Chapter 12
12
After two days of solid rain, bake-off day dawned sunny and clear, but as Molly tightened the tie of her robe and peered out across Gloria’s garden, she struggled to quell her nerves. What had she been thinking?
She stepped away from the window and into the bathroom, where her reflection, plain and pale, stared back at her from the mirror. It was days like this, when she’d be on display and judged by the public, that Molly wanted to hide her true self from the world with the help of her extensive makeup palette.
In the past, she’d spend hours sculpting and contouring her features until, visually, she became an overly enhanced version of herself. However, as she slid ever closer to her twenty-ninth birthday, she’d vowed that girl was gone and convinced herself she was much happier for it.
The contestants had been told to arrive by nine, and as Molly entered the park, the place was already a hive of activity. She couldn’t believe the number of exhibitors—from food stalls to interior design to kitchen gadgets—it looked more like a large country fair than a food festival.
With the ground still damp underfoot, stallholders prepared their wares while anticipating the first sales of the day. And all around her, people ate breakfast out of brown paper wrappers and lined up in front of coffee carts.
Inside the institute building, most of the other contestants had already donned their aprons and were talking quietly amongst themselves. They’d had a rehearsal on Tuesday to familiarize themselves with the format, run by the previous year’s winner, but that had been in a commercial kitchen in the industrial sector, so this was the first time Molly had seen the actual setup.
With its high ceilings, stacking doors that opened onto the perimeter of the park grounds, and a huge walk-in pantry to one side, the place could have been purpose-built for filming a series of MasterChef . Beyond the doors, a large open-ended tent butted up against the building to house the audience. The setup was truly world-class.
A man with the name Todd printed on a tag attached to the lanyard around his neck stepped forward with a welcoming smile and introduced himself as the event coordinator. He offered Molly a tan apron and a name tag with her chosen charity printed across the bottom.
After exchanging pleasantries with the other contestants, Molly stood behind her appointed station, in awe of the equipment before her. As she chatted with the guy next to her, a landscape architect named Mason, another man and a woman entered through a side door.
“Here we go.” Mason cocked his head toward them. “This will be the other two judges.”
As Molly shifted her attention to the front of the room, the male judge turned to face them. Shit! Dressed in a white linen shirt, black pants, and tan boots, with his hair slicked back off his forehead, Jake Sinclair greeted Todd with an understated handshake.
Hands clenched in front of her, Molly inhaled sharply as she watched him interact with the other judges, totally relaxed and full of smiles, while her heart felt as if it had been dumped into her stomach and trodden on with the heel of a muddy boot.
It appeared that Jake Sinclair, baker of the most deliciously sexy chocolate éclairs she’d ever tasted and arrogant asshole by what she assumed was default, would be judging her in the bake-off at the Petrie Park Culinary Institute that weekend .
Shit, shit, shit!
Jake ran an eye over the contestants and did a double take when his gaze fell on her. With brows knitted together, he stared for a moment as if to say, “WTF are you doing here?” before looking away. Feeling the heat creep up both cheeks, she picked up her water bottle and took several gulps as Todd raised a hand to quieten them.
“Listen up, everybody.” Todd spoke into a small rhinestone-covered microphone, the type she’d seen comedians use on social media. “Welcome to the Petrie Park Bake-off, generously sponsored by Lime Tree Hill. We have twenty contestants on the starting blocks this morning, but only ten of you will make it through to tomorrow’s round. So, give it your best shot, and let’s have some fun today, people.”
A few of the contestants chorused, “Yes, Chef.”
Todd cupped his ear. “What was that?”
“Yes, Chef!” everyone shouted in unison.
It was at that moment Molly realized she’d have to address Jake Sinclair with a smile and a “Yes, Chef.” When CeCe first suggested it, she’d been super excited to represent the Lime Tree Hill Foundation in the bake-off, but with Jake as a judge, she was now filled with dread.
And later, as Todd pulled back the side flap of the tent to let the audience file into the seating area, Molly wanted to grab her bag and walk away without so much as a backward glance.
“Welcome to the Petrie Park Bake-off in conjunction with the Clifton Falls Wine and Food Festival.” Todd’s booming voice pulled her attention away from Jake. “I’m Todd Hohepa, head lecturer in food technology at the institute and your emcee and judge for the next two days.”
“It’s my pleasure to introduce our other judges. To my right is Jake Sinclair. Jake’s toiled under some of the world’s top patissiers, honing his craft over many years and winning a string of prestigious awards. He recently returned to our shores and opened Petrie Patisserie, which is fast becoming one of the city’s favorite little cake shops.”
