Chapter 28
twenty-eight
K ristie paused outside the Community Arts Building and put a hand against Mission’s chest, gently pushing him aside so other fairgoers could enter and exit through the double doors.
“What’s going on?” he asked, genuine surprise in his tone and expression.
Her heartbeat thrashed against the cage of her ribs. “What if I don’t have a ribbon?” she whispered.
“Don’t worry, kitten.” Mission took her face in both of his hands. “You’re going to have one.”
“But what if I don’t?” she asked again. She felt wholly unprepared for this moment, despite their earlier conversation on the topic.
“Kris, it would be impossible for you not to,” Mission said.
“But let’s say you don’t. That’s fine. We’ll leave, and we’ll go to lunch.
We’ll enjoy the rest of our day off together.
Because a ribbon doesn’t make you a good chef, and a ribbon doesn’t make you a good person.
Having a ribbon or not having a ribbon isn’t going to change how I feel about you. ”
Kristie nodded, glancing over her shoulder toward the glass door. “It doesn’t change anything.”
“It doesn’t change anything,” Mission echoed. “You’re still going to make that chocolate cake for my birthday, and we’re still going to have a great day together.”
He slid one hand over her shoulder and down her back, pulling her closer. “In fact,” he murmured. “I’m kind of praying you won’t have a ribbon, so then you’ll be upset, and maybe I’ll get to hold you in my spare bedroom again.”
She whipped her gaze back to his and searched his face—only to find teasing in his expression. “You’re not helping,” she said.
He grinned and leaned closer. “Yes, I am.”
She tried to slip out of his arms, but he dropped the second one and kept her close. “Seriously, Kris. Take a minute, and just think about what I said.”
She closed her eyes and drew a breath.
Having a ribbon doesn’t make you a good chef. You won’t be a better person if you have one. And it won’t change how I feel about you.
Her eyes popped open. “How do you feel about me?”
“You extracted that bit, did you?” he asked, his voice low as he leaned in, his mouth just a breath from hers. “I’m crazy about you, kitten. And it doesn’t matter what color your ribbon is—or if you don’t have one at all. I’m still going to be absolutely crazy about you.”
With that, he released her, took her hand solidly in his, and opened the door to the Community Arts Center.
He led her inside the air-conditioned building, where the first thing they saw was an enormous purple ribbon.
The head of it was at least a foot across that read Best in Show , with several frilly arms hanging down.
A honey lavender opera cake sat beneath it, accompanied by photographs of the cake whole and a slice showing all twelve delicate layers with a beautiful, deep purple mirror glaze dripping down the sides.
Kristie stopped in front of it, complete awe running through her. “Wow,” she managed to say, though her lips barely moved.
“Lavender tastes like soap,” Mission said. “But it’s a pretty cake.” He cut a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t want my chocolate birthday cake to have lavender in it.”
She smiled, pure appreciation blooming in her chest for the way he could acknowledge something impressive while still being honest.
“Jocelyn is going to be obsessed with opera cakes now,” Kristie said.
“Have you ever made one?” He guided her gently to the right, as the baking competition required everyone to move in the same direction to view the entries.
“No,” Kristie said. “They’re very finicky. Lots can go wrong.”
“And you bake for fun, right?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question.
Kristie hadn’t really thought about it lately. She’d set a goal to earn a ribbon at the State Fair—and she realized now that goal had stolen some of the joy from her baking.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I bake for fun.”
She wasn’t trying to start a business or get on a baking competition show. She’d just wanted to improve something about herself. She’d signed up for a community course and enjoyed baking—until these past couple of months.
And then she saw it—Jocelyn’s lemon basil cake. A white, first-place ribbon gleamed beside it, only a few feet away from the purple-ribbon winner.
Kristie squealed. “Look, it’s Jocelyn’s cake!” Pure happiness streamed through her. She snapped a picture and quickly texted her friend.
I know what you got in the baking competition. Do you want me to tell you?
No, we’re almost there. Don’t you dare tell me, Jocelyn sent back.
“They’re almost here,” Kristie said. “Should we wait for them?”
Mission had taken a few steps ahead, but now he turned back to her, his eyes wide, something tense flowing off him.
Kristie stepped toward him. “What is it?”
He nodded his cowboy hat toward his left shoulder. Down the aisle, a few desserts over, Kristie saw her apple crumble tart.
She gasped. Air rushed out of her lungs as she hurried over.
There it was. Another white ribbon. First Place.
“Turn around, kitten,” Mission said.
She did, and he snapped her picture. “Now scoot in a little tighter, baby.” He took several photos, and she crowded next to him to look.
“I got first place,” she breathed.
“You got the same as Jocelyn, baby. I’m so proud of you.”
He kissed her, but only for a moment as someone catcalled, and Mission stepped back with a growl just as they were swarmed by familiar faces.
Tucker Hammond and Tarr Olson approached with wide grins.
“Hey, guys,” Mission said with a chuckle. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, we needed an afternoon away from the farm,” Tucker said.
He fell back beside Bobbie Jo, who moved forward and hugged Mission before shaking Kristie’s hand. “Hey, how are you guys?”
“Good,” Kristie said with a smile.
“She just won first place,” Mission said proudly.
“You’re kidding,” Bobbie Jo said, stepping down to inspect the apple crumble tart. “You made this?”
Kristie nodded, a bit of heat rising in her cheeks.
“That’s incredible,” Tucker said.
Tarr turned and reached for a blonde-haired woman walking with a crutch. She didn’t have much color in her cheeks, and Kristie’s concern immediately spiked.
