Page 6 of Free to Breathe
I walk into the hallway to find Colby lingering outside. “Tough break, Cori.” His eyes are sympathetic.
I stop in my tracks. “Might want to be careful, Colby. Eavesdroppers typically don’t hear good things. In fact—” I lean closer as if I’m about to tell him a state secret. “—they tend to hear all kinds of nasty things their ‘friends’ say about them. Why, is that a cow I hear? Gotta go before all the curds are gone.” I head down the stairs back to set some order to the chaos of the kitchen.
And of my mind.
4
Corinna
It’s 3:45 and I’m starving. I didn’t get a chance to break for lunch. If I don’t get something in me, there’s every possibility I’m going to end up a heap on the brick paver floor. I just don’t have time. I have exactly fifteen minutes to finish the last few pieces of foil this cake needs, slice the cooled cakes, fill them with the lemon curd, and then scratch coat them with vanilla buttercream.
I don’t even know if they’re supposed to have vanilla cream as the frosting. Of course, Phil forgot to get that information on the intake order. “Here’s to hoping no one’s allergic to pure vanilla bean,” I muse as I assemble the first layer. Cake, lemon curd, cake. Vanilla buttercream. Push in dowels to stabilize the cake. Begin the next layer. Repeat until the top layer is on.
Ugh.
My mind drifts as I finish the scratch coat. About six months ago, I appeared on the Food Network with Brendan Blake, country music’s hottest star. That day filming was intense. The day before taping, one of the most prestigious chefs on the show came down with the flu. Since it was a baking show, they quickly scouted for local talent who could join the show at a moment’s notice. I happened to fit the bill. A charismatic baker who was local and available.
It was blind luck Brendan and I got along. When we were in the green room before the show, he made me laugh by telling me he was helpless in the kitchen. After I was done laughing at his joke, I asked why he agreed to do the show. Pulling his cell out of his back pocket, he showed me a picture of his nephew who has leukemia. If he won, all of the money from the celebrityCaketasticwould go toward a donation to help boost clinical trials at the University of Washington where his nephew was being treated.
My hand clasped his shoulder. “Mr. Blake.”
He gave me a small smile. “Corinna, please. Call me Brendan.”
I smiled back. “How well do you take orders?”
“According to my band, not well at all. Why?”
“Because if you want to win as much as I do, you have to do everything I tell you. And if you don’t understand, say so up front. Because we’re going to win for that little boy.” I nodded toward the phone that displayed the photo still clutched in his hand. “And we’re going to have a blast doing it to show him his uncle’s doing this for him.”
Brendan tipped his head down toward me and said, “You think you can beat the best the Food Network is going to throw at us?” His voice was laced with disbelief.
I tossed my long braid behind my shoulder. “I don’t think it, I know it. And when we win,” I said, putting the emphasis on the wordwe, “we’ll bake your nephew a cake for you to bring home to celebrate with.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know why I believe you, but I do.”
“Good.”
We shook on the deal. And then we went out there and kicked ass.
We had three rounds to get through. In our first round, I thought Brendan was going to dive into the red velvet cake I made. I had to slap his hands away several times on camera, which the live audience ate up. When we presented to the judges, I renamed the cake Brendan’s Downfall. Laughing hysterically, we accepted our accolades as well as our critique, but we made it through to the next round.
Brendan caught my fire.
The second round, while I was on camera, I engaged Brendan into talking about his girlfriend, Dani. He told me all about their first date and how he’d written most of the songs on his first album for her. When he asked if I was married and I said no, Brendan started trying to negotiate dates for me with men in the audience.
The second cake we presented to the judges was a beautifully decorated cake Brendan helped mix, layer, and do the scratch coat. We named that one Dani’s Desire since it was the same flavors as the lemon and blueberry pie they’d eaten on their first date.
The judges said it was utterly delicious, and we advanced to the finals. And that’s where we both went into overdrive.
I had always planned on making Ali’s chocolate sin cake for round three, which was made up of four different kinds of chocolate. All the chocolate had to be hand chopped and grated before being melted in a double boiler. During our on-air conversation, I found out Brendan’s nephew loved chocolate cake.
Ali’s cake was then renamedJoey’s Justice.
Partway through the round, I thought we were out of it. Brendan’s knife slipped, and he cut himself. I was alone for fifteen minutes of our precious hour, trying to be both head baker and sous chef. When Brendan came back on set, I asked how his hand felt. He shrugged as he held it up. “So I bled for my nephew a little. He’s doing a hell of a lot worse to stay with all of us.”
Brendan and I hugged on TV over the beginning of my dark chocolate buttercream frosting.
When the panel was judging our cake, they asked about the story behind it. He was nervous, but he explained how it was my sister’s favorite cake but I’d rededicated it to his nephew who was fighting for his life. He went on to say that whether I was a celebrity chef or not, I made him feel invincible in the kitchen that day, so regardless if we had won or lost, the University of Washington would receive a donation from him.
