Chapter Thirteen
M agda’s plan to avoid and ignore Mac had hit a bit of a snag.
“Great, that’s great, now threaten him with the spatula.”
Magda obediently raised the spatula, but since she’d never threatened anyone with a spatula and she was still trying her hardest to pretend Mac wasn’t there, she wasn’t sure it had the desired effect.
And sure enough, the next words from one of the publicity folks running the photo shoot were, “Magda, darling, do you think you could look more, er, menacing?”
“How’s she supposed to do that?” another random PR person muttered. “She’s half his size.”
The photographer then called for someone to get an apple box, and there was a great deal of shuffling before someone appeared with a crate that Magda was apparently supposed to stand on in order to menace Mac more effectively with a silicone spatula.
There were probably only a dozen people in the room, but it felt like hundreds of eyes were focused on her. The photographer; his handful of assistants; the publicity people; her usual producer, Julia—who was hanging back and observing—and an intern who was rushing around with a cellphone catching behind-the-scenes content for the show’s social media pages.
“Maybe a knife?” someone suggested, and Magda had to resist the sudden and inappropriate urge to laugh.
“Mac!” the publicist shouted. “No smiling! Look angry!”
Magda’s eyes flicked up to his face then, just in time to see him suppressing a smile. Her breath hitched inappropriately. Damn the man and his too-charming smile. He looked entirely too good in his Cake-Off apron with his ridiculously muscular arms crossed over his chest, his dark brown eyes glinting in the lights.
“Sorry,” he said, “but if she gets a knife, I want one too.”
It was obviously a joke, but two minutes later they were both holding butcher knives.
“Let’s try back-to-back,” the publicist coached. “And remember you despise each other!”
Magda did her best to look pissed off—but her stomach was churning with a welter of confusing emotions, and she’d always been a terrible actress. And judging by the expressions on the faces of everyone watching, she still was.
She felt Mac’s shoulder blades pressing against hers while they were positioned in front of a Cake-Off Archrivals Edition logo—her standing on a crate to bring her within three inches of his height—but she could almost pretend he was a stranger. Almost pretend she wasn’t excruciatingly aware of his every muscle. He was just another Cake-Off baker doing just another promotional shoot.
Until he spoke.
“I’m sorry,” he said, so low that only she could hear him, as the photo crew were all frowning over the shots they’d already gotten and debating how to salvage them. “About not telling you they were going to ambush you.”
Her neck muscles tightened as her heart shifted strangely in her chest. “I’m sorry, too,” she whispered. “For sabotaging you.”
“Are we even now?” he asked softly.
“Even,” she confirmed, just as soft. And her breath went short again as she held herself perfectly still. As if by moving too much she would shatter this fragile peace.
After a moment, while the publicists mumbled among themselves, his voice came again, “Do you think we could have a truce while we’re here?”
Before she could answer, the head publicist raised her voice. “Okay, let’s try facing each other again. We’re going to have you on opposite sides of a counter, leaning toward each other like you want to jump across the counter and throttle each other. Okay? Lots of energy! Lots of anger!”
Magda avoided looking directly at Mac, but she was keenly aware of him as she was hustled to a new mark. Once they were suitably posed—and the publicist was fussing about exactly how much baking paraphernalia should be on the counter between them—Magda met Mac’s eyes and replied sotto voce, “I just want to focus on the competition. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
His relief covered his face—but he didn’t get yelled at because the mixer was apparently a problem, and the publicists were all distracted. “Great. So truce? I won’t target you; you don’t target me?”
“Yeah,” Magda agreed softly, as the PR folks were finally satisfied and bellowed, “Show me the feud!”
Magda leaned across the counter, glowering her best fake glower as Mac fake-glowered right back.
His rich brown eyes held hers, something almost warm in them. “Sometimes I don’t even know why we’re feuding anymore.”
Wait. What? Suddenly Magda’s glare got a lot less fake. “You’re kidding.”
“That’s it, Magda!” the publicist cheered.
“You know what I mean,” he said. “It’s been a long time.”
“So I’m just supposed to forgive you? Is that it? The statute of limitations on my anger has run out?”
His eyes darkened. “I wasn’t aware I was the one who needed to be forgiven. At least not the only one.”
Familiar frustration surged through her. “You didn’t have the deposit for the spot on the square, and I did—if I hadn’t taken it, someone else would have.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“Good, Mac!” the publicist encouraged. “Get angry!”
“You did it to get back at me,” he snapped.
“My bakery isn’t about you!”
“You so sure about that?”
Magda fumed. “It’s not like it’s the only storefront in Pine Hollow. Pick another one!”
“I plan to. Right after I win the Cake-Off , I’m going to buy a big place right next to yours. See how you like that.”
“Do we need them to stop talking?” A tentative voice.
“No, it looks like they’re yelling. It’s perfect.”
“You’d have to win Cake-Off first,” Magda reminded him. “And I don’t think your wing-it method is going to fool them for long.”
Something entirely too smug entered his eyes. “It worked yesterday.”
