Page 9 of Baking Spirits Bright!

“Good. I think this will be so fun to film, and a great event for the community. With a place like Apple Cart County, an official dessert is a must.”

“I agree.”

Even better if the dessert includes apples. Fingers crossed Carla doesn’t come up with an apple-flavored cookie.

“Georgia put the entry forms on that table.” Mackenzie points to a long table in the corner of the room with poinsettias on one end and papers on the other. “I added a sheet saying we have permission to show your dessert and personal likeness on TV. I’d appreciate you signing that as well.”

“Absolutely.” I cross the room to the table.

Mama and Aunt Margaret might not care to be on TV, but they can take one for the team to showcase our foods.

I grab a packet from the top of the stack and a pen from my purse, then sign away. The last page is a list of rules I can take with me. I pull it from the staple and glance at it on my way out.

It goes over everything from what qualifies as a dessert to what the judges are looking for. Presentation is part of the score, which will give Carla a leg up. Maybe I can talk Grandma into getting back in the kitchen and assisting Aunt Margaret with some of that lattice work she uses on pie crusts.

My grandparents retired a decade ago and spend most their time RVing. But they’re home now, so I may as well call in the professionals.

I slow near the lobby and continue reading the rules. My body moves on autopilot as I slog toward the door and push against it with my back.

“Well, hi again.”

I jerk my gaze from the paper. Ryan stands in front of me, his hand on the door.

“Hi.” I smile.

“We just can’t stay away from one another, can we?” He smirks.

“I guess not.”

He slides his hand down the door, causing his arm to graze my side. I flinch.

“Sorry.” He takes a step back.

“No, you’re fine. I was concentrating on this, and you startled me, is all.” I lift the paper.

He narrows his eyes and reads the heading. “Apple Cart County Bake-Off—Official Rules.” His mouth cocks to the side. “Hmm, you bake?”

“Personally, no, but my family does. The Marshall family, Apple Cart County Apple Orchard?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, you’ve probably never heard—”

“Y’all have the best website.”

My feet involuntarily take a step toward him. He could’ve called me brilliant, beautiful, and brilliantly beautiful, and it wouldn’t have made more of an impression.

“You’ve seen our website?”

“Of course. It’s how I first found out about this bake-off.”

I lean closer. “You read my blog?”

“You write that?”

“Excuse me,” an older voice calls.

I turn to a CO-OP cap and lower my eyes to an aggravated Wendall Jenkins. “Sorry.”

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