Chapter 11 Rivalry #2
Derek caught my eye across the stage. He was breathing hard, his hair destroyed, his shirt stained with espresso and sweat. He smiled, just a quick flash, and mouthed something that looked like “We did it.”
Not “I did it.” We.
The judges approached, starting with Gavin's drinks. They tasted, made notes, their expressions professionally neutral. Then they moved to Derek's station. More tasting. More notes. I watched them pick up his cups, study his perfect foam art, sip carefully.
Then they came to mine.
The head judge picked up the first cup, studying the slightly imperfect design. She took a sip. Another sip. Set it down and made a note.
The second judge repeated the process. Then the third.
I couldn't breathe.
Finally, after what felt like hours, the judges stepped back. The emcee practically bounced forward, microphone in hand.
“Alright, folks, the moment you've all been waiting for!”
My heart was trying to break through my ribcage. Beside me, I could sense Derek equally tense, both of us waiting.
“In third place...” The emcee paused for dramatic effect. “Gavin Hale and Corporate Coffee Solutions!”
The crowd exploded. Not in congratulations, but in pure, unadulterated relief and vindication. People were cheering, screaming, someone yelled something definitely profane.
Gavin's face went through several colors. Red, then pale, then something purple that looked medically concerning.
Good.
“Now,” the emcee said, her voice rising over the chaos, “our judges faced an unprecedented situation today.
They witnessed something they've never seen in competition before—a competitor abandoning his own entry to help a rival. They were moved by this display of sportsmanship and community spirit.”
My stomach dropped. They were going to disqualify us. Both of us.
“After much deliberation,” the emcee continued, grinning now, “the judges have decided that in the spirit of what makes our town special, in the spirit of community over competition, they're awarding JOINT FIRST PLACE to Miles Carter and Derek Walsh!”
Everything exploded.
Confetti cannons went off, spraying the stage with orange and black paper. Someone popped multiple bottles of cider. The crowd was screaming, chanting, stomping their feet hard enough that I felt the stage vibrate.
Lila was full-on sobbing, mascara running, still clutching her glitter sign.
My dad—my quiet, stoic dad—was clapping so hard his hands had to hurt, actually smiling, his eyes bright with what looked suspiciously like tears.
Edward had his arm around my dad's shoulders, and they were both grinning like we'd just won a national championship.
I turned to Derek.
He was already looking at me. His hair was destroyed, sticking up in every direction. He had whipped cream on his cheek and confetti stuck in his hair.
He was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
“We did it,” I said, barely able to hear myself over the noise. “Holy shit, Derek, we actually—”
“We beat him,” Derek said, laughing, almost hysterical with relief. “Miles, we won. Together.”
And then, because I couldn't help it, because the adrenaline and joy and gratitude were all too much to contain, I crossed the space between us and kissed him.
Right there. On stage. In front of the entire town, our families, the judges, probably half the internet.
Derek went still for maybe half a second, surprised, and then he was kissing me back. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me close, and I could feel him smiling against my mouth, laughing, holding me like I was precious and necessary and his.
The crowd went absolutely insane. Cheering and whistling and screaming, and I heard someone yell “I FUCKING CALLED IT” at a volume that probably damaged vocal cords.
We broke apart eventually, both of us flushed and breathing hard and grinning like complete idiots. Derek's forehead rested against mine, and the world narrowed to just us and this moment.
“Thank you,” I said quietly, just for him. “For helping me. For—”
“Always,” he interrupted, his voice rough with emotion. “I'll always help you, Miles. That's what this is. What we are.”
And standing there, covered in coffee and confetti and surrounded by the whole damn town, I finally understood what he meant.
“So,” Derek said, his voice rough and warm and happy, “I guess the rivalry's officially over?”
I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “Not even close. But I'm keeping you anyway.”
He laughed, bright and unguarded, and kissed me again. Quick and sweet this time. “Good. Because I'm not going anywhere.”
The emcee was waving us toward the judges' table where our trophy waited.
It was gloriously, perfectly tacky—cheap gold paint, a plastic coffee cup on top, and a plaque that read “Harvest Festival Coffee Throwdown Champions.” Lila was still crying, my dad was wiping his eyes, and Gavin was storming off the stage, his perfect white coat fluttering dramatically.
We'd won. Not just the contest, but everything it represented. Our place in this community. Our right to exist alongside the corporate giants. Our partnership. Each other.
Derek grabbed my hand, lacing our fingers together, and we walked through confetti and cheers toward our ridiculous trophy and our future.
“This is completely insane,” I said.
“This is perfect,” Derek corrected, squeezing my hand.
And for once, I didn't argue.
Because he was absolutely, undeniably right.