Page 39 of Miss Humbug
And that was totally fine. He had his own life and job. The responsibility of a tree farm rested on his hot, toned shoulders. Meanwhile, I couldn’t properlyname a cake.
Ethan had already helped me so much. I should have known the tree farm had a big event planned this weekend. I didn’t remember the farm hosting a special day when I’d lived here. Obviously, the business had grown in recent years.
I’d only been focused on myself and these silly competitions. All for a house I wasn’t sure what I’d even do with. Sure, I technically needed a place to live and didn’t have much to go back to in California, but I hadn’t decided yet what I’d do if I won.
Even more, what would I do if I didn’t win?
What was Idoing?
My thoughts fogged into a thick soup. Quite the opposite of a delightful, fluffy cake.
All through the introductions from the judges and the initial rounds of photographs, I operated on autopilot. The foggy thoughts tinged darker. I should have been helping Ethan at the farm. Surely a better use of my time. My cake had no real chance of winning.
I was spiraling. And not a cake decorating kind of spiral.
The competition passed in a blur. The cakes were sliced into and sampled by each judge. Grans and her own slate of scorekeepers had arrived, watching every detail unfold.
I kept glancing to my right, then my left, each time chastising myself for the automatic disappointment that hit when Ethan wasn’t here. Had I been relying on him too much already?
Yes. The answer was yes.
The snowflake monstrosity took first place. No surprise.
“The sugar work alone!” The head judge, a Julia Child clone with wild dark curls who led the town council, oozed enthusiasm. “And it tastedspectacular.”
Second place, startlingly, went to Riley and her daughter Reece’s peppermint cake.
“Simple, but perfectly executed,” the Julia Child-esque judge announced.
The loudest cheers came from Reece. “Yes! Peppermint Domination!”
She’d named the cake too.
Riley gasped and jumped up and down screaming. She flung her arms around her daughter and they jumped in celebration together. The crowd snapped photos, murmuring over the sweetness of the mother-daughter duo.
They were so cute I couldn’t help but smile at their victory. Across the tent, Grans beamed with pride.
No one else in the family placed in the main competitive category. Ashe and crew received a consolatory honor for Best Tasting Traditional Holiday Cake. Shawn received second place honorary mention for Most Elaborate Cakescape, which someone had to have made up five minutes ago.
A judge handed me a generic ribbon with the words:Crystal Cove Tasty Bake Competition Participant.
Beautiful. A participation ribbon.
Ashe and Shawn gathered at my table looking defeated. I felt their defeat. “Looks like we got outbaked.”
Shawn glowered. “I can’t believe I took vacation days to make this. Anybody want some cookies? There are eighty of them. I counted.”
Ashe looked past me. “Where’s your shadow?”
I shot him a warning glare but answered anyway. “He’s at the farm.”
“Makes sense. Second Saturday of December.”
Did everyone know the significance of this date but me?
“We’re headed there now with the kids,” Ashe said. “Want to ride with us?”
I wanted to. I’d come here with Ethan, so I didn’t have my car. But that murky cloud of thoughts weighed heftier than ever. Ethan had real work to do, and now an emergency with his father. The last thing he needed was me hanging around and getting in the way.
