Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

XANDER

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 9 A.M.

The bell chimes for us to start, and we move flawlessly together. The crust. The crème. The spicy filling that gives it an extra zing. I focus on doing my part and not getting distracted. I'm not sure about Dom since he almost adds cumin instead of cinnamon, barely catching himself in time. "Focus, Dom," I whisper, and he nods.

As we wait for the judges, Dom starts to shake. It's the adrenaline wearing off. I wrap my arm around him, and it seems to help. He smiles gratefully at me. Then, something catches his eye, and I follow his gaze. Paxton frowns, and Dom shakes off my arm. What was that about?

The judges taste each creation. Now that there are only four teams competing in each match, it doesn't take long. We have the girl who barely looks twelve but is a chef in a cooking show. The tall man often seen with the thin judge with the crazy hats. She must be judging one of the other meets. The third judge is a jolly man with dark skin from a famous New Orleans restaurant. He always has kind things to say.

"Okay." Dottie gets our attention. "The judges have decided. Second place goes to the Marchetti Brothers. And first goes to Dacha Treats from Springfield, Missouri. They will both go on to the final round."

We didn't win first, but we're going to the final round. I grab Dom and wrap my arms around him. He hesitates at first, which is unusual for him, but then hugs me back. I'm so thankful for my brother. He believes in me. Believes in us. Did I ever thank him for doing this with me?

After we clean up, I roll my neck. My muscles are tight, but I'm too happy to care. That round was stressful, but I kept my cool and remained calm.

Dom and I go our separate ways. Something we never used to do. But I want to find Erik, and my brother would just be in the way, asking me questions I don't want to answer.

I find him talking to a red-haired woman who looks familiar. As she walks away, he turns and almost runs right into me.

"Cage."

I frown. "Don't?—"

"Xander, then. Not that it matters what I call you. Ren says you broke up with him." He raises a brow, and his eyes look hopeful.

"Ren and I weren't together." I'm not sure what he wants me to say, but I'm not going to lie.

He scowls. "Does Ren know that?"

"I'm not sure. He's possessive. Intense." I reach out to touch his arm, but he steps back. "Why does it matter?" I ask, trying to hide the pain of his rejection.

"Why?" He gapes at me, gesturing wildly. "You've been in a relationship with Ren for the last three years, and now you're telling me none of that mattered? I'm not a big Ren fan, but he cares about you. And that makes you an insensitive asshole."

"I don't understand the thing with Ren. I wish I did." I sound desperate, but I don't care. I've never felt this way about anyone before. "I care about you, Erik. About us?—"

He crosses his arms and steps back as if he's afraid I'll try to touch him again. "I just want to focus on the competition."

"Fair enough." We both need to focus, so I understand. But it still hurts. And I have so many unanswered questions. Why was he talking to Dom? Hugging him? Maybe after all of this, I can finally get some answers.

Maybe he'll give me a chance.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 1 P.M.

As Dom and I wait for the bell to announce the beginning of the final round, I let my eyes wander over the audience members. Paxton glares at us, but I ignore him. I look for the woman Erik was talking to. The one who looked familiar. But I don't see her anywhere. Erik's competing on the other side of the building, so she's probably with him.

The judges are poised in their place of honor. We get the thin woman again. I think Dottie said her name is Perpetua.

"Think that sunflower will make a jump for it?" Dom whispers, and I hide my smile.

We're again competing against the team from the Russian bakery. I visited Dacha Treats once when I was there for a conference. Their medovik was amazing. The honey cake melted in my mouth.

This round is going to be close.

As soon as the bell rings, we start. This is the easiest dish for us to make. It's Mom's secret recipe, and Dom and I have made it a thousand times over the years, starting when we were five. Mom always gets emotional when we make it for her.

We're making an apple-cheddar strudel with a surprise ingredient that brings out the flavor of the apples. We've made it many times before, but I'm no longer as confident in our teamwork as I used to be. I focus on making the pastry crust and Dom focuses on the filling. I'm the better baker by far, something Dom tells me often.

