Chapter 17 Baking Spirits Bright
Lachlan came around the corner, dressed and ready. He wore a forest green shirt, a jumper, and matching socks with little Christmas tree cakes on them.
Their eyes met from across the room, and he gave her a warm smile. “I saved these socks specifically for this occasion.” He stretched out on the couch, leaning back in the chair. “‘Cause you’re going to knock them right off later, Snow. I just know it.”
Eliza blushed. She swiped open her camera to take a picture before quickly sending it to Piper, and the messages began rolling in.
Ding, ding, ding, ding.
ELIZA HE IS SO FIT
Looks like Hallmark Casanova’s ready to see you smash it!
Go on, girl! Show em who’s best!
Eliza typed a quick thanks to Piper before locking her phone.
“Hansel’s on his way over,” Gretel declared, throwing her scarf back around her neck. “We’d better get going. We don’t want the scones to get too cold.”
The snow crunched under four pairs of boots as the group trekked their way to Gingerbread Hollow square. The late-afternoon light cast a golden sheen on the frosted thatch-roofed houses as Eliza nervously hugged the box of scones, careful not to slip on a patch of ice.
The twins were up ahead, trying to push each other playfully into the ditches filled with snow and fallen leaves. Several paces behind, Lachlan walked next to Eliza. Puffcake brought up the rear, snacking on the trail of magical breadcrumbs.
The two of them walked in companionable silence for a while, the wind nipping at their cheeks. Their arms brushed every so often, sending threads of warmth up her spine.
“So, I was thinking,” Lachlan started, “After you win, we should celebrate. Nothing fancy. Just the two of us.”
Puffcake blinked twice as if to say, “Um. Hello?”
“Okay, three of us.” Lachlan rolled his eyes. Puffcake seemed slightly appeased, but not fully recovered from the comment. Now that Eliza knew about his history, she could understand why. She wasn’t quite sure what happened to Isadora, but she’d known Isadora was long since gone by now.
Had anyone taken Puffcake in over the years, or was Eliza the first? She couldn’t bear the thought. She couldn’t imagine with his loving personality that she was the first, but it was an Airbnb place, after all. People came and went like a revolving door.
“If I win,” she nudged Lachlan. “But what did you have in mind?”
Lachlan gave a half-shrug, “You’ll have to wait and see when you win.” He nudged her back to emphasize the last words. The confidence he had in her seemed to radiate off of him. “Surprises build character.”
“Fine,” she smiled. “Though I should tell you now, I hate anything that involves glitter, karaoke, or being the center of attention.”
“Shoot,” he frowned. “I’ll have to cancel the skywriting telegram filled with parachuting exploding glitter bombs.”
“Lachlan!” She shoved him harder.
“Kidding.” He grinned wider. “I do hate to break the news to you, Snow, but you will be the center of attention when they call your name. Can you handle that?”
Her stomach did a little tumble. “I honestly haven’t gotten that far. I imagine I’ll do just about anything to win that grand prize.” She sighed. “I just hope they’re good enough.”
“They’re perfect,” Lachlan reassured her, squeezing her arm. “Just like their baker.”
Eliza hugged the box tighter to her chest. She didn’t have to respond because up ahead was the glow of the Christmas Village.
In the center of the square was a glittering three-tiered fountain, all the gingerbread buildings around decorated with string lights and glowing ornaments.
A banner shimmered in the evening light, “Welcome to the Reindeer Games!”
Eliza’s heart stammered when she spotted the tent with the sign “Baking Spirits Bright” above. She felt ready in a way she hadn’t before.
Lachlan stopped her just before the opening.
He looked at her, then, his brown eyes calm and reassuring.
“I can’t enter with you because you’ll already have Gretel and Puffcake there with you as your helpers.
But just know I’ll be watching in the crowd.
My eyes are on you, Snow. You got this.” Then, he brought her in for a hug, careful not to tip the box in her hands.
Inside the tent was a vision of holiday splendor.
Twinkling vintage lights hung above like colorful stars.
The amalgamation of different baking dishes filled the air.
Tables were decked out in crimson and green runners with grand poinsettia arrangements.
Next to her, an old lady with hair the color of baking soda set up what looked like mini pecan pies.
“Mrs. Elle Toe’s back at it again with the pecan pie. Bold move.” Gretel whispered, her eyes scanning the room for Eliza’s other competitors. “Who likes nuts in desserts?”
