Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Later than she’d intended, Cece slipped into the community center with her phone in her hand and her reading glasses perched on her head like she meant business. Which she did.
She checked the time. Any moment now, the competition was about to start. She could feel it in the kind of anticipatory energy that filled the community hall.
The place also vibrated in that particular way small-town events always did because people knew each other. This wasn’t just a bunch of competitive strangers. These people were friends and neighbors. They were rooting for each other. And, she supposed, maybe against each other.
It was part excitement, part nerves, and very likely, part sugar. Tables stretched around the room, each one neatly outfitted with equipment and ingredients. Bakers hovered nearby, careful not to touch anything yet, undoubtedly running through the steps in their heads.
Cece took a few steps out of the way and got the big-picture sense of it.
Bake-Off Brings Out Big Crowd, she thought, typing that headline idea into the Notes app she reserved for anything related to The Buzz.
She scanned the room, mentally categorizing what she saw: familiar faces from the Colony, a few locals she recognized from around town, and more than one person who looked like they took competitive baking very seriously.
She moved slowly down the first row of stations, snapping photos as she went.
She caught hands hovering over bowls, flour dusting aprons despite the no-touch rule, nervous smiles exchanged between baking team partners.
Someone had crocheted their own apron. Someone else had brought a mixer that looked older than Cece but was clearly well used and much loved.
She added more notes from which she’d build the story later. Community turnout strong. Energy high. Friendly rivalries already forming.
She stopped to chat briefly with one woman arranging her ingredients in alphabetical order, jotted down a quote about “crumb structure being the secret to a good cake,” then moved on. Near the center of the room, she caught sight of the local news crew and made a mental note about that, too.
Local media coverage—unexpected but appreciated. She wondered if someone in the community office had called in a favor to get the news crew here. Although it wouldn’t be the first time the Colony had gotten press like that.
Cece snapped a few wide shots of the space, getting the banner hanging crookedly at the front, then one of the emcee in a huddle with some volunteers. As she turned, she spotted Brick and Blaise across the room.
They stood close at their station, talking quietly. They made a handsome couple. Brick had the recipe card laid out flat, his posture calm but very much ready. Blaise stood beside him, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the table as she chewed her bottom lip. She was nervous.
Cece felt for her. Blaise knew this wasn’t Brick’s thing.
He wouldn’t be doing it if not for her. Was Blaise worried that if things didn’t go well, he’d hold it against her?
Cece didn’t know Brick well enough to be certain he’d do that, but it seemed to her that Brick liked Blaise enough that he wouldn’t care how things went.
That said, Cece had tasted his cake, made by Blaise but from Brick’s recipe. With Brick watching over her. That cake had been the best version of coconut cake she’d tasted. How much better would it be made by the man himself?
She felt pretty strongly that Brick wasn’t leaving the bake-off without some kind of recognition.
A small smile tugged at Cece’s mouth as she headed their way, phone lowered now that she’d gotten a lot of photos. Whatever the outcome of the competition, what she really loved was this part. The people and the stories behind why they were here.
Like Brick, making the cake his late wife had been known for. Keeping her alive in his memory by sharing the cake.
Cece tucked her phone away and raised her hand as she approached. “Hey, guys,” she said lightly. “You two look very confident and very ready. Not to mention very photogenic, but I won’t take a picture if you don’t want me to.”
Blaise laughed. “It’s all right with me.”
Brick looked up, surprise flickering into easy relief, but said nothing.
Cece kept her phone in her purse. She glanced at the pristine station. “All set?”
“We are,” Blaise said. “Just waiting on the green light.”
Cece nodded. “Good. I’ll circle back once the chaos begins. Between us, I think you have a decent shot.”
She stepped back, making another mental note for later. Entry #7—coconut cake. Calm competitors. Strong showing before the clock even starts.
Cece smiled to herself. This might not be the most unusual story, but it was certainly going to be an entertaining one. And if she could get some good photos of the finished entries, it would be mouthwatering, as well.
