Chapter Thirty-Five
Bethany’s finger paused over the computer mouse, and she eyed the cursor, which blinked at her in the address line like an annoying gnat. Sweat made her hands slick on the keys as she typed the name of the contest.
Please, Big Guy Upstairs, let Grandma Lou’s final.
Travis leaned over her shoulder in their tiny kitchen at home and eyed the laptop screen. “No more stalling, Bethany. Refresh the page. It’s ten o’clock at night. They have to post the finalists before midnight. The site must be updated by now.”
Bethany swallowed and wiped her hands on her jeans.
“Here goes nothing.” She pressed the enter key.
The page went white before refilling the screen.
Her heart thudded in her ears and her eyes blurred for an instant as her gaze traveled past the opening paragraph and narrowed on the list of ten finalists, which came into focus with sudden clarity.
Spun Sugar
Heartland Bakery
Slice of Heaven
Baker’s Dozen
Valentino’s
Cosmic Cooking
King of Tarts
Great Lakes’ Cakes
Flakey Layers
Grandma Lou’s
“There’s our name! We’re finalists,” Travis said, his fingers tapping the screen.
Relief spilled into her quivering stomach like a spring rain, and her heart skipped, sang, and performed a wild happy dance in her chest cavity.
She shot from her chair, which fell to the floor with a loud thump, grabbed Travis’s hands, and jumped into the air, squealing like a kid on Christmas morning. “We did it. We did it. We did it.”
“What’s this we? You did all the work.”
“No.” Bethany turned to Travis, shaking her head. “I don’t own Grandma Lou’s. We do. I couldn’t have worked on our entry without your help in the restaurant. It was a team effort. We did it together.”
“Whatever you say, Sis. I didn’t have a doubt we’d final, though.”
“At least we have a shot at the prize money.”
Her cell phone rang, and she checked the number, but she didn’t recognize it, so she silenced the ringer and let it go to voicemail.
“I don’t know how I’ll ever get to sleep tonight,” she said. “What if we celebrate our contest final with a glass of wine? That usually makes me sleepy.”
“Good idea. I’ll pour us each a glass. I think there’s still a bottle in the fridge.”
Bethany’s phone buzzed, indicating the caller had left a voicemail. She found the message and tapped the playback button.
“Hello. This is Francine Richmond from the Fresh & Easy baking company. Please call me at your earliest convenience. My number is . . .”
The phone slipped through her shaking hands and crashed to the floor.
Travis paused in the act of pouring the wine. “Is that . . . ?”
“Yes. Fresh & Easy. Yes.” Bethany scrambled to find the phone. She sat and pressed the phone icon to return the call.
Travis set the glasses on the table and sat across from her, his gray-green eyes reflecting her excitement and nervousness.
“Hello, this is Bethany Parker. I’m returning your call.” Her words ran faster than Daphne’s dog after cupcakes, her stomach tightening like it was slowly being squeezed in a vise.
“Yes, hello, Bethany. This is Francine Richmond, chief marketing officer at Fresh & Easy baking company. Sorry for the late-night call—I’m overseas, and there’s a bit of a time change.
But I have what I think will be exciting news for you, and I didn’t want to wait another moment to share it.
Your recipe for Grandma Lou’s Chocolate Cake with Buttercream Frosting has been selected as the winner in our baking contest. Congratulations. ”
Bethany released her breath all at once. Adrenaline poured through her veins. “Wow. That is amazing news. I’m . . . I’m so excited. I can’t begin to tell you how much. Thank you.”
“Not only did your recipe receive more than ten thousand likes on our website, but we’ve made your chocolate cake in our test kitchen, and our chefs and tasters agree it turned out fabulous.”
“I’m so glad you liked it.”
“We loved it. We wanted to alert you early that you’re our winner so you can prepare for potential media calls. However tempting it will be, it’s extremely important you don’t share this exciting news for another forty-eight hours, okay?”
“Certainly, I won’t.”
“Not until we have a chance to distribute our press release. Then you’ll be free to share.
We’ll email you full details and give you permission to share the news once we’ve posted an announcement on our website.
Congratulations again, Bethany. We’re so pleased you entered our contest with such a wonderful recipe. ”
“I’m honored to win. Thank you again.”
Bethany ended the call and dropped the phone like a hot coal.
Travis’s eyes met hers. “We won the contest?”
She shrieked and shot up from the chair. “Oh . . . My . . . God! We won. We actually won, Travis. I can’t believe it. This is like . . . like some sort of amazing dream.” She held out her arm. “Pinch me, please, and tell me this is real.”
