Page 22 of Baking Spirits Bright!

I release her and step back. “Can I get a picture of you and Aunt Margaret with it?”

“Of course.”

Mama calls to her sister-in-law, who’s across the room pouring a cup of cider. She hurries over. “The cider is a hit,” she says.

I scan the room and notice several refreshment tables in the corners. Mama and Margaret stand on either side of the pie, and I take several photos.

“You should try some of everything,” Margaret says after the photos. “Georgia invited everyone in the competition to bring samples of anything they wanted to make, and Mary made some stuff too.”

“Sounds delicious.”

I take a few more photos of the dessert entries. The only apparent apple dessert besides ours is a cobbler dish I assume is G-Maw’s.

“Hey.”

I turn to Ryan standing behind me with a plate of Carla’s cookies.

“Hey.” I smile.

“Big turnout.”

“Yes, it is.” I survey the room.

“The pie looks great.” He nods toward the table.

“Thanks.” I swell with pride at our entry. “Have you tried our cider?”

“The day of the tour.”

“That’s right.”

“But I could use more. Care to join me?”

I shrug, and he takes my hand. My heart speeds up. He shouldn’t have done that, and I shouldn’t have let him. He’s leaving tonight.

Instead of releasing his grip, I go with it, and enjoy a few more moments with Ryan.

We get cider and go around sampling other items. He eventually drops my hand to reach for a cookie. My arm tinglesat the loss of his touch, and I silently scold myself for the reaction.

However, I blindly follow him to a corner of the room like a lovestruck teen after her crush. We stand together and chat a few minutes before Georgia’s voice comes over a microphone.

Half the people pay attention, half keep talking. Morgan steps toward the front and lets out an ear-bleeding whistle. This time, everyone pays attention.

“Thank you, Morgan.” Georgia winces and wiggles a finger inside her ear. “If the judges will take a seat behind the table.” She motions to the four chairs set up beside her.

“And I can finally announce”—Georgia smiles at Mackenzie’s cameraman in the back—“our guest judge for this event is none other than the founder ofSpoon of the Southpublications, L.R. Walter.”

I’m so busy looking around the room with everyone else that it isn’t until I hear gasps that I notice Ryan left my side and is sitting in the fourth chair.

Our eyes meet and I give him a questioning glare. He nods, and his face is a mixture of apology and sympathy.

I watch as Georgia makes a big deal out of blindfolding the judges. He can no longer see me, but it doesn’t much matter.

I’m in no mood to stay and watch the outcome. The man I almost kissed last night and confided in about my dreams, aspirations, and past—including my family business and former engagement—is the same man overseeing one of the best-known food blogs and magazines in the South.

My stomach bottoms out and I fold my arms across my waist. He will know which dessert is ours for sure, and possibly everyone else’s who he’s buttered up to this week.

I hurry through the crowd and out the door. He played me like a trick card, and I hope I never see him again.

---