Yesterday. The Skills Challenge. The baumkuchen and his fourth place…
Magda studied his face. He’d been right behind her station… and suddenly she just knew . She wasn’t sure how, but a jolt of clarity had her eyes flaring. “You cheated! You copied me.”
He shrugged. “Nothing in the rules says I can’t look at you.” His eyes held hers, and she realized they were both leaning so far across the table that only inches separated them. The apple box had brought her up to his height, and it was heady stuff. She could feel her heart beating hard, the way it always did when he provoked her.
“It’s a skills challenge. Your skills.”
“I maintain there’s skill in knowing who to watch. You should be flattered.”
“And you should be eliminated,” she snapped. God, it was so unfair. “I studied for this. I trained for this. And you just waltz in here and think you can take whatever you want. Without a second to think about who you’re taking it from.” He’d beaten Leah. There was no way he could have done that on his own. “That is so like you. It’s my grandmother’s cake all over again. I guess once a thief…”
Anger flared in his eyes. “I didn’t steal anything—”
“So you just magically knew the secret ingredient?”
“You actually mad because I took something, cupcake? Or because I didn’t take what you were really offering?”
Her hand was flying before she could even process what she was doing.
She didn’t even realize she wanted to hit him until after her hand had flown halfway across the space between them. She stopped herself, inches from his face—but he caught her wrist before she could retract it, leaving them frozen in a tableau that must have looked like…
Oh God. It looked like she’d tried to slap him and he’d grabbed her wrist to stop her.
Magda heard the gasps from everyone in the room and couldn’t move as horror flashed through her, along with the confusing tangle of everything that only Mac inspired.
She’d never struck another human being in her life. She hadn’t believed she had it in her. She was a pacifist. Violence was never the answer.
And yes, she hadn’t actually hit him, but it had been a near thing. And it must look… God, it must look so bad. The cameras…
“I’m sorry,” she said immediately—but Mac just stared. She wasn’t sure which one of them was more surprised by what she’d nearly done.
Her heart galloping, she could feel the imprint of each of his fingers on her wrist. His hand was so much bigger than hers, wrapping all the way around her arm, his thumb shifting softly against her pulse point. Magda’s breath hitched.
“Did you get it?” the publicist asked, almost wetting herself with joy—though Magda was hoping they wouldn’t be able to use her near-assault on another contestant in the promotional shots.
Oh God, what had she done?
Still holding his gaze, she tugged on her wrist, and Mac released her as if he’d burned his hand on her skin. Magda leaned back abruptly, no longer wanting to play at their feud for the cameras—and suddenly Julia was there.
“You guys okay?”
They had a zero tolerance policy for violence. She’d almost hit another contestant. From most angles it must have looked like she didn’t stop herself—like Mac did. If he wanted her gone…
Was she about to be ejected from the show? “Julia, I—”
“Did it look real?”
She and Julia both turned to Mac. “What?” Julia asked.
“We knew you wanted big feud energy. We agreed to a little tussle. How’d it look?” Mac said—lying for her. Why was he lying for her? It would be so easy for him to send her home.
“Looked great,” Julia said immediately, playing along—though Magda had a feeling she hadn’t been fooled for a second. “Very realistic.” Her gaze tracked back and forth between Mac and Magda. “You guys good to keep going?”
“Golden,” Mac said.
Julia turned to Magda.
“Yeah. Good,” she stammered, still feeling like she wasn’t quite inhabiting her body as Julia moved away and the shoot resumed.
What the hell had just happened?
Magda didn’t break rules. She didn’t make waves. And she certainly didn’t hit people. Or even consider it.
She’d lost her mind. He’d referenced that idiotic time when she was eighteen and she’d felt so horribly exposed. All those eyes watching them. All those people knowing her great shame. That she had once stupidly thrown herself at Mackenzie Newton and he had laughed in her face.
A sick, curdling thought moved through her. “Have you told them?” she whispered. “About that summer?”
He shook his head, small enough that she only noticed it because she was staring at him fixedly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I shouldn’t have…” She didn’t even know what to call it.
“You didn’t.”
She met his eyes. “That isn’t me. I don’t…”
“I know. We bring out the worst in each other,” he said. There was something tight about his expression. Cautious. “We still good with a truce?”
Magda agreed with a nod, and then decided perhaps it was best they didn’t talk. They followed directions from the publicists for a few more minutes, then the shoot was finally over. Magda gathered up her things quickly, she and Mac heading out opposite doors. There was still a bake this afternoon, and they needed to focus.
And she needed to get her heart to stop beating so fast. What had she been thinking?
She was almost out of the room when she overheard two of the production assistants.
“I didn’t know if she was going to kiss him or hit him—but if you’d asked me, I would have put money on it going the other way.”
“They’ve definitely banged. Or, if they haven’t, they absolutely need to.”
Magda flushed, ducking out of the room. At least if they were speculating on that they must not have heard Mac. But she still felt like she’d just been stripped naked in front of a room full of people.
And now she had to go bake.