Chapter Thirteen Rab
I’d thought the soufflé debacle would be the low point of the day.
I was wrong.
The producers called for a reset, cameras pivoted, and suddenly Vaughn was shoving a fresh mic pack into my hands, smiling like we were all loving this disaster of a show. “You’re doing great. Keep up the drama,” he said.
I curled my lip at him in a silent snarl, and his grin only widened.
Lyra stood at our station, arms tight around her middle, lips pressed together.
She wasn’t crying, but she had that look she used to get in school…
right before she shut down entirely. Back then, all it took was one teacher saying she wasn’t trying hard enough, and she’d retreat into herself, ashamed and furious and convinced she wasn’t good enough.
It gutted me now the same way it had gutted me then.
And I hated that she still had that power over me.
The production team was circling like sharks, cameras catching every angle, every tiny change in our expressions. And they were particularly focused on Lyra. Why wouldn’t they be? She was gorgeous and impossibly bad at baking. Even I could see how this would be television gold.
I told myself that I didn’t care. I shouldn’t. Had she cared when she’d left me and never once called or written to me after leaving me behind?
Then Vaughn clapped his hands and declared, “Quiet on set. And… rolling.”
Lyra flinched beside me.
“Next up we have our rapid-fire round,” Kelly chirped, “and your next challenge is to create a snow globe sugar ornament!”
Lyra’s mouth fell open. Obviously, it meant something to her, but I had no idea what they were saying to me.
“We’re looking for a clear sugar exterior, perfectly shaped. A miniature edible scene inside. And”—Nevin flicked his fingers dramatically, sending a swirl of magickal frost spiraling across the room—“your snow globe must contain enchanted snowfall.”
Lyra’s hands tightened on her apron.
“And just to keep things exciting… you have fifteen minutes!” Vaughn announced. My mouth dropped open. Fifteen minutes? That challenge sounded intensely technical for only fifteen minutes.
“And… go,” Kelly said, clapping her hands.
Chaos erupted instantly. Team Elf shrieked with joy, knocking over their own ingredients out of enthusiasm.
“Bloody hell,” Henry swore behind me.
“Och, please. Someone get me a real challenge.” Mandy sighed and rolled her eyes.
But Lyra stood perfectly still.
Too still.
I nudged her with my elbow. “We’d best start. Timer’s already running.”
“Right… right.”
She snapped into motion, but I recognized the frantic energy in her movements. She wasn’t focused, instead, likely slipping into a panic spiral like she’d used to the night before we had big exams.
“We need to heat the sugar syrup slowly,” I said, glancing at the recipe card on the table and reaching for the pot.
“I can do it,” she insisted, and took the pan from my hands. I let her, but only because I was trying not to ride to her aid.
Surely it wouldn’t be so bad this time around?
I watched her dump sugar and water into the pan and crank the flame up high.
“Lyra—”
“It’s fine!” she insisted.
It was not fine.
Fifty seconds in, the mixture went from clear to golden to… frozen? What the hell?
“Oh no… no… no…”
She yanked the pot off the burner so violently that the sugar sloshed and cracked.
“Warm-up batch,” she said breathlessly.
“There are no warm-up batches,” I muttered. “This is the challenge.”
Her eyes flashed with panic before she swallowed it down. “I can fix it.”
Round two seized instantly, turning into a grainy, crystallized mess that looked as appetizing as wet cement.
Round three bubbled over.
Round four? I grabbed the pot before it boiled onto her hand.
“Switch,” I snapped, unable to watch another disaster unfold. “Prep the molds. I’ll handle the syrup.”
To my surprise, she didn’t argue. She just nodded tightly and moved to line up the spherical molds with trembling fingers.
Bloody hell. She was shaking.
My chest tightened. I hated seeing her like this—on the verge of crumbling and trying to hide it. She’d always been this way. She felt things deeply. It was part of what made her…her. Or at least the person I’d thought I’d known all those years ago.
Shaking my head to clear my thoughts from my instant urge of wanting to protect Lyra, I focused on the sugar. Slowly I heated it, keeping the temperature even with no spikes.
It came out perfectly. At least from what I could tell by Lyra’s murmur of approval.
“Ready?” I asked.
Lyra reached for the mold halves. “Aye.”
She lifted the first one, tilting it carefully, her teeth digging into her lower lip.
The syrup blasted out of the mold as though the air inside rejected it. The hot sugar arced through the air in a perfect, horrifying line and landed with a plonk on the table in front of us, solidifying instantly into a lopsided icicle.
