Whisk Me Away

Chapter Eight

Their design was flawless, and Regan knew it. So did Ava, she was pretty sure. All they had to do was get each step exactly right, watch their time, and stay relaxed. The second one—or both—of them stressed out, they’d be sunk. They both knew this, as well, and there’d been a bit of a nervous silence that morning as they’d gotten dressed.

Regan was in charge of the cakes themselves, and she could make cake in her sleep. She was a baker, after all. Who worked in a bakery. This would be…well, not to be too ridiculously on the nose, a piece of cake. They were doing a two-tiered, seven-layer cake with four layers on the bottom tier and three on the top. The cakes were Meyer lemon, and each layer was a different color of the rainbow. They would put a raspberry compote between each one.

“Should we have done three tiers?” Ava said for about the fourth time, clearly worried. “I wonder if we should’ve done three tiers.” She glanced across the workspace where Maia and Vienna were clearly doing more than two tiers, talking to Liza about their design with excitement. Liza said something low that Regan couldn’t make out, and Vienna’s face fell. “Oh God,” Ava went on. “We should’ve.”

Regan grabbed her forearm and forced her to make eye contact. She kept her voice just above a whisper, trying not to show her irritation as she said, “It doesn’t matter. It’s too late to change now. Let’s just focus on making the best damn two-tier cake ever. Okay?”

Second-guessing annoyed Regan. When possible, she avoided doing it. If something got screwed up she’d fix it the next time, but it was rare for her to switch direction midstream, so to speak. They’d planned two tiers. That’s what they were going to do.

Seven bowls filled with equal amounts of yellow batter were spread out on the counter in front of her, and she got to work adding color. It was hard to get the red to be red rather than a dark pink, but she worked at it until she was satisfied. The rest were easy, and once she had every color of the rainbow, they went into seven round cake pans and then into the oven to bake.

Wiping her hands on her apron, she glanced behind her where Ava was rinsing bowls.

“Did you do frosting yet?”

Ava shook her head. “No, I had to clean these. I can’t work in a disaster of a space like this.” It seemed like she was trying to sound a little less annoyed than she was, but Regan heard it.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m kind of a messy baker.”

“No shit.”

Okay, yeah, that was snarky. Regan chose to ignore it. They were both clearly nervous and stressed, and that could make people snappy. “How about the compote?”

Ava indicated the pot on the stove. “Cooling.”

Regan glanced in the pot at the deep crimson sauce, filled with chunks of raspberries. It occurred to her that maybe they should’ve squeezed the raspberries through cheesecloth to filter out the seeds, but again, it was too late to do that now. Plus, she liked that there was some texture there.

She grabbed a spoon and dipped it into the pot, then tasted. “Oh my God.”

Ava’s head snapped around from the sink, an expression of panic in her eyes. “What? Did I forget something? Not enough sugar? Too much sugar? Should we have filtered out the seeds? What?”

Regan tipped her head with a grin. “How about you take a breath, Stressy McWorryson? It’s fantastic. The perfect amount of sweetness, very smooth, I like the seeds. It’s fantastic.”

Ava’s relief was almost comically apparent as she let out a huge breath. “Oh. Okay. Good. Whew.”

Regan recalled the Ava Prescott she had worked with as calm, cool, and collected. Rarely stressed. Never raised her voice. Never seemed panicked about anything. So this version of her, this bundle of nerves, was new, and Regan wasn’t sure what to make of it. Ava had also seemed very stoic and regulated during the past week of bakes. The only difference between then and now was…

Oooohhhh.

The difference was Regan.

Ava didn’t have 100 percent control over her project. She had to share decisions and labor with Regan, something she hadn’t had to do before, and it was stressing her out.

Well, wasn’t that interesting?

She supposed it made sense that a control freak wouldn’t enjoy having to share their control, so she was going to try not to take it personally, snippy comment about her being messy aside.

“And how’s it going over here?” Liza Bennett-Schmidt was suddenly standing next to Regan, who gave a slight flinch of surprise. Before she could answer, Liza had grabbed a spoon and tasted the compote. She tipped her head one way, then the other. “You left the seeds in.”

Regan couldn’t tell if the statement was accusatory, amused, or neutral, so she simply nodded.

“Mm.” Liza nodded, then headed to the ovens where she squatted down and peeked through the windows. “Mm,” she said again.

