Chapter 24
twenty-four
“ A ll right, Granddad,” Mission said. “I’m gonna head out.”
“All right,” his grandfather said. “Thanks for coming and keeping me company today.”
“Anytime,” Mission said, and he leaned over to hug his grandfather, who sat on a low stool, working a piece of hide that he would use for one of his drums.
“What are you nervous about, boy?” Granddad asked.
Mission sat right back down. They hadn’t talked much that afternoon, but Mission didn’t need constant chatter to enjoy himself or feel close to someone.
“Kristie invited me over to her friend’s house tonight,” he said. “They usually do dessert night on the first Friday of the month, but they’re practicing for the State Fair, so they moved it to today—and they want me to judge their desserts.”
Granddad didn’t slow in his scraping of the hide. “That sounds fun,” he said.
“Does it?” Mission asked. “Because it sounds like a great way for me to get myself in trouble with my girlfriend.”
Granddad chuckled. “I thought you said you already knew what she was making.”
“Yeah, I do,” Mission said. “So how do I not pick hers?”
“I don’t think they’re expecting you to pick hers, son.”
Granddad looked up and met his gaze. “It’s not about what you pick anyway.”
“It’s not?” Mission asked. He’d gotten a text from Kristie, but it had started with This is Harper, one of Kristie’s best baking buddies.
“These friends mean a lot to Kris, Granddad. What if they don’t like me?”
“Sounds like a them-problem,” Granddad said without missing a beat. “They don’t have to like you.”
“But they kind of do,” Mission argued.
They wanted him to blind-taste all the desserts and pick a “purple ribbon winner.” But now that Granddad had said they probably didn’t expect him to pick Kristie’s, some of the pressure eased from his chest.
“Just be yourself,” Granddad said. “You’ve been out with lots of women, and the reason it didn’t work out wasn’t because they didn’t like you. You’re a real likable guy, Mish.”
Mission thought back to the conversation he and Kristie had had a couple of weeks ago—the night the rain had washed out the road. Was likable synonymous with simple ?
He wasn’t sure, but most of the time, he barely felt like he could handle Kristie. And now he would have to be in the room with four women and their fancy desserts—all of their eyes on him.
His stomach slithered as if he’d swallowed snakes, and he got back to his feet, because he didn’t want to be late. “I have to go,” he said. “If you don’t hear from me by morning, maybe send out a search party for my body.”
Granddad chuckled again. “You’re going to be fine, son. Try to enjoy the desserts.”
With that advice in his mind, Mission left and made the drive to Lennie’s house, which sat in a newer suburb on the northeast side of Ivory Peaks.
He recognized Kristie’s SUV as he pulled up to the curb. He gripped the steering wheel and looked out into the bright summer evening. “Lord,” he said.
But then he didn’t know how to pray for a dessert taste-testing with Kristie and her friends. He should have said no. Made up something on the farm that would keep him there that night and sent his condolences.
I’m so sorry, I wish I could, but I’ve got this…thing going on at the farm tonight.
He pressed his eyes closed, his mind suddenly full of the words he needed to send to God’s ears.
Just don’t let me make a fool of myself. Don’t let me embarrass Kristie in front of her friends. Help me to be kind and constructive with my feedback. And most of all, Lord, please bless these desserts to be delicious.
The passenger door opened, and Mission’s heartbeat rattled like a tambourine. He yelped and squished himself into the driver’s side door, startled by the sudden intrusion.
“Whoa, whoa—it’s just me,” Kristie said as she climbed into the passenger seat. “What are you doing out here?”
“Trying to decide if I should come in or not,” he admitted as his adrenaline clouded his mind.
She smiled at him. “Are you nervous?”
“Absolutely.”
She nodded and ducked her head. “I told them you would be.”
“Were you watching for me?”
“Yeah,” she said. “My dessert’s been done for a while, and when you didn’t come in….” She trailed off, looking over at him.
She wore a blue apron with an embroidered apple and her name on the front, a gray t-shirt under that, and a pair of shorts short enough that the apron covered them, with just her bare knees poking out the bottom.
“I didn’t think I’d see you today,” he said with a smile. “And I’m sure glad I am.” He leaned toward her, glad when she met him halfway and kissed him.
“It’s just desserts,” she said.
“It’s meeting your friends,” he whispered against her lips. “That’s a lot more than desserts, kitten.”
“They’re really nice,” she offered.
Mission nodded, sure they were. “Let’s not keep ‘em waiting, then.”
He got out of the truck and joined her on the sidewalk.
