Chapter 24 #2
Harper placed the slice of cake on a plate, while Jocelyn pulled the rest of the cake away. Harper handed him a fork and pushed the slice in front of him.
“You should be able to smell the lemon and basil as well,” she said.
Mission leaned in and drew a deep breath. He definitely got lemon and something creamy, and he honestly couldn’t say what basil smelled like.
He put his fork in the tip of the cake, making sure he got a bit of the curd, the cream, and the sponge. Then he plucked one of the candied lemon peels from the top and placed it on his bite. He lifted the fork to eye level, turned it left and right, and said, “This cake has a good crumb.”
Then he took a bite.
The entire house seemed to hold its breath.
Flavor exploded across his tongue. Tart lemon, tangy cream to tone it down, the sweetness of the cake—and right at the end, the herby, earthy quality of basil.
“This is fantastic,” he said around a mouthful of cake. “From the smooth curd to the thicker cream to the crumb—this dessert has texture and flavor going for it.”
He took another bite, moaned this time, and said, “If this doesn’t win, it doesn’t matter. This is the best cake I’ve ever put in my mouth.”
He looked toward the four women at the far end of the table. They all seemed to be glowing.
“He’s a keeper,” Jocelyn said. “He knows how to taste a dessert.”
“He sure does,” Lennie added.
Kristie looked at him with pure adoration. “Because now you have that to live up to,” she teased.
He grinned and took another bite, just because he could.
“Kristie, you’re up,” Lennie said. “Go take that away from him before he fills up on it.”
“Oh, right,” Kristie said.
Mission managed to get one more forkful of cake before she swooped in and whipped the plate away. She gave him a look, like he’d done something wrong by taking more than one bite, but he didn’t feel bad. That cake was delicious .
She set the plate on the counter, then picked up another dessert. “This is a chocolate espresso pavlova with salted caramel cream.” She walked toward him, and Mission had no idea what a pavlova was but stayed quiet.
“If you haven’t heard of a pavlova,” she explained.
“It’s a whipped egg white, similar to a meringue, that’s been flavored and then baked.
It should have a crisp outer crust and a soft, marshmallowy interior.
The two textures together are luxurious —just like the chocolate and coffee flavors.
The salted caramel cream should be just sweet enough to cut through the bitterness of the coffee and chocolate, creating a bite that is both rich and intense. ”
She set the pavlova in front of him, and Mission had never seen a more beautiful dessert.
“This is stunning,” he said. “I’ve never seen a pavlova before, but if someone gave me this, I’d want to eat every bite of it.”
“It’s a very technical dessert,” Kristie said. She brought the knife down over the pavlova, which had been done in a ring mold with pretty ridges along the top, each one perfectly browned and unbroken.
“Ooh, did you hear that crack?” she asked with a grin. “That’s the perfect sign of a good bake on a pavlova.”
She pulled out a slice—it was almost like eating a bundt cake. He could see the softer interior, but it held its weight just fine. She dolloped the salted caramel cream on top and handed him a new fork.
Mission gazed at the dessert in wonder. Though Kristie had just described the flavors, he wasn’t quite prepared for them when they hit his tongue. He loved the toasted crunch of the exterior, the creamy interior, and the way the salted caramel brought it all together.
As he went in for a second bite, he said, “I have no other words but utterly fantastic .”
This time, when Jocelyn came to take the plate, he pulled it closer and managed to get another big bite before she took it.
“That was absolutely amazing,” he said. “If whoever made that doesn’t get a purple ribbon, the judges must not have taste buds.”
The women all tittered at the end of the table.
Jocelyn stepped forward with Kristie’s apple crumble.
“This is a spiced apple chai crumble tart with maple glaze. Kristie told us she told you what she was going to make, and though I don’t see how you can top your last two reactions…
I’m thinking you better do your darnedest for this one. ”
She smiled teasingly as she set the tart in front of him, then turned back to the counter for a clean knife.
“This tart is steeped in cozy, nostalgic flavors that say home ,” she said.
“There’s apple, chai spices, and a crumble made with oatmeal, butter, and wait for it…
fried quinoa—something a little different blended with tradition.
It’s got a pate sucrée crust, and the spices should be balanced between the sweet apples and even sweeter maple glaze. ”
She cut a triangle out of the tart. Not a single drop oozed out, though it still looked juicy and delicious. She handed him a spoon this time to go with his apple crumble.