Regan and Ava held a silent conversation over her head that essentially had one of them asking what “Mm” meant and the other shrugging, “I have no freaking idea.”

Liza stood up and headed toward Madison and Paige.

Regan was pretty sure her own face matched Ava’s wide-eyed expression. What the hell had Liza thought? It was a mystery.

There was a beat and then Ava returned to the sink and the dishes Regan had dirtied.

The cakes were going to need a good thirty minutes before Regan even risked opening the oven doors, so she looked around for ways to busy herself. Really, the only things left to do were make the frosting, put the cake together, and frost and decorate it. She went to the sink and gently hip-bumped Ava out of the way.

“Go. Make the frosting. I can clean up my own mess.”

Ava nodded and reached for a dish towel to wipe her hands.

Regan was no cake decorator. She excelled at many things when it came to baking. Actually, no. She excelled at most things when it came to baking. Unfortunately, cake decorating was not one of them. She had no trouble envisioning what she wanted the finished product to look like, but getting from point A to point B always proved more difficult than she’d expected. And at Sweet Temptations, there was an official cake decorator, so she didn’t have to worry about it. Today, she kind of did.

Decorating their two-tier wedding cake was in Ava’s hands. Ava, who was also not a cake decorator.

As she washed the remaining dishes, she glanced around the workspace. Because there were six workstations but only three teams, each team had two stations at their disposal. Regan was at one station but using the ovens at both, and Ava was mixing frosting across the aisle at the other station, out of the way of Regan’s mess, she figured. Vienna and Maia seemed to be working like the proverbial well-oiled machine, one of them whipping something in a bowl while the other measured sugar. Behind them Madison looked slightly ill while Paige held her arm and seemed to be quietly pep-talking her. Regan wondered what was going on there but didn’t want to interrupt to ask. She hoped nothing bad had happened.

By the time she got all the dishes washed, badly missing the industrial-sized dishwasher at the bakery, she crossed the aisle and sidled up next to Ava.

“How can I help?”

Ava used her chin to point toward the bowl of lemons. “I need about three tablespoons of lemon juice. I also need zest. Couple of teaspoons’ll do it.”

“You got it.”

Liza was wandering some more, and while Regan understood that was part of why she was here—to learn from Liza—this wasn’t learning. This was scrutiny, and it made her nervous.

“Going with lemon buttercream?” she asked as she took in their counter and its ingredients.

Ava and Regan both nodded.

“Lofty.” She observed for a few more seconds, then moved on, and the look of absolute panic on Ava’s face when she turned to Regan almost made her burst out laughing.

“Listen.” Regan moved close to Ava and spoke just above a whisper. “I’ve seen you work. You’re a badass. And you’re not a woman to be trifled with or intimidated. Right?”

Ava grimaced.

“Right?” Regan asked again, and this time, Ava nodded. “Good. So, put on your game face and make the best damn lemon buttercream anybody’s ever tasted. I have faith in you.”

Their eyes met and held, and then Ava nodded. “Okay” was all she said, but the set of her body and the determination that suddenly appeared on her face told Regan she’d heard her.

Regan squeezed her arm. “You got this.”

She went back to her lemons.

* * *

Lemon buttercream was tricky, and there was a big—very big—part of Ava that wished they’d chosen something much simpler and way less risky. If she couldn’t get the balance of liquids just right, if she added too much confectioners’ sugar, if it curdled, that was it. Their cake would be ruined.

Ava was not a woman who was easily intimidated. Regan had been 150 percent correct about that. She’d been doing this work for years now. She ran her own part of the kitchen. She was the head pastry chef at a five-star restaurant. Nobody could make her feel like she didn’t know what she was doing. Nobody.

Except, apparently, Liza Bennett-Schmidt.

Ava wasn’t sure what it was about her, but the second she got close, Ava felt like she was back in culinary school again and Chef Boccatini was criticizing every single thing she did, trying to break her down before he built her back up again. Her nerves jangled. Her hands shook ever so slightly. She felt a bead of sweat roll down between her breasts.

It was infuriating.

Liza had made the rounds, but because there were only three teams, she was back again pretty quickly, watching Ava work. “If your frosting comes out, this could be an amazing cake.”

Yeah, no shit , Ava wanted to say, but simply smiled and nodded and continued to measure.

“Careful it doesn’t curdle.”

