Page 82 of Fire and Icing

“By a certain redhead?” He turns his head to look at me, lowering a pillow out of the way.

The soft yellow glow of the lamp on my side table cascades across his features making him into a fireplace, the kind you want to curl up in front of and never leave.

“Syd and I were friends. I was always baking. She learned from me. But don’t let that fool you. She came to love it as much as I do. She’s honed her craft over the years. She’s willing to take risks. Working with Syd has changed me for the better. She’s so unconstrained. I tend to be a follow-the-recipe type, even when there isn’t a recipe—like in life.”

Dustin lays across from me, his eyes on mine. He doesn’t say anything, but I can tell he’s taking it all in. I would have never imagined him being such a good listener when we first met.

“I hope Syd’s holding up without me there,” I say.

Dustin surprises me by asking, “By the way, is she seeing someone?”

The question is so out of the blue it catches me off guard.

“Syd? No, why?”

“No reason.”

There’s a reason. Guys don’t ask if a woman is seeing someone without a reason.

“Are you interested?”

“I’m already seeing someone.” He smiles a drowsy smile. Then he reaches across the pillows and brushes a hair away from my brow. His fingers trail down my cheek when he pulls them back to his side of the pillow barricade.

“Happily committed to my fake girlfriend.”

We’re both quiet. I roll over and click off my lamp.

Dustin murmurs, “Goodnight, Firecracker,” and I regret not having a cool and adoring nickname for him yet. I simply answer, “Goodnight,” and then the silence settles in again. ButI whisper, “Trouble,” because he is. Just like he said—the best kind.

It’s not long before Dustin’s soft, heavy breathing fills the space between us. I study his silhouette in the dark. At some point, I drift off to sleep, and as I predicted, I wake with the pillow wall intact. I’m mostly glad about that. Of course, I’m glad. It’s not like I want to climb him like a tree in our sleep—or at any other time. Walls are good, even if they’re made of pillows.

After breakfast, we’re instructed to make our way onto the set earlier than the planned schedule. The cameras are set up and we’re all mic’d.

Dustin and I take our places at our station. The air feels thick with anticipation. I don’t know what’s up, but it feels like they could be sending another couple home. If not that, something big. The hosts stand side-by-side at the front. All six judges are lined up behind them.

The female host, Kamela, addresses the group. “As you know from the materials we sent you when you signed your NDAs and the other program contracts, we reserve the right to change rules, procedures, and any other element of the show at any time.”

Kamela allows that sentence to soak in. The bakers and their partners stand as stock-still as a squadron of cadets.

“So, on that note, we have a change of judges for the upcoming rounds. We were approached by a baker here in Tennessee. She’s a cottage baker …”

The rest of Kamela’s words sound like she’s talking underwater. Tennessee? Cottage baker? Approached them? I know in my bones what’s coming.Ominousdoes not begin to describe the feeling. A change in judges?

Vanessa is going to be judging me?

What kind of fresh chaos is this?

I glance at Dustin. He knows too. His eyes say everything. But he’s also silently telling me what he always says:I’ve got you. We’ve got this.

I return my focus to Kamela. She’s closing out her announcement. “So we’ll have judges coming in from each of your hometowns for this round and the next. We’ll still have three professional judges on the panel, of course. We advise you to adjust your preparations and samples accordingly.”

She looks to her left. Vanessa and eight other people walk in. Vanessa’s eyes scan the room. She lands on me and Dustin and does a little finger wave. Her face looks like the cat who ate the canary, only if the cat were possessed and needed to be drowned. Not that I advocate cat drowning. Not in most cases. I’m willing to make an exception.

I don’t have time to linger on any overly malicious thoughts because Kamela turns her attention to the main camera and says, “Today, our challenge is called Layers of Love. The baking teams will be wowing us with their pastries.”

I turn to Dustin. “No wonder they wanted us here early. This round is going to take a while. Pastry is time-consuming.”

“Forget all that,” he says. “I know you’re going to make an incredible pastry.” He puts his hand on my shoulder, giving me an assuring squeeze. “We’re going to. Our team. But, Emberleigh? Vanessa? What in the world?”

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