Lyra’s face twisted.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. I didn’t even need to use my magick for that part of it.” Lyra hissed, clearly insulted by the mess on the table in front of us.
I swallowed a laugh, some of the tension loosening inside of me.
“We’ll try again,” I said gently.
We managed four semi-usable shells, though calling them clear would have been charitable. They looked like they’d been sneezed on by a snowman. But with time ticking dangerously low, this was what we were working with.
“Two minutes!” Nevin sang out.
I fused the shells with more hope than skill. The result was… well… a globe in the vaguest possible sense. It looked more like a slightly deflated volleyball than anything.
Leaning close, she began to whisper the enchantment. I opened my mouth to stop her, thinking maybe it was best if we used my magick, but her words flowed over me, and I stopped, caught on watching her lovely face as she went inside herself to focus on her magick.
Her voice went soft, melodic. For a moment, something in the globe shimmered…
And then it began vibrating.
Hard.
“Lyra—” I warned, reaching forward.
“I don’t know why it’s doing that…”
We both held the trembling sphere like it was a live bomb. I reached for my magick, trying to figure out how to counteract whatever was happening with Lyra’s, when a large jagged line split the sugar surface.
Our globe cracked in two.
Bloody hell.
“Time!” Kelly shouted.
Lyra stepped back, shoulders slumping.
I felt something twist inside me. It wasn’t pity, but something far more complicated that I wasn’t sure I was ready to examine in great detail yet. The judges stepped forward.
Team Elf got glowing praise, of course. Their snow globe not only contained snowfall but also tiny enchanted elves caroling inside.
Show-offs.
Henry and the bookstore owner got strong marks for presentation when Rudolph danced in a circle in their snow globe.
Mandy and Felicity delivered an absolutely perfect globe that sparkled as if blessed by the Christmas gods themselves.
Then came ours.
Kelly leaned close, peering at the cracked and foggy sugar sphere. “I’d give this a four for presentation.”
Lyra winced.
Mandy snickered.
Nevin broke off a piece of the cracked globe and split it, handing some to Kelly before taking a bite.
“But taste, I’d say a seven?” Kelly said, surprise apparent in her voice.
“Agreed,” Nevin said.
Lyra looked up, and hope flickered softly across her face.
“Oh, please,” Mandy drawled. “Seven for taste? Pity points, surely. The rest of it is a disaster.” She sneered. “But then, Lyra has always excelled at… simple things.”
Lyra went absolutely still.
“Things are really heating up in the kitchen today,” Kelly crowed, clapping her hands together. “Be sure to sit tight, as we have another challenge coming your way in the Christmas special of Bewitching Bake Off!”
“And… cut,” Vaughn called, standing up. “Great job, everyone! That’s a wrap for today.”
Lyra untied her apron with stiff, jerky motions.
She set the apron down and turned away before anyone could stop her.
Before I could stop her.
I took a step after her and then froze.
What would I even say?
It’s fine? It’s not your fault? Let me help?
None of those things were smart for my heart or my life.
So I stood there, rooted to the floor like a bloody eejit, and watched her retreat.
She didn’t look back.
And I hated it. I hated that I couldn’t run after her, that I couldn’t bring myself to fix this for her.
Cleanup happened around me in a noisy blur.
Team Elf chattered about their victory. Mandy basked under Kelly’s praise like a smug cat. Henry patted my shoulder in sympathy.
“She’s had a tough go of it, lad. Go easy on her.”
I barely heard any of it.
All I could see was Lyra’s face as Mandy spoke. The way her expression had gone numb, like she couldn’t even muster the energy to be angry.
She’d always taken things to heart. People assumed she was frivolous or flighty because she smiled easily and dressed like a fairy escaping a garden party.
But I’d been the one who had held her while she’d cried over her parents’ constant fighting, her struggles in school—hell, even when she’d found a kitten and her parents had made her take it to the shelter instead of giving it a home.
She cared. About everyone and everything. Too much.
Except me, it seemed.
I dragged a hand down my face, trying to scrub away the twist in my chest, indecision warring as I tried to decide if I should go after her and try to soothe her worries after the tough day of filming.
“Bloody hell,” I muttered under my breath.
I wanted to help her.
I needed to ignore her.
I wanted to run after her.
I needed to turn my back on her.
Instead, I stood exactly where I was, the indecision burning like a hot coal behind my ribs.
Lyra MacGregor was still undoing me.
And I still didn’t know what to do about it.