Ava clenched her jaw, and part of her was worried she might crack a tooth, but then Liza moved on to the next team, and she blew out a breath.

“You okay?” Regan asked very quietly, her eyes on Liza as she talked in low tones to Vienna and Maia.

“Yeah, that wasn’t nerve-racking at all,” Ava replied, but the relief at not being scrutinized while she worked was big, and she felt her shoulders descend from her ears. She heard Liza in front of them tell Vienna if she over-whipped her cream, she’d ruin the whole project. Vienna looked ill. “Is she trying to jinx us all? ‘Careful it doesn’t curdle.’” She said the last line in a whisper but made a snarling face along with it.

Regan snorted a quiet laugh. “You got this,” she said for the second time. And for whatever reason, that totally clichéd line made Ava feel the tiniest bit better. “Here’s the zest, and here’s the lemon juice.” Regan set two ramekins down near her.

“Excellent. Thanks.” She worked carefully. She wanted creamy and tangy and just a little bit of sweet. Too much and the frosting would be cloying, taking away from the flavor of the cake itself.

“I think sticking with heavy cream and not using lemon extract were good calls,” Regan commented. “It’s gonna taste so much better.”

Ava nodded, pleased at the comment. “Agreed. I’ve made it with extract, which is fine, but fresh lemon juice is so much better. I’ve also skipped the cream, but it curdled on me. Won’t do that again.”

She felt Regan nod more than saw it, and again, she appreciated the agreement. She increased the speed on the stand mixer, then set a timer on her phone for three minutes. Three minutes that seemed to take an hour. The two of them stood there, silently watching the paddle spin around, the frosting become smooth, and when the timer sounded, Ava turned off the mixer and looked at Regan.

“Moment of truth.”

Regan nodded once.

Ava dipped her spoon in and tasted. She dipped a second spoon and gave it to Regan, then she watched as Regan tasted, rolled the frosting around on her tongue.

“God, you’re so right about the fresh lemon juice and zest. Wow. It’s got that fresh, bright flavor without being sour or too tangy.” She seemed to be tasting further, then said, “How do you feel about adding just a touch more confectioners’ sugar? Like, a tablespoon or two?”

Ava nodded, and she couldn’t help but grin. “I was thinking exactly the same thing.” She turned the mixer back on and added one tablespoon of sugar. They did the taste test again before adding one more.

“Perfect,” Regan pronounced, just as the timer went off for her cakes.

Ava watched as Regan pulled one cake pan out and touched the cake with her fingertips, checking for doneness. When she turned to Ava and grinned, Ava couldn’t help but grin back.

She took a moment to scan the room, something she hadn’t done yet, and now she was curious what the other teams were doing.

Madison had several bowls of colored frosting spread out on her counter. Ah, going for the rainbow , Ava thought. Over at Vienna and Maia’s station, it looked like they were shaping their cake into a curve. And the very literal rainbow over there.

She crossed the aisle to Regan and they stood looking at the cakes. Seven of them in seven different colors. Bright, vibrant colors, hard to do with cake.

“These look great,” she said and meant it.

“Thanks.” Regan stood with her hands on her hips, slightly shorter than Ava. They both scanned their cakes. “All right. We let ’em cool, and then we get to assembling.” She looked at Ava. “You still good with frosting it?”

Ava nodded. “We can do this. I mean, I’m not a cake decorator, but I think between the two of us, we can make this work.”

“Me too.”

Ava knew they’d nailed the flavor portion of this contest. Hands down. She didn’t even need to know what the others were making. Between their cakes, their compote, and their frosting, their cake was going to taste fucking orgasmic.

Putting it together and making it look pretty was going to be the harder part because, as they’d both mentioned multiple times, neither of them was a cake decorator. The other women were not to be trifled with. Or worse, underestimated. They all came from different backgrounds, and Ava had no idea who knew more or less than she did about cakes.

All they could do was their best.

That’s what her mother would say.

Her father wouldn’t be nearly as optimistic, telling her it should be simple and if she screwed this up, what the hell good was it for her to be a pastry chef. She could almost hear his gruff voice. “It’s a goddamn cake. How hard can it be?”

Eventually, Regan pressed at the center of each cake and determined they were cooled enough for them to assemble.

“Ready?” she asked Ava, eyes bright with clear excitement. She was enjoying this, Ava realized. The spark of competition. The challenge of working with somebody new.

