Chapter 33 #2
Each team presents, the panel tastes, makes notes, and they move on to the next.
Through it all, Dominic is growing angrier. He’s barely speaking during the tastings and doesn’t smile at anyone. He’s focused on Holiday and me, watching how obviously happy she is.
I’d be willing to bet that he’s finally seeing the real Holiday. The version of her that exists when she’s not being controlled or manipulated. The Holiday who hums while she works and does victory dances when something goes right.
I don’t think he’s ever known this version of her.
“Ten minutes remaining!” the mayor says.
The last few teams are rushing to plate their desserts and hurrying to the front before the timer buzzes.
“Time’s up!” Mayor Thompson announces. “If you haven’t presented your dessert, you’re unfortunately out of the running. Thank you for participating.”
The two teams that didn’t finish look crushed, but they accept it gracefully. The judges continue to taste the desserts, and some of their faces say more than their words could have. Once they’ve finished tasting everything, Mayor Thompson speaks up.
“Our panel will now take ten minutes to deliberate. And then we’ll announce our winner.”
The tent is filled with conversations of people speculating. Contestants are nervously waiting. The energy is electric.
“You ready for this?” I ask.
“With you? Always.”
The judges huddle together. They’re comparing notes, discussing, and debating. I can see Patty and Marcus having an animated conversation. Mary is nodding at something Thomas says. Dominic is standing with his arms crossed, barely participating.
Five minutes pass, then ten.
Finally, they break their meeting, and Mayor Thompson goes to the microphone again.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, and the tent falls silent. “Our panel has reached a decision.”
Holiday’s hand grabs mine and she interlocks our fingers together.
“This was an incredibly difficult choice. Every team here today showed remarkable skill and creativity. But there can only be one winner.”
The pause feels like it lasts forever, and I swear, I can hear my own heartbeat. I feel Holiday’s pulse racing where our hands are joined.
Dominic suddenly stands up from the judging table. His chair scrapes against the floor, the sound harsh in the silent tent.
“This is ridiculous,” he says, his voice carrying over the crowd. “I can’t be a part of this.”
Everyone turns to look at him.
“Chef Laurent—” Patty starts.
“She doesn’t deserve to win,” Dominic says, pointing at Holiday. “She’s—”
“Dominic.” Holiday’s voice cuts through the tent like a blade. She steps forward, pulling her hand from mine. “Stop.”
“You think you can just leave me?” His voice is rising now, his professional mask completely gone. “After everything I gave you. Everything I did for you?”
“Everything you did to me,” Holiday corrects. Her voice carries through the silent tent. “There’s a difference.”
“You’re nothing!” Dominic shouts. The crowd gasps. “You will always be a small-town baker with no future! I gave you Paris! I gave you opportunities! I gave you everything!”
“Do you want to discuss what I gave you?” Holiday asks, and her voice doesn’t waver. “Do you really want to go there?”
It’s a threat. It’s fierce. I watch the color drain from Dominic’s face.
“You controlled me. You manipulated me. You made me believe I was nothing without you. That’s not true.”
Whispers echo through the tent.
Dominic’s face goes pale, then beet red. “How dare you.”
“How dare me?” Holiday interrupts. “Dominic Laurent, Michelin-starred chef, is a user. He makes people feel small so he can feel big.”
“You’re lying!” Dominic’s voice cracks. “You’re trying to ruin my rep—”
“You’re ruining your own reputation,” Patty says, standing. “Right now. In front of everyone.”
“Chef Laurent, you need to leave,” Marcus adds, also standing.
“I’m a judge!” Dominic protests. “You can’t—”
“You’re removed from the panel,” Mayor Thompson says. “Effective immediately. Your behavior is completely unacceptable.”
Two large men in black security shirts make their way toward the judging table.
Dominic sees them coming and something in him completely snaps.
“This is her fault!” he screams, pointing at Holiday. “All of this! She’s—”
“Sir, you need to come with us,” one of the security guards says, reaching for Dominic’s arm.
“Don’t touch me!” Dominic tries to pull away. “Holiday, please! Just listen to me! We can fix this! We can—”
“No,” Holiday says. Her voice is calm. “I’m finally free from you.”
Security has him by both arms now, physically escorting him toward the exit.
“You’ll regret this!” Dominic shouts as they drag him away. “You’ll never be anything without me! You’ll—”
His voice cuts off as they get him outside the tent. The crowd parts to let them through. Cameras capture every second.
The silence that follows is deafening.
And then, slowly, someone starts clapping.
It’s Mawmaw. Standing in the front row, applauding.
Jake joins her, and so does Claire. Both of my parents are standing, along with Holiday’s entire family.
Matteo, Dean, and my elusive younger cousin Eli, are here. Next to them stands Bella and Wendy, and I see my little cousin Bristol, who’s home from college for Christmas.
Seconds later, the entire tent erupts in cheers for us.
It’s not polite. It’s a thunderous standing ovation. People are cheering. Whistling. Shouting Holiday’s name.
It’s not because of her baking, but because of her courage. Because she stood up to her manipulator in front of hundreds of people. Because she chose herself.
Holiday’s eyes fill with tears as she looks around the tent. At all these people supporting her. Believing in her. Celebrating her strength.
She buries her face in my chest, and I feel her shoulders shake.
“You did it,” I say. “It’s over.”
When she pulls back, she’s smiling through her tears. The crowd is still going wild.
Mayor Thompson approaches the microphone, looking stunned. “Well. That was…unprecedented.” He clears his throat. “But the show must go on! Our remaining four panel members have reached a decision.”
Everyone slowly settles back into their seats. Holiday wipes her eyes and stands up straighter, but I keep my arm around her waist.
“Without further interruption,” the mayor says, “the winner of the ninety-first annual Merryville Christmas Cookie Competition is—”