Yikes.
I should step away. I really should. But then she might become aware of how she affects me.
How she’s always affected me.
“I think Lucy as judge makes total sense.” Thomas is either oblivious to…whatever this is, or is pretending to be as he joins us at the counter and leans in. “What are we whispering about?”
Lucy blinks and jumps away from both of us, dropping her notebook in the process. “Nothing.” She squats to retrieve the notebook, then rises again. “Fine. I’ll be the judge.” Her eyes speak resignation, and my fist wants to double pump the air.
But I haven’t won yet. Now I need to really wow her.
Make something she can’t help but declare the winner.
Do I care about having my dessert featured at the festival? No. It won’t contribute to my overall goal for being here in town, though it might make more people aware of my business if my name is splashed everywhere. “Winner gets their name and business on a big banner at the table where the dessert is offered.”
“I’m all about that,” Thomas says. He stands at the large industrial refrigerator, his eyes skimming the contents inside. Most likely he’s taking stock of what’s available to him, brainstorming ideas.
As for me, I’ve got…nothing.
Which isn’t all that unusual, at least lately. I have literally no idea what to make Lucy. Searching my memories for our high school conversations, I try to recall whether there’s any sort of dessert that she loves more than others, something that will secure me a win. I remember she likes baklava, but that’s time consuming. And besides, it’s not a wow dish.
And I need a wow dish.
“All right, I’m starting the clock now.” She punches something on her phone, and Thomas gets to work pulling things from the fridge and pantry, working with a frenzy I wish I had.
Instead, I stand there and stare at the counter.
“Giving up already?”
I glance up, surprised at the tease in her tone, at the taunting smile in her eyes. Opening my mouth to reply, I stop as her phone vibrates on the island beside her.
“That’s not the timer already, is it?” I say, knowing full well it isn’t.
“Of course not.” She rolls her eyes as she picks up her phone—and her jaw drops. “Sweet macaroni.”
I can’t help but smile. She’s so dang adorable. Adorable and sexy too, leaning one hip against the counter, her hair hanging forward over one shoulder, her long lashes splayed downward as she reads something on her phone.
Then she frowns.
“Everything okay?” I know it’s not my business, but if someone’s hurt her…
“What?” She glances up, something vulnerable in her eyes. “Oh, yeah. It’s just my mom.” Lucy blinks. “I haven’t talked to her in over a month. Tried calling her on Mother’s Day but didn’t hear back. I assumed she was traveling again, and she’d call me when she could.”
I’ve always felt bad for Lucy, how her mom and stepdad just dumped her here her sophomore year of high school because they wanted to go sailing around the world and didn’t want a teenager tagging along. Oh sure, they said it was because it wouldn’t be good for her schooling, but they could have done things differently.
Sounds like not much has changed.
I also catch no hint of anger in Lucy’s voice. Just a mixture of surprise, pleasure, and maybe a hint of sadness too. Does she truly not feel any animosity, or is she just really good at bottling it up?
Thomas is knocking things together and cracking eggs behind me. Shoot. I need to get my head into this competition, though I still have no sense of what I want to bake.
Lucy’s attention is back on her phone, and now she’s biting her lip, her thumb hovering above the screen as if she can’t decide whether to respond. Or maybe what to say. “Sweet macaroni,” she breathes out again.
And suddenly, I have it. I know what to make.
The next hour is a whirlwind as I fling ingredients together. My movements are quick but not frenzied. I know exactly what I’m doing. Somehow, I fall into a trance, ignoring everything else but this certainty building inside my chest. This rightness in what I’m making.
Honestly, I haven’t felt this way in…years.