“As I’ll ever be,” Ava said, as Regan started tipping the cakes out of their pans and setting them on wire racks. She held each one with her palm on the bottom.

“They’re all cooled. Let’s do this.”

For the next hour, they worked on trimming and stacking the cakes in order, a thin layer of raspberry compote in between each one. Just a bit. Too much would make the cake soggy and overpower the lemon. Regan trimmed up the top three cakes so they were smaller in diameter than the four on the bottom while Ava spun those bottom four on the turntable and frosted them. The frosting had come out nearly perfect, and it was going on the cakes as smoothly and easily as paint on a wall.

Thank God.

She smoothed it on and added a small dowel in the center to hold the next three layers. They made sure to do the colors in the order of the rainbow, and their frosting stayed white with just a hint of yellow.

Regan spoke in a low voice, close to her ear as they worked. “Looks like the other teams are being super obvious that it’s a gay cake.” She pursed her lips, and Ava knew just from her expression that she was wondering if they should’ve done the same thing.

“I think Liza appreciates subtlety and surprise,” she said, keeping her voice just as low. Their initial design idea—to keep the cake elegant and classy—had been Regan’s. “I think your instincts were right on the money.”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

* * *

The cakes were done and on display.

Each team sat quietly, their workstations all cleaned up, utensils and equipment put away. Regan felt very much like they were on an episode of The Great British Baking Show , waiting for Paul Hollywood and Pru Leith to come taste and judge their cakes.

They’d had some time to wander around and check out each other’s work. The other two teams had definitely gone overt. Obvious. Vienna and Maia had made a cake in the actual shape of a rainbow—three tiers of it!—and they’d done a great job. Their edges were clean, their frosting piped smoothly in subtle, more pastel shades of the rainbow. Regan was curious to see what kind of cake it was. Paige and Madison also did three tiers, each one frosted in rainbow stripes. Their colors were bolder than Vienna and Maia’s, louder, and their cake definitely screamed gay.

“Oh,” Madison said, drawing the word out so it was long and breathy. “Your cake is so pretty .” It was. She wasn’t wrong. Despite her last-minute misgivings and near panic, Regan was proud of their work. True, the cake was only two tiers—a full tier smaller than the other two—but it was elegant. The ivory-colored frosting was smooth and had a slight shine to it. Ava had done a spectacular job piping the trim, which resembled the seams on a lacy wedding gown. They’d added two bride figurines at the top, which seemed a bit corny until Ava had created a path for them in the frosting. Now? Now it looked like they’d walked to the top of the cake and had taken their place there together.

It was gorgeous, she had to admit.

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” Ava whispered to her as she sat on the stool next to her and watched Liza walk in, followed, as always, by May.

“Well,” Liza said from the front of the room. “You’ve had all day. Let’s see what you came up with, shall we?” She wore black pants and her white chef’s coat, her auburn hair pulled back in a low ponytail. Hands clasped behind her back, she began a slow stroll from station to station, scrutinizing each cake, turning them so she could see all sides.

She furrowed her brow at Vienna and Maia’s cake, but only for a moment. Then she narrowed her eyes in a squint and gave her head a very subtle shake.

She tipped her head to one side when taking in Paige and Madison’s cake, turning it with one hand while seemingly studying the frosting.

As she moved to Regan and Ava’s cake, Regan caught a mere split second of her eyes going wide with surprise before Liza corrected herself and went back to her usual stoic expression. She bent at the waist to look at the bottom tier, then stood up and tipped her head again, examining the top. More nodding followed.

Hands once again clasped behind her back, she returned to the front of the room, turned to face them all, and clasped her hands in the front. It seemed almost choreographed to Regan, which was something she had always thought about the way Liza moved on her TV show. Slowly and deliberately. Stretching out the tension. Surely, she’d been coached to do so for the most dramatic effect.

“It’s very interesting how different the cakes all are on the outside. Seems each team had their own unique view of what a same-sex wedding cake should look like. Your designs are…unique, that’s for sure. Some are better than others, but as I said earlier, the taste of the cake is just as important, if not more so.” Liza clapped her hands together once. “Let’s cut.”

Regan slid off her stool and grabbed the large knife. “I always hate this part,” she said with a smile.

“Me too,” Ava agreed. “While I do want people to taste the cake and see how great it is, it’s always a bit of a shame to destroy something that took so much work.”

