Chapter 17
17
“ H oly smokes! Is it true?” Ella demanded early the next morning as she ran into the kitchen. “You made a bet with that guy? I was on my way here this morning when I got a text from my sister. She said she was at The Tipsy Elf last night and it was the talk of the whole pub!”
I didn’t groan, but it was a close call. “If you are referring to the small wager Connor MacDowell and I made yesterday? Then, yes. It’s true.”
Ella squealed with excitement as she tied her apron in the back. “Dish! Tell me everything! What happened yesterday after I left?”
I told her about Junie Blair coming in and canceling her order for the two hundred cookies because of Connor’s offer of the champagne-filled chocolates. The more I talked, the wider Ella’s eyes got.
“Are you kidding me? Why, that absolute creep!” Ella jerked on the strings of her apron in her agitation, tying it tighter than normal. “Keep going. Tell me more. I heard the exchange was good and you stood up for yourself. Did you really throw candy in his face?”
My face heated up as I recalled what had happened. It may have caused all sorts of gossip, but it probably wasn’t my proudest moment. “Nope. It was ice cream.”
Ella looked surprised for a moment. “Ice cream?”
“Mint chocolate chip, to be exact.”
She let out a wild whoop of approval. “Even better! Go on. I want to hear it all. Tell me it dripped.”
I grinned, and for once, it felt really good to remember me losing control.
“Dripped everywhere. Big time. It was awesome.”
As we rolled out dough for the small batch of cinnamon rolls, I told her everything that had happened during my sudden visit to The Sweet Shoppe. By the time I was finished, Ella was wiping tears from her eyes as she giggled and held her side.
“I haven’t laughed that long in forever.” She drew in a deep breath before slowly releasing it. “I hope someone got a video of the whole thing.”
“Just what I’d need,” I grumbled. “Going viral on YouTube.”
“Hey, any publicity can be good publicity,” Ella said, then leaned against the counter and looked at me. “Let’s be honest, now. How sure are you that you can win this thing?”
I bit my lip. “You know I can’t beat him, Ella.” It was a painful admission, and I dropped the rolling pin onto the counter and winced as it made a loud noise. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Ella scrunched up her nose and shook her head. “You weren’t thinking, Ivy. You were feeling . There’s a huge difference. And win or lose, I’m proud of you.”
“You are?” I asked, genuinely surprised.
“Heck, yeah, I am! You finally stood up for yourself when it came to how people treat you.” She grinned. “Granted, when you blew, you blew up big . With mint chocolate chip ice cream! But that’s okay. You were due for a big one.”
I winced. “I wonder if my dad heard about the exchange?” I gasped. “Or if he heard about me throwing ice cream on Connor? I hadn’t thought of that.”
Still grinning, Ella nodded. “Oh, I’m sure your dad knew two seconds after it happened. That man has friends everywhere in Jingle Junction, you know that.”
I groaned at the thought, but she was probably right. Dad had ties and friends all over town. Of course, he knew. So why hadn’t he said anything to me yet?
Word must have gotten around all over town because ten minutes hadn’t passed from the time I flipped the sign to OPEN that morning to when we had our first customer. But while the nosy older lady watched me bag up her raspberry scone, all she wanted to talk about was the bet. It went on like that all morning. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I excused myself to finish working on the piped royal lace decorations for Junie’s wedding cake, leaving Ella to handle the customers.
The work made me happy, and I lost myself in the delicate and fragile swirls and arches, because they demanded total concentration. That was exactly the sort of task I needed to distract myself. Ella was happy chatting with customers, and I got some work done, a win-win.
Besides, if I was going to kick Connor’s butt in this bet, as I had so elegantly informed him, I needed to be in top form.
Wait. I paused in my piping, a bit of a thrill stirring past the knots I was used to in my stomach. Was I really thinking maybe I could take the prize? It meant I had to be spot-on. Precise and focused.
I needed to be perfect . Better than I’d ever been before. And while I’d been planning on my best work, of course, thanks to my hopes for social media attention, this bet amped things up to a whole new level.
I doubled down on my determination, clapped on my over-the-ear headphones, and cranked up Oingo Boingo, with Bananarama and then Cindi Lauper lined up next.
Fred Astaire was far too smooth for the way I was feeling.
I’ve heard people talk about getting ‘into the zone’ when jogging or making art or such. Apparently, my version of that is to be so focused on making something beautiful and tasty that the rest of the world kind of faded away as I spent several hours creating delicate and delicious bits of sugar lace for the towering wedding cake I was making. Scroll after swirl after frond-like tendrils were carefully piped onto parchment, then left to dry into fragile beauty.
When my power music changed again, I finally stood up and took stock of the plethora of sheet pans and racks around me. I had to laugh at myself a bit, because I’d gone way over the top on this one. Junie had paid for a certain amount of decorations, and I’d made so many it would probably cover the entire cake with lacy perfection.