As Todd moved on to the second judge, Molly snuck a peek at Jake. He turned slightly and looked her way, and as it had the day at the traffic lights, his attention tripped her up more than a little. But that day, she’d seen him through the uneasy eyes of the past. Today, Molly knew exactly who he was in the present, and she had to admit that after their conversation at the patisserie, followed by the SpinWeb fiasco, she hadn’t warmed to him.
Not one bit.
Todd turned to address the bakers. “Okay, bakers, it’s showtime. Please raise your hand when I say your name.”
One by one, Todd introduced the contestants with a short bio. Nerves coiled tight in Molly’s stomach as he called out her name, but she raised her hand and smiled at the audience as instructed.
“Molly Parker originally comes from the sunny Bay of Plenty. Currently employed by SpinWeb Media as a marketing executive, Molly loves country rock, star gazing, and barefoot beach walks.”
She glanced at Jake for only a split second, but that was long enough to catch his stare. Why was he still watching her? Jerk.
Molly returned her attention to Todd as he finished the introductions, and his voice echoed through the room. “Are you ready, bakers?” he asked. “Turn over your recipe sheets, and let’s get those ovens cranking. Your time starts… now.”
With unsteady hands, Molly flipped over the sheet of paper in front of her and scanned the recipes: cheese scones and a hummingbird cake. Perfect.
She’d baked hummingbird cake several times before—pineapple, bananas, and spices with a flourish of cream cheese frosting and the required passionfruit curd. What could be easier? As for scones, she’d mastered the art of those under her grandma’s tutelage when she was a teenager and had been making them ever since.
But when she looked up and spotted Alexia watching her from the packed area at the back of the tent, arms crossed and an unreadable expression on her artistic face, Molly struggled to recall the instructions she’d read only seconds before.
As the large stopwatch on the wall inched forward, Molly turned on her oven and checked the recipe again, thankful they’d been allocated ninety minutes to complete the two tasks.
Even so, baking in front of an audience was a nerve-racking experience, and when Jake and Todd approached her station a while later and stood watching as she pulped the passionfruit for the curd, her hands shook.
“So, your cakes are in the oven?” Todd asked.
Molly bent down to check the temperature. “Um… not quite. I’m waiting for it to heat up.”
Jake simply nodded, but as they walked away, she overheard him mutter, “She’s going to run out of time.”
As Molly opened the oven and slid her cake layers onto the middle rack, a new sense of purpose arose. She’d never wanted so badly to prove someone wrong in her entire life.
A while later, with her cakes rising nicely in the oven and the dry ingredients sifted into a large bowl for the scones, Jake returned to her station with the other judge—an older woman dressed in cowgirl boots, pearls, and double denim—named Kristy Shapiro.
“How are you making your scones?” The woman’s voice held that distinct plum of a private school girl, and Molly had to bite her tongue to keep herself from saying “the usual way.”
“With frozen butter grated into the dry ingredients, a strong cheddar, and buttermilk.”
“I see. And was that salt you just added?”
“No, just a little sugar.”
“Sugar?”
“Yes. I always add a decent pinch of sugar to my cheese scones. It helps to balance out the flavor.”
Kristy pulled a face as Jake looked on in silence. “Well, I never,” she continued. “Sugar in a savory scone? How very Gen-Z of you, or is it Millennial? It’s so hard to tell these days. Anyway, I look forward to the taste test.”
As Molly glanced at Jake, he pursed his lips, suppressing a smile perhaps. When they talked at the patisserie that day, she hadn’t studied him too closely, but today was different. Now she had time to look, and any similarity to Jesse faded as she saw him as his own person.
A person intent on pissing her off.
Just as she was about to mix her scone dough, she knocked a spatula onto the floor. Jake picked it up, but instead of placing it back on the counter, he held her gaze while offering it across the bowl of mixture. As a bead of sweat trickled down the back of her neck, Molly was certain that if she’d checked her reflection in a mirror, her face would be a heightened shade of blush red.
“You feeling okay, Molly?” he murmured.
For a moment, her surroundings vanished as she focused on the tone of his voice: so tender compared to previous times they’d spoken. She accepted the spatula and lowered her gaze. WTAF? “Yes, Chef.”
He nodded. Smiled softly. “Good.”
When the judges moved on to the next contestant, Molly took a deep breath, opened the oven door as the timer chimed, and removed the cake layers with shaking hands.