“Exactly.” They held one another’s gaze for a beat before Regan shrugged. “Okay, moment of truth. Here we go.” She sliced a piece off the top tier and laid it onto the plate Ava held up for her. Holy freaking shitballs, it was perfect. Each layer was distinct, its color prominent, the raspberry compote in evidence, but not too much. Regan had tasted the scraps of cake when she’d had to cut down the top tier, so she knew it was awesome.

Next to her, Ava said a very quiet “Ooohhh” under her breath, and Regan turned a grin to her.

“We did good,” she whispered, and Ava nodded her agreement.

Vienna and Maia were up first. They looked confident as Vienna handed a slice of cake to Liza. It was white, so Regan assumed vanilla but was proven wrong when Liza said, “Nice coconut flavor. Could’ve used a bit more punch. Overall, not bad. Not great, but not bad.” Vienna and Maia had twin expressions on their faces that seemed to be a mix of disappointment at her words and relief that they were done.

Liza moved on to Madison and Paige’s cake. With an amused smile, she asked Paige, “Are you going to be sick?”

“I hope not,” Paige said with a sheepish grin. “Nerves.”

Liza nodded as Madison handed her a plate with a slice of their cake. Looked like red velvet to Regan, who thought it was a bit of an obvious choice for a wedding cake.

“Red velvet isn’t terribly original,” Liza commented, almost to herself, as if reading Regan’s thoughts. And Paige’s complexion went back to slightly green. Liza took a bite, seemed to think on it as she chewed. “It’s moist, though. Dense without being too much so. Good depth of flavor. Quite tasty. Just boring.” She set the plate down.

Paige felt behind her, clearly looking for her stool before dropping onto it.

And then it was their turn.

Regan wondered if Ava could hear her heart hammering in her chest. She did hear Ava swallow as she handed the plate to Liza.

“Well, first of all, it looks absolutely lovely,” Liza commented. “You went with the internal rainbow, I see, and left the outside with more of a classy appearance. Subtlety. I like it. Creative.” She put a bite in her mouth, slid the fork out slowly, and Regan was pretty sure her own head might explode in anticipation. Her brain went to people who baked in competitions on tv and her only thought was Jesus, how do people do this?

“Oh.” Just that one word. That’s all Liza said for a full minute. And then she did something completely unexpected…she took a second bite. “Oh, my.” She turned to them with what seemed to be a completely bewildered expression on her face, as if she hadn’t expected any of them to make a decent cake. “Good Lord, that’s delicious.” She pointed at the slice with her fork. “The lemon is tangy and tart, but not too much so, and it’s evened out by the raspberry compote, which is absolutely perfect, by the way.” She gave a nod to Ava on that. “God.” She set the plate down and seemed almost a little irritated as she said, “That might be one of the best pieces of cake I’ve ever tasted.” She turned and headed toward the front of the room.

When Regan turned to meet Ava’s gaze, her dark eyes were wide with clear disbelief. She rolled her lips in and bit down on them to keep from bursting into delighted laughter. Because oh my God, Liza Bennett-Schmidt had just told them their cake rocked.

“I did not see that coming,” Ava whispered when Liza was far enough away to not hear.

“Same,” Regan whispered back, but she reached for Ava’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, and she was surprised to feel Ava squeeze back before letting it go and turning her attention to Liza.

“I am impressed. I threw a last-minute challenge at you, made you work with somebody you’re not terribly familiar with, and you all stepped up. Very nicely done.” She gave them time to bask in that before she went on. “As for who impressed me the most, I have to go with Ava and Regan. Not only did they make a most delicious cake and then color it in deep, vibrant colors, they made it look elegant and beautiful, a cake any betrothed couple—same-sex or not—would be thrilled to have at their wedding reception. Good work, you two.”

Liza began clapping, and the others joined in for a round of applause. Regan knew she was grinning like a big dork, and that was okay because so was Ava. Before she could stop herself, she wrapped Ava in a hug. Just a quick one. Ava looked slightly surprised but went with it. She let her go after only a second or two.

“You all have worked very hard today. Cocktails and appetizers have been set up in the dining room. We’ll have the cakes brought up so you can try each other’s. Feel free to go freshen up and then head that way. Again, nice work today, ladies. I’m proud of you.”

And with that, she turned and left, May on her heels.