She took his hand and squeezed it, and that meant more to Mission than she knew.
She led him up the sidewalk and then the steps, straight into the house—which smelled like every bottle of extract, every tin of spice, and every fruit in existence had been opened, used, and squeezed.
“Smells good in here,” he said, not able to distinguish any one flavor above the others.
He could only see one woman as they walked into the kitchen area—someone with dark hair and dark eyes, with her name stitched across her pink apron.
“This is obviously Lennie,” Mission said.
“Yes,” Kristie said. “Lennie, this is Mission. Mission; Lennie.”
“It’s so great to meet you,” Lennie said, gushing and rushing toward them.
“Lennie teaches elementary school,” Kristie added.
“It’s a pleasure, ma’am,” Mission said, stepping forward to shake her hand as he tipped his hat at her.
He noticed the glance Lennie exchanged with Kristie, but he was too busy trying to figure out how to swallow properly to interpret it.
“Oh, he’s here,” another woman said.
Mission turned toward her. She wore a green apron with a bright yellow lemon on it and had long, dirty blonde hair with thick bangs
“This is Jocelyn,” Kristie said. “Jocelyn, this is my boyfriend, Mission Redbay.” She linked her arm through his, claiming him.
“It’s great to meet you,” he said, leaving off the ma’am this time.
“Well, you are very handsome.” Jocelyn grinned and grinned at him, as if she knew a great secret he didn’t.
Mission looked over to Kristie, who just rolled her eyes. “You’ve been talking about me, kitten?” he asked.
“Kitten?” a trio of voices said in unison—including one that belonged to a woman he hadn’t met yet.
He turned toward her. She didn’t wear an apron, but Mission knew this must be Harper.
“I’m Mission,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you, Harper.”
“And you,” she said, then all three of her friends zeroed in on Kristie again.
“He calls you kitten ?”
Kristie’s cheeks blazed with color, but Mission didn’t feel bad. In fact, his own smile formed on his face and would not fall away. “It’s just because of her cats,” he said. “She said they were real grumpy and didn’t like anyone, but they took to me real quick.”
“I bet they did,” Lennie said.
Kristie gave her a severe look that had Lennie zipping her lips.
“Who wants to go first?” Harper asked.
“Weren’t we going to draw numbers?” Lennie asked.
“Oh, yes—let’s do that.”
The two brunettes put their heads together and quickly came up with some numbers.
“We want you to sit right here,” Kristie said, showing Mission to the head of the table. “In baking competitions, they judge on appearance, too.”
“You’re kidding.” A new bolt of fear struck through him, but Mission swallowed it down.
“Nope, not kidding. Twenty-five percent on appearance, twenty-five percent on creativity, and only fifty percent on taste.”
“Ah.” He took his seat and removed his cowboy hat. “Now I know why you go with all the different flavors. The creativity.”
Kristie smiled. “Now you know.”
“But we want you to look at the dessert as a whole,” she continued. “And then look at it as it’s served, because a piece of the dessert is not the same as the whole dessert.”
“All right,” he said, just going with it. “And then taste, of course.”
Jocelyn put a notebook down next to him. “We got you this in case you want to take notes.”
He looked at her blankly but managed a nod.
“Harper’s going to go first,” she added. “And just so you know, this is a blind taste test. We’re presenting each other’s desserts, so Harper is presenting someone else’s dessert, not hers.”
“Got it,” Mission said. He wondered if he could ask for a glass of water because his throat was just so dry. He refrained as Harper stepped forward and lifted one of the cakes.
It was a double layer with cream bulging out of the middle and artfully draped over the top, but the sides were still naked. The top only had cream on one side with an assortment of perfectly curled lemons and lemon rinds to make a beautiful decoration.
“This is a lemon basil olive oil torte with a mascarpone whip,” Harper said.
“It should be just the right amount of sweet and savory and tart, and all of those flavors should be delicately balanced in every bite. The mascarpone whip is somewhat heavy and tangy, and every item on the cake is edible.”
With every word she spoke, she moved closer and then set down the cake right in front of him. Mission could now see the flecks of basil in the yellow, spongy cake, and he desperately wanted to swipe his finger through the white cream and lick it.
“There’s a lemon curd in the middle,” Harper added as she cut delicately into the cake to make a triangle. When she pulled it out, one of the women gasped.
“Oh, that’s beautiful.”
Mission knew now—this was a big deal. And just like Kristie had confessed she would be disappointed if she didn’t get anything in the baking competition, so would all of these women. He needed to take this taste test seriously.