Page 21 of Baking Spirits Bright!

“Thanks for going with me.” He faces me and grins.

“Thanks for the invite. That was fun.”

I fumble for my purse on the floorboard. When I lift my face, he’s staring at me. I lean up, and we’re close enough for me to feel his breath.

“If I weren’t leaving tomorrow night, I’d ask if I could kiss you,” he whispers.

My chest tightens as my heart thumps against it. I can’t say I don’t want him to, but he is leaving. That fact brings me to my senses. I scoot back and reach for the door.

“If you weren’t leaving, I’d be tempted to let you.”

Ryan smirks as I climb out of the car.

“Good night, Erica.” He blows me a kiss.

I close the door, then slide in my car before any of my family has a chance to come out here.

CHAPTER 6

Erica

Today’s the bake-off.

My hands shake as I hit Post on a new blog entry. With any luck, I can announce our winning recipe in the next one.

All that’s left is for Mama and Aunt Margaret to make the perfect cinnamon apple pie.

I close my laptop and put it away. Then I grab my bag and check my hair and makeup before heading to town hall.

Paul’s pickup sputtered out of the drive about an hour earlier. He’s one of the judges, self-appointed since he claims this was his grand idea. Technically making it a county-wide bake-off was his idea, so I’ll give him that.

Georgia has done a good job at building suspense around town to keep the bake-off at the forefront of everyone’s gossip. Each week, she’d announce a new judge, and today there is a secret judge we won’t know about until after the competition.The public judges are Paul, County Sheriff Bradley Manning, and Mrs. Mary from the diner.

Mary is the most experienced cook I know, Paul has sampled every food made by anyone in the county at some point, and I assume Bradley brings the local celebrity appeal.

Speaking of Paul, he’s the first one to greet me when I walk through the door. I greet him back, then shade my eyes when his huge belt buckle reflects the sun.

Paul slides past me, brushing my arm with the stack of Styrofoam plates he’s holding. As I enter to a crowded lobby, Georgia smiles widely.

“Are all these people here for the bake-off?” I ask her.

“Yes! Isn’t that wonderful?”

I nod, my nerves buckling. It’s wonderful if we win, but I’m now more anxious than ever.

I press past people crowding in small groups until I’m in the main room. Mama waves to me from what I assume is the judges’ table. I go to her and spot our pie.

The crust is an ideal thickness, with tiny snowflakes etched in the design to complement the decorative edge and give it a festive look. And it smells amazing as always.

“It’s perfect,” I whisper.

Mama stands beside me, beaming. “Grandma helped us with the snowflakes. It was her idea to make it more festive than the typical lattice pattern.”

I bear hug my mama so tightly, she huffs. Her hand finds my arm and pats it.

“Thank you,” I whisper against her.

“You’re welcome.”

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