Eliza laughed despite herself. “Old people,” she whispered back. Then she looked to the front of the room, where the judges were. All of them were old. “‘Suppose she knows her target audience.”
Her hands trembled as she unboxed her scones and carefully set them on display.
Puffcake nestled himself in her new apron pocket.
From across the aisle, Mrs. Elle Toe grinned widely, the lines cracking out in a fan along her eyes and lips.
“What lovely-looking desserts,” she complimented.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen you around before.
I’m Mrs. Elle Toe.” She stuck out her hand in greeting.
“Hi,” she shook the elderly woman’s hand. “Eliza Snow. My family and I come—came,” she corrected, “here for holiday every year.”
“Snow as in Marjorie Snow?”
Eliza’s eyes lit up. “That’s my nan. You knew her?”
“We go way back, dear.” Mrs. Elle Toe patted Eliza on the top of her hand. “Will she be here later to watch the contest?” she asked.
Eliza’s face fell. “Unfortunately not. She, um, passed away, actually. In July.”
Mrs. Elle Toe looked genuinely sad. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Marjorie was a lovely woman. Never complained about anything.” She leaned in close to Eliza, “Even when the baking was properly fudged. She used to be a judge in these contests ages ago.”
Eliza bit her cheek, forcing the tears to stay hidden. A woman in a bright yellow suit jacket and matching trouser took the stage. Her long, ebony hair was braided into several thick plaits and twisted into a bun on top of her head.
She tapped on the mic to test if it was hot, and parted her cherry red lips into a smile.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the seventy-fifth annual Baking Spirits Bright competition! Bakers, please take to your tents and make your final touches. You have five minutes,” she sing-songed the last part in a jolly jingle before tiptoeing off the stage.
“It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Elle Toe,” Eliza smiled at the old lady. She wanted to stay and chat more with her about her nan. It felt good to hear old stories about her. “Oh, and good luck in the competition.”
“Good luck, dearie! And Merry Christmas.” She parted in a flurry, crossing the tent to her station.
Eliza did the same, and double-timed it as she began unboxing her desserts and setting it out on display. She set each of them neatly on the platter, careful not to fudge anything up. Once she was satisfied with her display, she took a step back, wiping her hands clean.
A man across the way from Eliza caught her attention. He appeared even older than Mrs. Elle Toe, which was saying something. He looked ancient. His hands shook as he slowly placed his Watergate Salad into a delicate glass bowl. His name tag read Frank.
Eliza checked the clock. They had only two minutes to go before the competition started. Frank was going so slow that she was sure he wouldn’t finish his display in time. She stepped over and cleared her throat. “Excuse me. Would you like some help setting up? I don’t mind.”
Frank looked up, his glasses set low on his nose. He looked through them at her, his eyes looking twice as big through his particular lens prescription. “What’d you say?” he said, inclining his ear toward her.
She repeated herself, this time speaking much louder for him to hear. “Oh,” was all he said.
Eliza had half the mind just to snatch the spoon out of his hand and begin shoveling it out for him.
But Frank eventually slowly handed it to her, looking like a video using the slo-mo feature.
Quickly, she scooped out the rest of the contents for him, and even put several cherries on top to further the appeal of the poor excuse of a Christmas dessert.
Who brings salad to a dessert competition? She shivered, feeling sorry for the judges who would have to test it.
Frank nodded his thanks before she rounded the table of her booth and took a seat next to Gretel. Puffcake was sitting there, too, and gave her a disapproving glare. If he could speak, she could practically hear him saying, “Frank is our competition, not a friend. Don’t help him.”
“It’s the season of giving, Puffy. Lighten up.” She scratched one finger under his chin.
Three judges made their rounds about the room, each taking their respective portions. After each bite, there was a thoughtful pause, followed by the clink of silverware, and several critiques filled with praise.
The woman in the yellow suit jacket was a judge, as well as another woman who was more petite with hair that looked too red to be natural. The third judge was a squat-looking man who hadn’t looked like he smiled since the Thatcher years.
When they reached Eliza’s table, she held her breath.
The youngest judge, the lady with the yellow suit jacket, approached first and politely introduced herself as Ruby. “Winter Hearth Scones,” she read the card aloud. “Nice ring to it, yeah, Babs?” Ruby winked. “Let’s see if they can withstand the heat of the competition here tonight, shall we?”
She plucked a scone before lifting it high into the air and clinking each of the other judges’ scones like she was making a toast. Ruby took a bite. The other judges followed.
A hush fell over the entire tent. Eliza’s hands felt numb. They trembled now as she looked down at them.
