Page 58 of Sweet Rivals

PotatoBake888: Uh-oh…

TheBakingChick: What?

I wrote feeling nervous about what would come after those damn eclipse.

PotatoBake888: You referenced a scary movie…

TheBakingChick: You’re a jerk.

Even as I wrote it, I felt a smile spread. On the walk home, I worried I would never smile again between the body-shaking sobs and rage, I thought I would be lost to a black pit of despair forever. The worst part was that I didn’t know what I was most upset about: losing all hopes of my bakery or Jared betraying me.

That was the problem with letting feelings get involved where there shouldn’t have been any. As much as I hated to admit it, PotatoBake888 may have been onto something with the question of did I like him. I didn’t want to like Jared, but I did. I liked that he made me chocolate chip scones and danced me around the kitchen. I liked the way my body felt when he touched me. I liked the way he didn’t take anything too seriously. I liked the way he talked me through my self-doubt and somehow, against all odds, helped me believe in myself.

And all of that felt like a betrayal to PotatoBake888 who believed in me when I couldn’t believe in myself. Who listened more than he talked. Who knew the real me and still liked me. Who took me seriously when no one else did. It didn’t matter though. It would appear that I couldn’t have either of them. I was determined to never speak to Jared ever again and PotatoBake888 would forever live behind a screen. My heart ached. PotatoBake888 trying to cheer me up, only served as a reminder that he was out of reach.

PotatoBake888: So what are we watching instead?

TheBakingChick: True crime? Maybe I could get some pointers.

PotatoBake888: I’m worried about you.

TheBakingChick: Well, now that I have sworn off all romantic comedies and all scary movies, I’m not sure what else to watch. Normally, I might watch the Great British Bake-Off or Nailed It, but it would probably break my heart.

A full minute passed without him typing anything.

PotatoBake888: What happened with the bakery?

I understood why he might have hesitated to ask that question.

TheBakingChick: In short, Jared is a selfish, lying asshole. He got someone to buy all my stuff so I would win because he didn’t think I could do it on his own. And I'm sure he’s right.

Time passed without any response.

PotatoBake888: Don’t shoot the messenger on this one, just playing devil’s advocate, but maybe he was trying to be nice. Why would he want you to win otherwise?

TheBakingChick: Ew. I hate men who say playing devil’s advocate. The devil doesn’t need a goddamn advocate. I don’t know why he wanted me to win the bake sale. Maybe he wanted to boost my confidence before he tore me down the rest of the week. He told his brother that he was using me to get in good with the locals. Maybe that was it.

PotatoBake888: Well, I certainly won’t play devil's advocate anymore.

TheBakingChick: Good. You are supposed to hate Jared as much as me.

PotatoBake888: I do. He is a lucky guy if he got to spend a whole week with you in person.

What? Holy shit. Was PotatoBake888 confessing some sort of feelings here? Jesus Christ, I wasn’t ready for this. For months, all I had wanted was to hear those words from PotatoBake888. As much as I pretended, I didn’t arrive at my computer hopelessly giddy to see if he had messaged me, I was. I lived for our conversations, and I fantasized about meeting him in person. Now, I didn’t know what I wanted. I was so preoccupied with the bakery and Jared.

TheBakingChick: I was trying to make his life miserable, so not how lucky he is.

PotatoBake888: I know. Let’s watch Back to The Future. You can turn off your brain. The only thing better than scary movies are 80s flicks.

TheBakingChick: Insert eye roll here. Who says flicks? Are you secretly 85?

PotatoBake888: You’ll never know.

I was true to my word. I didn’t leave my house for a week. I didn’t answer texts or phone calls from anyone including Cat, Jared, or my mom. It was kind of sad that only three people cared that I had become a hermit. It just reaffirmed how pathetic my life had become, which just reminded me that I hadn’t actually won the preview sale. I spent my time wallowing in self-pity, watching ridiculous movies that PotatoBake888 came up with, and baking.

For the first day, I couldn’t bring myself to set foot in the kitchen. I never wanted to bake ever again. My one comfort activity had been ripped forcefully from me, leaving me a shell of a person. But the next morning, I woke up craving chocolate donuts, so I DoorDashed the ingredients and set to work.

Somewhere between scooping the flour, forming the dough, and dropping it into hot oil, I found myself again. Just a little bit. The nagging self-doubt that had kept me from opening a bakery in the first place or leaving the Lobster Tail or trusting my own opinion when others asked me things still simmered just under the surface. At the very least, I remembered why I loved to bake. I loved that it was both mechanical muscle memory and creative flare. I loved that when I baked, I could do whatever the hell I wanted with the raw ingredients laid out in front of me.

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