’ve never seen you thrown off like that before. Oh, I think I’ve found the girl for you!”
He pulled the key from his pocket and opened the door to the building they’d be stuck working in for days, rushing inside out of the winter air and Lori’s questions. “You’re insane.”
“Stop running.” Lori shut the door behind her, but she only tightened her scarf around her neck and didn’t remove her coat. Not that he did, either.
Dang, it was cold in this place. “I’m not running away from you. I have work.” He trudged up the stairs and tucked his chin into his coat. What happened to heat rising?
“Not from me, from Carissa. She scared you, didn’t she?” Lori wrapped her arms around herself and shivered in the corner.
He lowered to the desk chair and retrieved his laptop from his bag. “This mountain town is getting to you. You must be getting altitude sickness.”
“At around five thousand feet? I don’t think so. I grew up in 15,000 feet in the Rocky Mountains.”
“You grew up in the Rockies?” Drew rubbed his forehead, trying to jar that memory.
“Yes, but you shouldn’t know that because you don’t need to know that for the job.” Lori stared at him with her I-rest-my-case expression.
This was the awkward moment where they had to bond or something. Drew opened his laptop and typed in his code. “You make it sound like all I care about is work. That I don’t have time for a personal life.” Personal lives were overrated.