Mission held Kristie’s gaze for one…two…three searing seconds before he took a bite.
The moment the spiced apples and sweet glaze touched his tongue, he let out the loudest groan he’d ever made in his life.
“Oh, my word,” Kristie muttered, rolling her eyes.
Her three friends burst out laughing.
“This is apples like I’ve never had apples before,” Mission said, really playing it up.
He took another bite. “I really like the spice in there, though I’d never be able to tell you what it is.
The sort of…medicinal quality of it is perfectly balanced with the apples, which have the most amazing chew I’ve ever had. And this quinoa?—”
He put his fork down and started to clap, his smile huge as he prayed this was the right reaction for Kristie and her friends.
His girlfriend’s face turned crimson, but Mission couldn’t stop smiling.
Then Jocelyn moved toward him. He held up his fork and pointed. “You’re not taking this one. I want to savor the whole thing .”
She paused, eyes wide. He held her gaze. The message came across loud and clear—he would let them take the other desserts because they weren’t as good as Kristie’s.
Jocelyn finally held up both hands in surrender. “All right.” She turned back to the others. “Lennie, you’re up.”
“Our last, but not least, dessert,” Lennie said. “Is a peach bourbon layer cake with brown butter frosting.”
She picked up the cake, which had been completely iced this time, with pristine swirls in the frosting. Beautiful, ripe peaches sat on top with a few scattered raspberries that looked like they’d been artfully placed.
“Everything is better with butter,” Lennie added.
“This is a showstopper of a cake that feels like a big warm hug. The brown butter really sinks into your soul and reminds you of the South and its traditions. The cake is layered with peach-infused bourbon, more frosting, and a peach compote in between each layer.”
She placed the towering cake in front of him. “You’re not just getting sweetness. You’re getting depth .”
Mission could only stare at such a beautiful cake. This had to be Jocelyn.
Lennie cut a tall triangle and placed the slice in front of him. She handed him another fork.
Mission salivated over the moist-looking cake with the frosting and peaches. He forked off just the top layer—there was no way he could lift all three layers in his mouth—and examined it the same way he had the lemon olive oil cake.
“This crumb is a little bit tighter,” he said. He took a deep breath, his taste buds yearning for those peaches. “But it smells like heaven.”
Kristie linked arms with Jocelyn and Harper as he took a bite.
“Man, I love peaches,” he said. “This really does remind me of the South.” He chewed and swallowed. “The alcohol is just right—not too much. And that frosting….”
He reached out and swiped his finger through it, just like he’d wanted to do when the first dessert was presented. “I could eat a bucket of this.”
He took one more bite of the peach bourbon cake before Lennie swept it away.
“How much time do you think you need to declare a winner?” she asked. “You didn’t write down any notes.”
He looked at the notebook. Then at the four hopeful faces watching him. Mission casually took another bite of the apple crumble.
“If I can’t pick this one….” He trailed off, dragging the moment out. “I think the purple ribbon would go to that pavlova. I’ve never seen anything like it, and it had a range of textures—it just seemed so unique.”
“Second place?” Jocelyn asked.
“I’m gonna go with the lemon basil cake,” he said. “There was so much there—I’m sure I didn’t even taste it all. Every piece was fantastic.”
“Which means the peach was last,” Harper said, immediately turning to her friends. “It’s fine. I know my cake is more basic.”
“It wasn’t basic at all,” Mission said, even as the other women rushed to comfort her. “It was amazing, Harper. You clearly can bake. It really was like a big warm hug. I’d eat more of all of them. I’d eat so much of that peach cake, I’d be sick.”
Harper beamed at him.
“Jocelyn baked the lemon cake,” Kristie said. “And Lennie was the chocolate pavlova.”
All the dots connected in Mission’s head, and he said, “Oh…now your aprons make sense.”
Lennie looked down at her chest—as did everyone else.
“I told you to take those off,” Harper said, the only one without an apron.
Lennie looked up wide-eyed. “We’re not very good at this blind taste test thing, are we?”
“I was great at it,” Harper said.
“I wasn’t even in the competition.” Kristie just shrugged.
Jocelyn and Lennie blinked at one another—and Mission simply chuckled.
Then he got up and gathered all four plates of desserts. While the women chattered over one another about his feedback, he moved from plate to plate, because tonight—getting to taste all these amazing desserts, baked by these amazing women—made him the real winner.
And he could only hope Kristie’s friends liked him enough to gush about him to her once he left.