Suddenly, the emcee’s voice boomed over the speakers, cutting through the murmur of the crowd. “All right, bakers, here we go. All hands to your stations! On my mark…”
Cece lifted her phone again, anticipating what would come next.
“…three…two…one—go!”
The room erupted. Within minutes, mixers whirred to life, refrigerators were opened, the clink and clank of metal and glass accompanied rising voices that bordered on chaos.
Someone immediately dropped an egg. Another contestant yelped as a bowl clattered to the floor, the sound sharp enough to draw a collective wince from nearby stations.
Cece smiled and started typing. Chaos immediate. Spirits and nerves high.
She moved slowly along the edge of the room, capturing quick photos and quieter moments amid the rush. A woman frantically rereading her recipe. A man arguing with his partner over the order of ingredients. Flour dusting the floor like the only kind of snow Beechwood would ever see.
At one station, someone realized they’d forgotten sugar entirely.
“Oh, no, no, no. This can’t be,” the woman muttered, while a volunteer rushed over with a clipboard and a sympathetic look.
Cece nodded to herself. Always something.
Then she glanced back toward Brick and Blaise’s station. The contrast was striking.
Brick moved with steady, economical precision—measure, pour, pause, check. His hands never hesitated. His eyes flicked to the recipe only to confirm what he undoubtedly already knew. He seemed completely unfazed by the commotion around him.
Blaise worked beside him just as seamlessly, responding to Brick’s directives with a simple nod and immediate action. She cracked eggs, wiped down the table as she went and handed him tools as he asked.
It reminded Cece of watching a well-practiced drill team. Quiet. Focused. No wasted motion. Anyone watching them would have assumed they were married.
She wondered if that had occurred to either of them.
Cece made more notes. Brick Tanner—cool under pressure, she typed, snapping a photo just as he slid the pans into the oven, then set the timer. She’d check with him later to see if he was okay with her using the picture.
Around them, the noise continued to swell. A mixer sputtered and died. Someone cursed under their breath. Another baker stared helplessly at an oven as if they could will it to bake faster.
If Brick noticed what was happening around him, he didn’t show it. He never once looked up unless he was communicating with Blaise.
Cece felt an unexpected swell of pride. Not because she wanted him to win—though she certainly wouldn’t complain if that happened—but because he was so dedicated to what he was doing. She knew from Blaise that he’d been reluctant to enter this competition, and yet here he was, giving it his best.
She lowered her phone and watched for a beat longer. Some people thrived in chaos.
Brick simply…worked his way through it.
Cece drifted farther down the row of stations, the noise receding a little as she adapted to the rhythm of the room.
She paused near a pair of women who were deep into a whispered argument over whether the butter had been softened enough. Their hands hovered uncertainly over the bowl as they debated, both clearly wanting to be right more than they wanted to move on.
A lack of decisiveness, Cece thought, snapping a quick photo. That wasn’t going to serve them well.
At the next station, a man was working solo, shoulders hunched, recipe sheet splattered with batter. He moved quickly—too quickly—grabbing ingredients out of order, backtracking more than once. The energy was frantic instead of focused, as if speed alone might carry him through.
Cece watched him for a moment, then glanced back across the room at Brick and Blaise.
They weren’t the fastest. But they were steady and their actions deliberate. Brick trusted the recipe. Blaise trusted Brick. It showed in the way they didn’t second-guess each other. The way they gave each other space.
At a nearby table, flour dust hung in the air like fog as a mixer kicked up, having been set on too high a speed. Someone coughed and waved it away, laughing nervously. Another contestant had opened the oven three times, peering in like anticipation alone might speed things up.
Cece scribbled another mental note. Too much interference. Not enough confidence.
So many people thought winning came from loud certainty. From flashy moves or big personalities or over-the-top ingredients. But sometimes—often—the success came from chemistry. That was what baking was, after all. Another form of chemistry.
As Cece slipped her phone into her pocket again, she felt sure of one thing.
Whatever the outcome of the judges’ deliberations later, Brick and Blaise were already doing something right.
And that was going to make this a very good story.
Not to mention an outcome Cece couldn’t wait to see.