Travis jumped up and hugged her. Then he pinched her arm and laughed, his face glowing with excitement. “I’ll do better than pinch you. This calls for a toast.”
He picked up one of the glasses he’d set on the table and raised it high in the air. “To our dear Grandma Lou and her famous chocolate cake with buttercream frosting.”
Bethany smiled and clinked her glass with his. “Hear, hear.” She gulped the wine like it was fruit punch. She was going to need quite a bit if she had any hope of sleeping a wink tonight.
The sound of tires on pavement had Hank reaching for his whiskey glass. He reminded himself to cut back on his alcohol consumption, but not today. Today, he was meeting his dad and stepfamily after years of avoidance. “Connor, they’re here. Get the door, will ya?”
“Sure,” Connor agreed, closing the textbook he’d been studying and leaving the room, an eager bounce in his step. Connor didn’t share the depth of his bitterness toward their father, although Hank knew there must be scars buried deep.
Voices echoed in the foyer. He drained his glass and set it on the bar, his heart tripping into high gear.
What had he been thinking to put himself through this?
Give him a chance to explain. Maybe something he says will ease your anger .
. . help you understand his neglect. Bethany’s gentle voice in his head centered him, reminding him why he had agreed to the difficult reunion.
And then his dad entered the family room with Connor close on his heels. His stepmother and sisters—strangers—followed behind, looking around his home with oohs and ahs.
His father crossed to stand in front of him, much frailer and grayer than the last time Hank had seen him. “Son, it’s good to see you.”
Hank nodded, not up to giving the old man a hug. “How was the drive?”
“Long, but we made it. You remember my wife, Linda.”
“A pleasure, Hank,” Linda said, with an agreeable smile.
She had silvery blonde hair, rosy cheeks, and a laugh that seemed sincere.
“We are so happy we could come for a visit. Your father talks about you night and day. You must know how proud we are of you and your success. Thank you for making time for us. We know you’re busy. ”
“I’m glad we could make it work.” Hank nodded and smiled, wondering if he meant it.
“And these are your sisters, Willow and Glenna,” she said, turning to the two teens. “Girls, this is your brother Hank.”
“Hi,” Glenna said, with a small, awkward smile. His youngest sister couldn’t have been more than thirteen, with a narrow, little face and stick-straight blonde hair falling past skinny shoulders. She tried hard to hide a mouth full of metal.
“Hi, Glenna,” he said, smiling. “Nice to meet you.”
“I can’t believe I finally get to meet my big brother, the superstar,” Willow interjected, diverting his attention.
The older girl offered him a quirky smile, so much like Connor’s.
If he remembered right, Willow was a senior in high school and a center on the volleyball team.
She was tall and thin with a clear complexion and the confidence that comes with athleticism.
“Can I get your picture? My friends are never going to believe it when I tell them where I am.”
She held up the camera on her cell phone, laughing, and he obliged, draping a casual arm around her shoulder, while she snapped the picture. Then he offered the same to Glenna, who wasn’t as bold as Willow, but clearly wanted a photo too.
Awkward greetings over, they sat around the family room, while he plied them with sodas from the bar, and Connor offered them a tray full of snacks.
Then they discussed every topic he could think of—the best attractions to visit while they were in Los Angeles, life on a college campus, the Hollywood lifestyle—until it was time for them to leave.
“Son, thanks for having us,” his dad said, pulling him into an awkward hug. “I’m really glad we got to see you.”
“Me too, Dad. Me too.” And this time, Hank discovered, he meant it.
“Hey, big guy, whatcha doing?” Connor said when Hank picked up his call.
“Connor, what’s up?” Hank asked. “I’m about ready to go on The Talk.”
“No kidding. Well, I won’t keep you.”
“I’ve got a few minutes. Everything all right?”
“Yeah, everything’s good.” Connor cleared his throat. “Was just going to say it was a good visit with Dad the other day.”
“Yeah.” Hank swallowed the dryness in his throat. It had felt good to meet their stepmom and sisters and to have a conversation with their dad that didn’t involve money.
“I know you still don’t trust him. But it was nice, wasn’t it, to be all together like that?”
“Yeah, I guess. Where are you?”
“I’m on my way to your house. Thought I’d take Woodrow for a walk . . . I know that was hard for you and all. To talk to Dad and Linda and meet Willow and Glenna. But you did good. Dad seemed really proud of you. You okay?”
Hank straightened the collar of his shirt and frowned at the phone. “I’m good. Why?”
“I don’t know. You still seem . . . unhappy or something.”