Next, she poured the buttermilk into the dry ingredients and mixed it to combine with a dinner knife. But as she turned the scone dough onto a floured board for a featherlight knead before cutting it into shapes, Jake doubled back.
“That dough’s overly wet.” He looked at her, his expression serious once again, as if he was genuinely concerned about the state of her scone mixture. Obviously he hadn’t received the memo from the organizers about bringing his poker face to the competition. But then, she’d noticed him interacting warmly with the other contestants, just not her. “Is that intentional?”
Molly failed to suppress the hint of a smile. She’d made cheese scones many times over the years, and her grandma had taught her to make the dough sticky to the touch. “It is, Chef.”
He stared. “Let’s hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Yes, Chef.” Screw you. “I do, Chef.”
Jake lingered for a moment and then, as if he’d sensed her unspoken screw you , actually chuckled before walking away. Her face now hotter than ever, Molly finished prepping the scones, slipped them into the oven, and set the timer for twelve minutes.
With the judges absent while the contestants put the finishing touches on their creations, Molly relaxed slightly. However, when they returned for the blind taste test, her nerves were hanging on for dear life over the edge of an extremely high imaginary cliff. So much for CeCe’s assertion that being a contestant would be fun and that the judges last year were hilarious. Really?
Before them, twenty cakes in various shapes and sizes lined a trestle table, waiting to be judged. Molly watched as Jake put a forkful of her cake in his mouth.
“Whose is this?” he asked a moment later.
Shit . Molly raised her hand slightly.
“Please step forward.”
“Yes, Chef.” She walked to the front of the room, the eyes of the crowd following her every step as two women in the second row whispered behind their hands.
“The cake is a little dry.” Jake held her gaze. “But your presentation is good. I love its organic essence, and the passionfruit curd is worthy of a mention. Just remember, when testing, a squeaky-clean skewer often means an overcooked cake when fruit is the star of the show. Better to have a touch of crumb and a moist end result than a dry feel in the mouth.”
Moist … dry feel in the mouth? At first, she thought he must be joking, but his manner told her otherwise, and there was nothing she could say but, “Thank you, Chef.”
For the second time that morning, Jake looked at her with a slight warmth to his expression, and Molly’s knees weakened as she struggled to get a grip. Out of respect for Jesse’s memory, she couldn’t afford to let him affect her. Not only that, but her instincts told her to be wary. Jake Sinclair had an edge to him that she couldn’t quite grasp. She had no idea what he knew about her or the conditions surrounding Jesse’s will, and her intention was to keep her behavior professional and her distance discreet.
After similar feedback from the other judges, Molly returned to her station, pleased that the first round of judging was over but wondering if the dryness of her cake would be enough to see her eliminated.
An older woman standing in front of her turned and whispered, “Well done. I didn’t think it would be this pressured.”
“Me either.”
“But that Sinclair guy’s a serious bit of smash. I do like them a little younger.” She raised a brow and smiled. “And that neatly clipped scruff on his chin… He’d be welcome to bake in my kitchen any day of the week.”
Molly had to stop herself from laughing. A serious bit of smash! What an understatement that was.
People in the audience came and went, with the perimeter of the tent standing room only the entire time, but as she focused on the task at hand, Molly tried not to think about the size of the crowd.
However, just as she was plating up several scones on a board, along with generous pats of butter, a loud “Go, Molly!” rang out from the back of the tent, followed by an ear-piercing whistle of encouragement.
When she glanced up, Mitch, Tayla, CeCe, and Luka—all standing together—grinned back at her. Directly in front of them, looking relaxed and happy in the seniors’ seats, were Aunt Andrea, Uncle Frank, and Gloria. And as Jake turned to stare out over the audience, Molly’s nerves sang louder.
Todd addressed the bakers. “Would the first two rows step forward with their scones, please, followed by the next two?”
Molly waited at the back while sixteen other contestants preceded her, then picked up her board and walked to the judging area with the remaining three contestants. According to the judges, the scones had been a mixed bag so far: some as hard as rocks, others light and tender.
Chef Kristy smiled at Molly as she approached. “Last but, I hope, not least.”
Todd split a scone in half and slathered both sides with butter. He handed one half to Jake, who ate it without expression.
Kristy was next, trying the tiniest piece. Then another morsel, then another. She looked at Molly and smiled. “Much to my surprise, Molly, that’s an excellent scone with a wonderful taste on the palate. Well done.”
Really? “Thank you, Chef.”
Jake said nothing, but as Molly went to remove the board from the trestle table, he reached for it first and handed it to a volunteer to distribute among the audience.