“Hey, are you okay?” she asked, moving over to them.
“This is Briar Prescott,” Tarr said. “She’s regretting letting me get her out of the house, but the doctor said it would be good for her to walk around a little.”
Briar managed a tight smile. “Being upright is harder than I thought.”
“I told you I’d get you a chair,” Tarr said.
“And then you’d be pushing me around in a chair,” Briar shot back. “Absolutely not.”
“There’s a bench right over here,” Bobbie Jo said. She moved to Briar’s non-crutch side and linked arms with her. “Come sit for a minute. It was a long walk from the parking lot.”
Kristie watched them go, then turned back to Tarr and Tucker. She’d met them before, and she knew Bobbie Jo, but she hadn’t met Briar.
“What happened to her?” she asked.
Tuck and Tarr exchanged a glance, but it was Mission who answered. “She’s the one who got attacked by the coyote, right?”
Kristie sucked in a breath. “ She’s the one who got attacked by that coyote?” She turned to look at Briar again, catching her just as she eased onto the bench. “Tarr, she should not be out.”
“Oh, here we go,” Tuck said, immediately walking off.
Tarr glared at Kristie. “The doctor said she needs to get up and move. You should see her at home. She doesn’t even get off the couch, and she hasn’t left the house in a week.”
“It only happened about a week ago, right?” Kristie asked.
“About nine days now,” Tarr said.
“The ride here probably wore her out,” Kristie said. “Promise me you’ll take her home soon.”
“Trust me, she doesn’t hold back with me,” Tarr muttered. “I’m lucky if I make it out of her house alive every night. You should be praying for me .” He tipped his hat at Mission and strode over to the bench.
Kristie watched for a moment, then heard a very familiar squeal. She turned toward the voice and saw Jocelyn standing in front of her cake, with Lennie and Harper at her side. Kristie hurried over to her friends.
“First place,” Jocelyn said. “I can’t believe it.”
“Have you seen all of ours too?” Lennie asked.
Kristie shook her head. “Nope. We stalled right here when we ran into some cowboys from the farm.”
“Take my picture,” Jocelyn said, handing over her phone. Kristie snapped several shots as Jocelyn struck pose after pose.
“Do you want one with all of you?” Mission asked.
“Oh, it’s not the purple ribbon,” Jocelyn said. “We don’t need a group shot with my cake.”
“Well, I want all of us by mine ,” Kristie said brightly. She waved dramatically at her apple crumble tart like a game show hostess, and her friends squealed in delight as they crowded around for a picture.
Only a few stalls down, in the very corner, sat Lennie’s pavlova. It had been placed on a higher shelf at eye level—and it had two first place ribbons.
“What does that mean?” Lennie asked, gaping. “Two ribbons?”
“Look,” Harper said, reading the card. “It means there were multiple judges who wanted to give this the purple ribbon. In the end, it wasn’t chosen as the overall winner, but the judges wanted to recognize its excellence for creativity, appearance, and taste.”
She turned wide-eyed to Lennie. “One judge even wrote, I’ve never had a pavlova this delicious. This should absolutely be the purple ribbon winner.”
Kristie gripped Lennie’s hands and bounced on her toes. “You almost won it, Len.”
“Congratulations,” Jocelyn said, giving Lennie a side squeeze. “What are you guys doing after this? Do you have a lunch date we can crash?”
Kristie looked to Mission, who chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, but we’re going to that sushi place,” he said.
“Ew.” Harper wrinkled her nose. “Are you serious ?”
“I’m dead serious,” Mission said. “I like sushi.”
“Yeah, but you shouldn’t eat it in a landlocked state,” Harper muttered, turning down the aisle and passing the bench where Briar still sat with Tarr.
Tension radiated from both of them. Tarr sat with his arms folded, making his biceps and shoulders look even bigger. He stared past Kristie while Briar stared in the opposite direction. Kristie had no idea what their history was, but they didn’t exactly look like they were on good terms.
“Oh, mine is right here,” Harper said. “I barely made it into first.”
The dessert next to hers had a second place ribbon, but Harper’s had the white first place tag. She wanted pictures too, and the five of them wandered the rest of the building, commenting about the desserts and pastries in the competition.
Mission marveled at all the chocolate chip cookie entries at the end. “Who knew there were that many different ways to make cookies?” he said. “And how in the world do you decide which one tastes better?”
“Oh, you can tell,” Lennie said, very seriously.
“There are all kinds of different chocolates too,” Jocelyn said. “Semi-sweet, milk, bittersweet, white….”
“Some people put butterscotch chips in,” Kristie said.
“That’s not chocolate,” Jocelyn said as they reached the same doors they’d entered.
Kristie let her three friends walk ahead of her and Mission and took his hand, letting it swing gently between them.
“They don’t have to come to lunch with us,” she said softly as they exited the building.
“It’s fine, kitten,” he said. “I don’t mind sharing you. At least a little bit.” He pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to her temple. “But tonight,” he said. “You’re all mine.”
She grinned up at him and then scoffed. “Right. All yours—and your grandfather’s. Aren’t we going over to his place tonight?”
Mission grinned and reached up to press his cowboy hat firmly onto his head. “Oh, yeah, I forgot about that. You don’t mind sharing me with him, do you?”
“No,” Kristie said playfully. “As long as I get to have you alone for at least a few minutes today. We need to celebrate my white ribbon.”
“Mm, that’s a promise I can keep,” he said.
Jocelyn turned around and walked backward. “Hurry up, you guys. We don’t even know where the sushi place is.”