Chapter Thirty
T hings just went downhill after the croquembouche fiasco.
“And now, for the tough part of the week…”
Mac stood in the line-up of bakers, waiting to accept his—extremely obvious—fate.
He’d come in dead last in the croquembouche Skills Challenge—to absolutely no one’s surprise. And not by a close margin. He’d been so ridiculously outclassed that even Tim had seemed sympathetic over how completely screwed he was, going into the Sugar Spectacular on Wednesday.
It would have been hard enough for him to make up that ground, but then he’d struggled to get his isomalt to set, and his Sugar Spectacular had shattered five minutes before the timer went off.
There was no coming back from that.
Magda had rushed over to help him, her own Sugar Spectacular complete, but there was nothing to be done. He’d presented the pieces, but he’d been mentally steeling himself for this moment all through judging and the interviews. They all knew it was over.
Tim had just been announced the week’s winner, shocking absolutely no one. And now…
“This just keeps getting harder, and this week is no exception,” Jeffrey Flanders intoned dramatically. “This baker has always been a smiling presence in the kitchen, and we’re so, so sorry to have to say goodbye… to Mac.”
It didn’t feel like Jeffrey Flanders had dragged that out as much as he sometimes did, but maybe that was just what it felt like when it was you.
Bad news came at you fast.
At least he knew he and Magda were on good terms. He’d caught up with her in the Proving Room yesterday to clear the air as soon as the Skills Challenge was over, and she’d immediately assured him that while Greg had played an awful audio recording for her, she’d shrugged it off as being part of their earlier animosity and didn’t blame him at all—especially since she’d given as good as she’d gotten back then.
His relief had been potent—but it hadn’t made him magically any better at working with melted sugar. All of his weak areas had been exposed this week.
So he was out.
Magda and Eunice both tried not to cry. Zain shook his head in commiseration, mumbling, “It could have happened to any of us.” And even Tim shook his hand, as the judges clapped him on the shoulder and said what a pleasure it had been.
He’d gotten so close. Top five. It had been a good run. Better than he had expected when he’d been recruited. He said as much when he was ushered out of the kitchen and into an interview room.
“Do you want to talk about what went wrong today?” Julia asked gently.
“Besides everything?” he joked. “I was outclassed. There are some amazing bakers in this competition, and today I just couldn’t keep up.”
Julia smiled sympathetically. “Do you have any predictions on who you think might win this year?”
“Magda.” He didn’t hesitate.
“So no hard feelings for your old rival?”
He smiled. “No. No hard feelings. Magda and I… we’re on good terms now, I think. This contest has actually been really good for us. When we worked together… I think we really brought out the best in each other. And when we were competing, she made me want to try harder, be better. I learned a lot while I was here, and not just about baking. I just, um…” He paused, trying to find the words to express himself, something that usually came so easily to him, and finally settled on “I’m really, really glad I came.”
Julia smiled. “That was great. Anything else you want to say? On the record, before we wrap your final confessional?”
Mac glanced around the room, small and crowded with equipment. He remembered his early days of toying with Julia, refusing to tell her anything beyond the name of his cat. Now it felt so natural, just talking about his hopes and fears on camera. Cooking to a timer with Jeffrey Flanders yelling out countdowns that always made Mac want to throw something at him—if that wouldn’t have taken precious time to do. Standing stock still while the judges hmm ed and oh dear ed over every tiny flaw. Trying not to smile too hugely under their praise. Singing karaoke in the common room at the Inn. Kissing Magda…
Mac smiled. “I’m gonna miss this place.”
Guilt sucked .
Magda paced in the common room at the inn, watching the front door for Mac’s van to arrive. She knew the routine when a contestant was voted off. They were brought back to the inn, packed, and then, depending on what time their flight had been arranged for, they either left right away or early the following morning. They were never still around by breakfast—and Magda didn’t want to miss Mac.
It was her fault.
She knew that thought was irrational. She knew she hadn’t actually done anything to sabotage Mac—this time. But part of her had been looking forward to them not competing against each other anymore so they could be together without any of the competition stuff getting in the way—and now he’d been knocked out, and she felt like that little subtle wish had somehow tipped the scales.
Which was ridiculous. She knew it was ridiculous. But she still needed to see him.
She hadn’t realized how much he had become tangled up in this experience with her. How wrong it would feel to walk into the Proving Room tomorrow morning and not have him there, cracking jokes or humming a song or just generally making everything a little brighter.
She wanted this for him. When just a few weeks ago she had wanted nothing more than for him to be kicked off the show.
He still made her crazy, but when he won, it felt like she was winning, too, and when he’d lost, when they’d announced that he would be the one going home, it had been like a kick in the gut, even though she’d known it was coming. She’d still been hoping, irrationally, pointlessly, desperately.
“Magda? What are you doing still awake? Do you need something?”
