3. Lila #3
Every instinct I possess prickles, and my stomach tightens. I hesitate before brushing the foreboding aside and heading toward the open door. After all, when does Candi Honeycutt not make me a little nauseous?
A featherlight tingle brushes my ankle as I step across the threshold. It skitters over my skin like thousand champagne bubbles bursting against my foot.
I glance down in time to see delicate pink sparks wind around my ankle, weaving themselves into the shape of an ethereal boot.
“Candi, you witch—”
The magick cinches tighter, jerking my foot sideways.
The pink sparks vanish along with my balance.
The world pitches beneath me. The cake lurches out of my grasp. My arms pinwheel as I throw every ounce of effort into saving it.
“Lila!” Max lunges, but it’s too late, and his hands are too full of Candi’s cellophane.
I trip into the foyer and slam face first into the cake. Lavender buttercream explodes against my cheeks and splatters onto the hardwood floor. Edible flowers rain down around me as the metal cake stand ricochets across the entryway before crashing into the baseboard with a metallic clang.
I push myself upright.
Just like Mrs. Doubtfire, buttercream drips from my chin in slow, sticky globs. A thick clump of frosting creeps down my chest before sliding over my boob and landing on the floor with a loud plop.
Frosting has splattered up Max’s bare shins and across his chest and stomach like a Jackson Pollock painting.
“Oh my god.” I stare at the destruction, gaze drifting over what’s left of the cake.
Weeks. I’d spent weeks practicing that cake. Weeks of testing recipes, practicing buttercream application, carefully piping flowers. Weeks of dreaming about winning Frosting Queen and finally getting out of this town.
“No.” The whisper barely escapes my lips. “No.”
Tears burns my eyes. I blink hard, willing them not to fall.
“I’m—” My voice shakes so badly I have to swallow before I can force the words out. “I am so sorry.”
“Oh my goodness, Max!” Candi gasps with enough theatrical concern to earn herself an award.
One hand flies to her chest while the other reaches toward the disaster at my knees without actually touching any of it.
“Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll find something to clean this up. You don’t move a muscle.”
Before either of us can answer, she glides past him and disappears into the kitchen like she’s lived here for years.
“It’s okay,” he says, setting the basket down on the floor and dropping into a crouch beside me. “Really. It’s just a cake.”
Just a cake.
The words form a vice around my heart.
“But it isn’t,” I manage.
It’s every tiny hope I’d poured into believing this year might finally be different.
“Lila.” His voice softens. “Hey, look at me.”
But I can’t. If I do, I’ll burst into tears, and Candi doesn’t get any more of those.
Instead, I pivot on my knees, turning my back to Max as I scoop chunks of ruined cake together with both hands. I only succeed in smearing lavender buttercream deeper into the grain of the hardwood.
Rocking forward onto my hands and knees, I reach for the cake stand.
Behind me, Max makes a strangled sound.
The noise is enough to stop me cold.
A horrifying realization crashes into me. I’m bent completely over. The hem of my dress has ridden up over my thighs. The warm breeze drifting in through the open front door brushes my bare ass cheeks.
I should have done laundry instead of resorting to wearing my I-have-no-clean-underwear thong.
I peer over my shoulder and nearly screech when Max’s gaze locks with mine.
The tiny shred of dignity I’d been desperately trying to salvage slips through my fingers like the frosting coating my hands.
Please let the earth open up. Please let it swallow me whole and magickally transport me to a different realm.
Hands trembling, I smooth my dress back into place before sitting on my heels.
A few minutes ago, I’d actually started to believe that maybe the handsome new judge was actually looking at me like I was the only woman in Crescent Cove. Like I was a better choice over Candi. That maybe I wasn’t destined to forever be the town’s quirky disaster.
Then Candi happened, and I’m back in high school all over again, tripping and falling and practically bouncing off the talent show stage because of that little witch’s pink magick and need to be the center of attention.
I’d promised myself those days were over. That I was stronger now, older and wiser, and far more confident and prepared than the awkward girl who hid beside a mop bucket with a sandwich balanced on her knees.
Yet here I am, covered in buttercream and flashing my ass at a stranger while Candi-with-an-I gathers cleaning supplies and plays the perfect guest after sabotaging me for what feels like the thousandth time.
I can’t do this.
I can’t watch her win again.
And I can’t survive one more second with the most attractive man I’ve ever met witnessing me come apart at the seams.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper one last time, refusing to look at him as I flee through the front door and run all the way home.