5. Elena #2
As I step away from the stage, my mind a swirling vortex of mortification and confusion, the blond baker I noticed before the introduction materializes beside me, all dazzling smile and easy charm.
"James Reynolds, national baking champion," he says, extending his large hand. "And you must be the local talent I've heard whispers about."
Up close, his good looks are even more striking: blond hair styled to look effortlessly tousled, clear blue eyes that sparkle with mischief, and the kind of smile that probably gets him whatever he wants.
"Elena Avery," I reply, a tingle racing up my arm as I shake his hand. The contact is brief, but I catch the subtle dilation of his pupils.
"Elena," he repeats, his voice smooth as butter, as if tasting the name.
"A pleasure. I almost didn't make it to this charming little festival, but I heard the competition was surprisingly…
piquant this year." He, too, gives a subtle sniff, his nostrils flaring slightly. My internal alarm bells start ringing.
"I look forward to beating you, Elena ," he adds with a wink.
Despite my distress over the sniffing situation, I can't help but bristle at his confidence. "Don't count your pastries before they're baked, James ."
He laughs, seemingly delighted by my response. "Oh, I think we're going to have fun this week."
As he walks away, I gather my thoughts. Two alphas just did that weird nostril-flaring thing near me. Could they be picking up hints of my omega scent somehow? But that's impossible, DuoBlocks are top-of-the-line. No one should be able to smell the real me.
I'm barely processing this when I see Dorian moving in my direction. Panic flares, and I try to blend into a group of contestants, but it's too late. He catches my eye and tilts his head slightly, indicating a quieter spot.
With reluctance, I follow, making sure we're far enough to avoid being overheard, yet still in plain sight. The last thing I need is to spark rumors about slipping away with a judge.
"So," Dorian says quietly, his eyes twinkling with amusement, "this explains the rush this morning."
"Mr. Beaumont—" I begin, trying to inject a level of icy formality into my tone.
"I think you called me Dorian last night," he interrupts, his voice playful. "Several times, if I recall correctly."
My cheeks burn hotter than a preheated oven. "Dorian—I mean, Mr. Beaumont," I stammer, mentally cursing myself for the slip. "We need to pretend last night never happened."
"Which part?" he asks, his voice laced with amusement. "The part where we discovered a mutual appreciation for… exploration? Or the part where you practically launched me out of your apartment like a human cannonball? Because I've already stored those as fond memories."
"I'm serious," I hiss, looking around to make sure no one is eavesdropping on us. "This is a massive conflict of interest! It could be disastrous for both of us!"
He raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "So, you had your wicked ways with me and now you want to cast me aside like a day-old croissant, is that it?" He winks, clearly enjoying my discomfort far too much.
"I did n—"
"I get it," he cuts in, still smiling. "You had needs—which, by the way, are quite voracious—you saw me in all my alpha glory, and you took what you wanted."
I gape at him, torn between acute mortification and an insane desire to laugh.
"You make it sound like I was the instigator.
Please, If anyone finds out, I'll be disqualified and I'm not entirely sure it would do wonders for your reputation either.
" I pause, unable to resist adding, "And for the record, Mr. Beaumont, your ego is as inflated as a soufflé that's about to collapse. "
His grin widens, thoroughly unrepentant. "Well, how about I let you readjust my ego tonight instead? Strictly for personal development, of course. And you can let me worry about my reputation."
My face is now officially on fire. He sees it, his smile turning smugly triumphant.
"Alright, alright," he says, after a beat, holding up his hands in mock surrender, though the twinkle in his eye says otherwise. "You're right. It would be… unadvisable. Wouldn't want to risk anyone getting… disqualified."
"Who's getting disqualified?"
I nearly leap out of my skin as James reappears with the stealth of a cat. "Don't tell me a fellow competitor is already bending the rules, Mr. Beaumont?" His tone is light, almost teasing, but there's a sharp, calculating glint in his eyes as they flick between Dorian and me.
"No, no!" I stammer, my brain scrambling for any believable explanation.
"We were just— Mr. Beaumont was just giving me some…
strategic guidance. About, uh, steering clear of disqualification due to…
contestant interference. Like, um, switching their ingredient labels. " Smooth, Elena. Really smooth.
James raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying a word I said. "Ingredient labels. Right. Fascinating stuff. Well, sorry if I interrupted your… discussion."
"Actually," I say, seizing the escape route he’s inadvertently offered, "I desperately need to check on my… stuff. Yes. If you'll excuse me."
I practically sprint away before either of them can utter another word, my mind a chaotic whirlwind.
How in the name of all that is holy and buttercream am I supposed to focus on this competition now?
The man who I may or may not have thoroughly enjoyed an evening with is one of my judges.
The handsome firefighter is making my stomach do acrobatics and possibly smelling me.
And the national champion who's also possibly smelling me is clearly out for blood.
This type of alpha-induced, career-derailing complication is precisely why I religiously take my Duoblocks. So why, oh why, do I feel this ridiculous pull toward all three of them?
And more importantly, how am I going to focus on the festival when my life seems to have suddenly turned into a twisted episode of The Bachelorette?