Magda turned, surprised to find Aubrey, one of the production assistants, approaching from the back of the inn. “I’m just waiting for Mac to come in,” she said, waving vaguely toward the front entrance, as if that explained everything. “I wanted the chance to say goodbye—”
Aubrey shook her head, frowning. “But Mac came back hours ago. His van got here a few minutes before yours did.”
Magda’s heart began to pound out a blistering rhythm. “He’s here?”
“Upstairs, I think. Do you know your call time—”
Magda missed the rest, already hurrying toward the stairs and calling a thank-you over her shoulder.
She didn’t run—but it was a near thing. Taking the stairs quickly and then fast-walking down the corridor to the room Mac had been assigned. Her fist cracked against the door, the knock probably too loud, he could be asleep, she should have thought this through—
But then the door opened, and he was there—his red hair, his ridiculous arms—and the words spilled out of her mouth. “I’m sorry you got kicked off—”
“I’m not.”
The words were a growl.
Then his hands were on her shoulders, pulling her into his room, and his lips landed on hers. She caught herself against his chest, her head tipped back all the way for optimum kissage since he was a million inches taller than she was, kissing him back for all she was worth as his gorgeous shoulders curved over her, blocking out the world.
Okay, maybe there were some perks to him no longer being on the show. The antifraternization rules clearly no longer applied.
He kicked the door shut, and crowded her against it, never breaking the kiss—or maybe she dragged him by her death grip on his shirt. Who could say?
“You weren’t in your room.” His voice was all growly as he released her lips and kissed his way down her neck.
She tilted her chin to give him better access. “I thought you weren’t back yet—” Her words broke off on a gasp as his hands closed on the backs of her thighs and lifted her—those bread kneading muscles put to very good use. His arms flexed as he effortlessly lifted her off her feet and up to his level, then higher—her back braced against the door, her thighs bracketing his abs, her face a couple of inches above his now. It was a position that felt somehow both powerful and vulnerable, and she was a little breathless as she finished her sentence. “I was waiting for you downstairs.”
He kissed her again, devouring her mouth like his favorite dessert—then his hands slid up her sides, underneath the hem of her shirt, touching skin, and she made a little squeak of surprise in her throat at the shock of sensation.
Mac lifted his head instantly. “Is this okay?”
From a distance of inches, his eyes searched hers. They were nearly black with want, the pupils blown, but it was the intensity in them that sent a shiver streaking down her spine, even as she nodded jerkily. “Very okay.”
“I kind of attacked you,” he rumbled.
“Mutual attacking,” she assured him. Please don’t stop.
His mouth quirked, that wry smile that she adored, and a strange sort of relief flashed through her. This was Mac . All this wildness, but also the fun of him. The playfulness and the need.
They’d been building up to this for weeks—hell, possibly for years. All the crackling energy between them finally had somewhere to go.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and locked her ankles at the small of his back to hold herself in place—though she knew he would never let her fall, his hands now bracketing her rib cage to hold her steady.
“You have the semifinals tomorrow,” he reminded her, kissing her softly now—and the softness devastated her. The rush, the heat, the frantic insanity, that was one thing. But this… this was sweetness and longing, and she freaking melted .
“I know,” she whispered against his mouth. “Don’t stop.”
She didn’t care about tomorrow when tonight was one of the brightest, hottest, most vivid moments of her life.
Kendall had been telling her for years that she needed to go wild, and Magda had always had a million reasons why it wasn’t a good idea. No one wanted to go wild on a schedule that allowed her to get a decent night’s sleep and open the bakery on time. Everyone in town would know, because the gossip was insane, and she didn’t really want her grandparents hearing about her sexcapades. There were so few eligible men in Pine Hollow.
Excuses on top of excuses on top of excuses.
But the truth was she’d never wanted to go wild. Not with anyone but him.
And no one had ever seemed to want to go wild with her. She was the good girl. The boring one. The invisible one. She followed every rule—and no one seemed to look at her and think wicked thoughts. If they saw her at all. Nice Magda. Pleasant Magda.
But Mac saw her. And she drove him wild, if the way he groaned “ Jesus , sugar” in her ear when she ground against him was any indication.
She hadn’t always made him crazy in the way she’d wanted to, but now it was like all their anger and passion and frustration of the last fourteen years had finally clicked into alignment, and it wasn’t anger at all. It was this thing they’d been fighting. Him, at first because she was too young, and then her because she was too hurt, and both of them because they had fallen into a pattern of hate that was easier than admitting that this scary massive thing between them might be this . That it might be the wildness inside her that had never wanted to get out until him.
“Is this a bad idea?” he asked, his lips on her neck again.
“Absolutely.” Her breath caught on a sigh, and he started to stiffen, started to pull away, but she sank her hands into his hair to keep him from going far, and made him meet her eyes. “Let’s make all the bad decisions.”
His answering smile was pure, wicked heaven.