Page 78 of Fire and Icing

“You iced the wrapper. And your thumb.” She’s giggling.

“I’m changing the world of cupcake couture. Side-swirl cupcakes. It’s the next trend. All the rage in Paris. You watch.” I effect a French accent. “Cherie, I have baked a cup-ah-cake-ah for you. It’s side-ah-swirled-eh.”

Emberleigh laughs, but then she stops suddenly, whispering, “Chef’s coat heading our way. One of the judges. Her arms are crossed.”

The definitive click of high heels stops in front of us. “Innovative technique,” the woman says dryly. “Let’s hope it tastes better than it looks.”

The clicking of her heels resumes without her waiting for a reply.

I whisper, “Fan club’s growing by the minute.”

Emberleigh groans. “We’re so getting eliminated.”

“Or we’re going viral.”

She’s quiet for a beat.

“Don’t worry. We’ve got this,” I assure her.

“You don’t know that,” she says softly.

“I don’t know that, but I know you.”

I do know her.

We frost the rest of our cupcakes and Emberleigh asks the host if she can be the one to torch the frosting to give it that campfire-toasted flavor and appearance. After the torching, I have to put the blindfold on again. Emberleigh’s hand is over mine, guiding me as I drizzle chocolate on each of six dessert plates when another judge stops by.

“What are we baking here?” he asks.

Emberleigh’s voice is professional, controlled. “A vanilla cinnamon cake with a honey marshmallow cream center and a toasted marshmallow buttercream frosting. We’re evoking a gourmet s’more, but elevated—nostalgia meets couture cupcake.”

“Nice flavor selection,” the judge says. “I’m intrigued. S’mores are nostalgic, but hard to elevate. Your cupcake might actually pull it off.”

He leaves and we finish plating the last of the six cupcakes—one for each judge.

She places the bag of the graham cracker crumble in my hand, then she guides me through sprinkling it on each cupcake. Then she hands me a gourmet square of dark chocolate to set at an angle on top of each cupcake—all while I’m still blindfolded.

When the cupcakes are fully decorated, Emberleigh lifts my blindfold.

I glance up. We have four minutes left on the clock.

She exhales a long breath, takes one look at me, points to my face and doubles over.

“What?” I ask, unable to suppress my smile.

She’s adorable. And in these moments when she’s completely free and unhindered, there’s something beyond captivating about her. Maybe it’s because ninety-nine percent of the time she’s up in her head overthinking all her responsibilities, or she’s holding back, keeping her heart safe from something, I’m not quite sure what.

“You …. You should see yourself.”

Naturally, the roving cameraman catches our interaction on film.

“I can’t see myself,” I remind her. “Care to help a guy out?”

She grabs one of the towels hanging on the stove handle and wets it in the faucet.

“Stand still,” she says, reaching up toward my face. “You got frosting everywhere.”

I bend down and she wipes along my chin, across my lips and over my cheeks. Our faces are inches away from one another and the wildest urge rushes through me to lean in and kiss her.

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