Page 79 of His Tenth Dance

Lennie cut a tall triangle and placed the slice in front of him. She handed him another fork.

Mission salivated over the moist-looking cake with the frosting and peaches. He forked off just the top layer—there was no way he could lift all three layers in his mouth—and examined it the same way he had the lemon olive oil cake.

“This crumb is a little bit tighter,” he said. He took a deep breath, his taste buds yearning for those peaches. “But it smells like heaven.”

Kristie linked arms with Jocelyn and Harper as he took a bite.

“Man, I love peaches,” he said. “This really does remind me of the South.” He chewed and swallowed. “The alcohol is just right—not too much. And that frosting….”

He reached out and swiped his finger through it, just like he’d wanted to do when the first dessert was presented. “I could eat abucketof this.”

He took one more bite of the peach bourbon cake before Lennie swept it away.

“How much time do you think you need to declare a winner?” she asked. “You didn’t write down any notes.”

He looked at the notebook. Then at the four hopeful faces watching him. Mission casually took another bite of the apple crumble.

“If I can’t pick this one….” He trailed off, dragging the moment out. “I think the purple ribbon would go to that pavlova. I’ve never seen anything like it, and it had a range of textures—it just seemed so unique.”

“Second place?” Jocelyn asked.

“I’m gonna go with the lemon basil cake,” he said. “There was so much there—I’m sure I didn’t even taste it all. Every piece was fantastic.”

“Which means the peach was last,” Harper said, immediately turning to her friends. “It’s fine. I know my cake is more basic.”

“It wasn’t basic at all,” Mission said, even as the other women rushed to comfort her. “It was amazing, Harper. You clearly can bake. It really was like a big warm hug. I’d eat more of all of them. I’d eat so much of that peach cake, I’d be sick.”

Harper beamed at him.

“Jocelyn baked the lemon cake,” Kristie said. “And Lennie was the chocolate pavlova.”

All the dots connected in Mission’s head, and he said, “Oh…now your aprons make sense.”

Lennie looked down at her chest—as did everyone else.

“I told you to take those off,” Harper said, the only one without an apron.

Lennie looked up wide-eyed. “We’re not very good at this blind taste test thing, are we?”

“I was great at it,” Harper said.

“I wasn’t even in the competition.” Kristie just shrugged.

Jocelyn and Lennie blinked at one another—and Mission simply chuckled.

Then he got up and gathered all four plates of desserts. While the women chattered over one another about his feedback, he moved from plate to plate, because tonight—getting to taste all these amazing desserts, baked by these amazing women—made him the real winner.

And he could only hope Kristie’s friends liked him enough to gush about him to her once he left.

twenty-five

Kristie crouched beside the nesting boxes, brushing aside a tuft of straw as a disgruntled Rhode Island Red puffed herself up like a feathered balloon. The morning sun filtered through the slats of the coop, highlighting the fine layer of dust already clinging to her jeans. She pulled off a glove to gently lift one of the hens and gave her a slow, practiced once-over.

“No signs of mites,” she murmured to herself. “Feathers look good, no discharge, comb’s healthy.”

From behind her, a woman in her fifties hovered nervously at the edge of the coop. “They’ve just all stopped laying,” Alice said, wringing her hands. “And poor Beatrice there, she’s been waddling like she’s got a bowling ball stuck somewhere it shouldn’t be.”

Kristie bit back a smile. “Honestly? That might not be far off.”

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