Then, Ruby snagged another bite, considering. “This is brilliant. A unique blend of zest and cranberries.”
The second judge with flaming red hair just silently nodded. The third judge eyed the dessert under his spectacles.
Eliza made eye contact with Gretel and widened her eyes. Oh God, they hate it.
“I could’ve used a touch more coarse sugar or nuts to add that extra crunch,” said the old man. For someone who tasted sweets all the time, he sure looked sour.
Eliza nodded, taking the critique with dignity. Beside her, Gretel fought not to burst out into laughter. Eliza bit her lip to keep from cracking a smile in the midst of this semi-serious setting.
When the judge turned away, Gretel leaned in, muttering, “He could use the extra sugar.”
Finally, the judge with the red hair smacked her lips, and she placed her plate on the table.
She dabbed her lips with a napkin. She looked at the nametag on Eliza’s shirt.
“Ms. Snow, is it? I never finish a dish. And I want seconds.” She winked, wrote something down on her clipboard, then stalked away to the next contestant, along with the other judges.
Gretel nearly burst out into applause behind her. Eliza looked down at her scones, a handful still left on the table, and she began to feel her heartbeat slow.
The team of judges huddled together on the platform, murmuring amongst themselves. Ruby gave a curt nod before once again taking center stage.
Eliza caught Lachlan’s eyes from across the room to find his were already fixed on her. He gave a smile, pulled out his phone, and typed.
Her phone buzzed. It was from Lachlan.
Win or lose? You’re the only one I’d want to be snowed in with.
Eliza blinked down at the message. Her cheeks bloomed with warmth despite the cold winter air coming through the tent’s flaps. Her heart swelled with something that felt a lot like hope.
She just smiled up at Lachlan. Maybe I wouldn’t be so upset if I didn’t win this thing, after all.
Before she could type a reply, Ruby cleared her throat.
“A warm thank you to everyone for attending the seventy-fifth annual Baking Spirits Bright.” Her tone was sharp but professional. “This year’s entries were some of the most ambitious and delicious—” she turned toward Eliza and gave her a wink. “—we’ve had to date.
“Third place goes to Frank Mendel and his WaterGate Salad.” For a second, no one in the room said anything. Eliza looked to Frank, who was still looking up at the spokeswoman anxiously.
“Mr. Mendel,” Gretel cleared her throat loudly. “It’s you! You’ve won third place.”
“Oh!” Frank scrambled to his feet. Gretel rushed over to help grab his walker with tennis balls on the bottom.
“Second place goes to Mrs. Elle Toe and her Candied Pecan Pie.”
Everyone in the room applauded. Mrs. Elle Toe waltzed up to the stage to receive her prize. When she came back, she cast Eliza a wink. “Good luck, honey.”
Gretel grabbed Eliza’s hand and squeezed; her lavender brows lifted high. “They’ve never in history both gotten outbaked. Eliza, I think you’re—”
Eliza felt her stomach drop. The anticipation and the grand prize were all too much to bear. She held her breath, refusing to let disappointment claim her too early.
“And finally,” Ruby continued, looking out over the crowd, “coming in first place …”
A pause.
“Eliza Snow and her Winter Hearth Scones!”
Gretel jumped up and down, squealing, and Puffcake did a literal somersault in the air. Meanwhile, she just stayed quietly in place, stunned.
She’d done it. She won first place.
People cheered and clapped. She took center stage on the podium, her nerves fluttering like reindeer hooves on a rooftop.
The trophy was handed off, polished, and shaped like a gingerbread man holding a spatula.
Next, the woman in yellow handed her the oversized check for her to snap a dozen photos with.
The weight of the trophy and the cardboard check didn’t feel real just yet. Suddenly, Lachlan was there, his hand wrapping around her waist. His voice was low and proud. “You won. Guess this means I owe you a celebratory surprise.”
Eliza didn’t have to fake her smile as she posed in front of the camera with Lachlan. Puffcake fluttered up onto Eliza’s shoulder, his second-most favorite place to be aside from his usual mixing bowl sleeping arrangements.
A sudden ache came over Eliza as the realization crept in.
It was two days before Christmas, and only three in total left before she and Lachlan packed their bags to return to their separate lives.
She’d grown used to the sound of Puffcake’s loud snoring next to her pillow every morning, the tiny weight of him as he settled on her shoulder, Lachlan’s warm smile, and how it always seemed to find her.
What once felt like a temporary escape now felt dangerously like home.