But they were perfection. Even I had to admit I’d outdone myself. Maybe this challenge had been a good thing after all.
That’s what Connor MacDowell gets for messing with me.
It was a wild, free feeling… and I liked it.
There might have been other ways I could prove myself, but when it came to my expertise as a baker, I was in my element.
Ella raved about the pieces, of course, only adding to my satisfaction and private delight. By the time I was done for the day and wiping down the counters, my shoulders felt like there was a knife between them and my fingers ached, but it was all worth it. The tall baking rack I had in the main baking area was chock full of beautiful and edible decorations. Sugar flowers with delicate petals bloomed next to swirl after swirl of cream-colored royal lace. Trays of sweetly decorated heart-shaped cookies were carefully placed at the bottom, ready to go into the cooler as soon as everything had been cleaned up and I could head home.
The cakes I’d made ahead of time were already in the cooler on cake boards and crumb coated, frozen and ready for their part in this performance, so there was just one more thing to do before I left for the night. Junie hadn’t wanted fondant, but real vanilla buttercream, and I’d been happy to oblige. With practiced expertise, I mixed a huge batch of rich frosting, barely tinted pink, swiping a quick taste to be sure the flavor and consistency were as smooth and flavorful as they could be. As soon as I put the tasting spoon in my mouth, I closed my eyes in total bliss.
More perfection. Awesome.
The cake was going to be the greatest thing I’d ever done, and my cookies would stand up against the epitome of any culinary delights Connor MacDowell was going to try to present at the wedding. I covered the frosting bowl, then lugged it into the cooler and stashed it toward the back. I vaguely remembered Ella saying good night to me as she headed out the front and locked it behind her, so I wiped down my work area and gave the floor a quick mop. After a quick check of the trash, I wasn’t surprised to see there was a single bag left to go out.
I was still humming ’80s pop tunes when I lugged the bag through the back door, propping it open so I wouldn’t have to worry about it shutting behind me and locking me out. A quick toss of the bag landed the contents into the dumpster. “Two points,” I said into the frosty air with a giggle. “For the win .”
I was about to turn to go back inside when I heard a voice.
“Oh, come on, now!”
It sounded frustrated and very familiar.
Whirling, I scanned the back of the building. There was no one there, but I was absolutely sure I’d heard Connor MacDowell’s voice. I grabbed the chain from inside and hooked it on the handle to keep the door open before slowly drifting to the side alley, glancing across the street… and saw Connor standing outside with his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face.
“Typical Connor,” I muttered.
I was about to turn and go back inside my bakery and leave him to his silly temper when I heard him holler again. I could see he was glancing from side to side, and realized he was looking for something. Wishing I’d grabbed my jacket before emptying the trash, I hurried to the end of my building and crossed the street. His store was dark except for a light in the back. He must have been working in his kitchen, like me. The myriad lights in his sign were still on though, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.
He could land a 737 with the amount of light glowing from those bulbs.
“Hey, is everything okay?” I stopped in front of him, a bit breathless from the cold as I hugged myself to stay warm.
Connor looked down at me, as though seeing me for the first time. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
He actually looked terrifyingly handsome—even with the scowl.
Connor sighed. “Ms. Bell, I’m trying to—”
I held up my hand to stop his words. “You know what? Never mind. I just thought I’d be neighborly. My apologies. Good night, Mr. MacDowell.”
I turned on my heel to leave. Behind me, I heard him call my name, but I ignored him as I crossed the street. It was too cold to stand outside and bicker with someone. I’d just reached the side alley when I heard it.
A horrible, sickening crash…from inside my bakery!
My mouth opened in shock. I’d left the back door chained open so I wouldn’t be locked out. What had I been thinking just walking away like that? Wild images of feral raccoons or foraging possums filled my head as I sprinted toward the door and hurried inside. Grabbing the broom by the wall, I quickly scanned the room as I crept farther inside the kitchen.
When I spotted the offending animal, my jaw dropped open, and I let out a blood-curdling scream of impotent fury.
It was Angus! That little creep!
Grumpy little Scotty dog Angus, and he was ignoring me completely as he snuffled across the tile floor, gobbling the bits of tasty wreckage in his path. I swiveled from looking at the chair next to the baking counter, to the disaster that now lay sideways on the floor, where an evil little black dog wolfed down the remnants of my hard work.
The baking rack where I had so carefully positioned the dozens of sugar flowers, elaborately decorated cookies, and hours upon hours of sugar lace decorations, was still upright, at least. But two of the trays had crashed to the floor, spreading their contents over the tile. And the culprit? None other than the hungry little dog.
Hours of effort and expertise I’d worked on so carefully had scattered in a random debris field the dog was ingesting as fast as his little mouth could move.
Destruction and disaster had just sabotaged my hopes and dreams.
And Angus was right in the middle of it all!