Page 44 of Witchful Thinking

A rumble of terse comments and conversation went through the crowd. Poe gave Alex and Lucy a pointed look. From what Lucy told him via text, it wasn’t uncommon for a partner or a fellow baker to bid on a cake, but it looked like things had changed. Ursula held up the clipboard, quieting everyone.

“The committee came to a unanimous decision that we want to level the playing field and get generous, honest bids. We want to reward the work of our bakers.”

“Yeah, sure,” Poe said, under their breath. “That’s what they want us to think.”

“When the cakewalk starts, DJ Ghost Sounds will play our cakewalk playlist. While the music plays, you are free to walk around and visit the tables. All official bids must be written on the cakewalk clipboard sheet we’re leaving at your table right now. Write down your bids on the paper using dollars and cents. Once the music stops, then bidding is over. Does anyone have any concerns?”

Ursula glanced around the crowd. No one rose their hands or asked any follow-up questions.

“Great! We’ll start the cakewalk in two minutes,” Ursula said, slapping her hands to the clipboard. Alex really wanted to hide the clipboard for a moment.

Poe made a face. They leaned over to Lucy’s table. “The reason that rule was made was because barely anyone bid on Ursula’s angel cake last year,” Poe said in a low voice. “She didn’t act like an angel at all.”

“That doesn’t sound like my cousin,” Lucy said slowly. Alex stood at the table, minding his own business.

Poe looked over at Lucy and lifted a brow. “You and Bougie Barbie are related?”

“We are.” Alex heard the note of pride in Lucy’s voice. “Don’t let her catch you calling her that. She’ll change her Twitter handle and make a T-shirt because she loves being called bougie.”

“You’re a Caraway,” Poe said with awe. “I should’ve known. You’ve got the same eyes.”

“I’m sorry about the whole bid rule thing,” Lucy said. “I know we wanted to bring in big money.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Poe said. “There’s plenty of folks here. I’m sure we’ll get enough bids. I invited all my coworkers and friends. Besides, the Delectables will be here to buy any leftover cake, so no one has to take their goodies home.”

“Who are the Delectables?” Alex asked.

Poe lifted a brow. “It’s our small group of home bakers who hang out. We make magic in and out of the kitchen.”

“Really?” Lucy asked.

Alex saw her face light up with interest. Was she always this beautiful or had he really been so ignorant not to see it?

“Well, we watch baking shows and try to replicate what we see,” Poe clarified. “Even if we fail, we have a great time eating our mistakes.”

“That sounds like the greatest club ever. Text me everything about it.”

“Absolutely. We love fresh blood. Our text chains do get a little wild,” Poe said. Lucy and Poe quickly exchanged numbers. Alex nodded. He knew this fact was true from firsthand experience watching Nahla defend her love of buttercream icing against her fondant-loving friends. He looked to Lucy. He had a feeling that she could hold her own amongthe Delectables.

Poe looked to Alex. “Your boyfriend’s invited, too. Anyone who likes Baking Battles is alright with me.”

“Thanks. He’s not my— He’s my neighbor,” Lucy corrected. Hm. He didn’t like the twinge of displeasure in his chest at hearing her perfectly fine but incomplete explanation. She helped him pick out colors. They pretended to be soul mates. They were more than just neighbors. Right?

Poe slid a look to Alex. He quickly schooled his face to hide his feelings, but Poe gave a knowing grin.

A clipboard was placed on each baker’s table by a cakewalk volunteer. Poe grumbled. Lucy made a low dismayed sound. Alex opened his contact list. Everyone got their game faces on.

“Good. Who can I call?” Lucy took out her phone, scrolling through her contacts.

“I’ll make a bid.” Alex wanted to fix this, to make this right for her in any way he could.

“Don’t bid on my cake,” Lucy said to Alex. Her eyes went over to the charity committee, standing off to the side. “They’ll think it’s out of pity.”

He bristled. He couldn’t give a flying fish—his uncle Delmar’s favorite expression—what anyone thought. He was helping a friend.

“No one cares,” he said gruffly.

“I do,” Lucy said gently. Pride shone in those big brown eyes of hers. “I made this cake by myself. I can get a few bids. Give it time. Don’t feel like you have to rescue me.”

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