But I disagree with his assessment. He's just as good but not as passionate. His goal isn't to be the best. Is that my issue? I expect perfection?

The disgust on Erik's face worms its way in as I knead the dough. He hates me again. I'm not sure I can get used to that. And Mom is getting worse.

I push my worries out of my mind. I need to focus on not messing this up. On winning. Get it together, Xander .

I can't stretch the strudel dough myself. It's a two-person job. "Dom?"

He starts at the sound of my voice and turns, knocking the dough out of my hand. It hits the floor with a plop, and I stare at it in shock.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry." He looks like he's about to cry. I push back on my frustration at having to start over. Yelling at Dom won't help. And it's not really his fault. We're both on edge.

"It's fine. I can make a new batch." I catch his gaze. "Focus, Dom. We've got this."

Things get better after that. Dom and I fall into a familiar rhythm as if the last few days haven't happened. I make another batch of dough, keeping an eye on the time since the dough needs to sit for thirty minutes. We're cutting it close. Once we finish the filling and the dough is ready, Dom helps me stretch it as thin as it will go. I drizzle melted butter over it and Dom spoons in the apple filling, adds the apple-cheddar mixture, and rolls the strudel. We pop it in the oven once it's ready.

It's going to be close. When the strudel is finally done, I pull it out of the oven. We don't have time to let it cool. I cut off the ends and start to cut the strudel into slices.

"One minute," Dottie announces. And I jump, dropping the knife. Oh God. One minute. I need to hurry and cut the strudel. And still plate it. I move to grab another knife, and Dom touches my arm.

"We've got this," he says, handing me a clean knife. I nod and cut the pastry into two-inch portions. My pulse speeds up as I plate three of the apple-cheddar strudel pastries. Dom drizzles caramel sauce over each pastry as the time counts down. Will he get all three before it goes off?

He finishes the last one just as the timer dings.

The hours have gone by much too quickly, but we're ready when the final buzzer goes off. My heart pounds so hard I can barely think as the judges taste each one. The Russian bakery has made their medovik, and the young judge's eyes flutter closed for a second.

We may not win. I'm resigned to that. And that's okay. We did our best. And Perpetua seems to enjoy our pastry. Although it's hard to tell. The sour look on her thin face seems permanent.

At last, the judges are ready. I squeeze Dom's hand, and he smiles. He's usually the one comforting me. That's always been his job.

"It was very close. Both of you made delicious desserts. But this round is about originality. And the unexpected zing of the apple strudel made it stand out. Our winner is the Marchetti Brothers."

We won. Dom stares at Dottie in shock before looking at me. I grin at him, and it feels awkward, like I'm not doing it right. Dom hugs me tight and the tension I've been holding on to breaks loose. We did it.

"All four of our remaining teams did well," Dottie continues. "As you know, we're doing things a little differently this year. The judges will now score the teams on their entire performance during the competition and choose a runner-up and an overall winner. They will take into account their scores on each of the challenges as well as their consistency and originality."

The judges retreat to discuss their scores. The final winners will be announced in the room where the reception was held. Minutes feel like hours as the time ticks down. I grab two bottles of water and lead Dom to the front. He slumps into his seat. This isn't like Dom. He doesn't worry about anything. Or if he does, it doesn't get to him like it does me. "Are you okay?"

Dom laughs. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"I'm good. Really. We did our best."

His eyes narrow. "Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?"

I laugh. "That seems to be the theme of the day. Hell, this entire weekend."

Before Dom can respond, Dottie takes the stage.

"Thank you all for participating in the Dunklin County Bake-Off. The competition this year has been off the charts. Give yourselves a pat on the back." She smiles expectantly. Is she waiting for us to actually pat ourselves on the back? She waves her hand. "But there can only be one winner. First, we'll announce the runner-up and then the winner. Please stay after the announcements so we can get pictures." She squeezes her hands together and squeals in excitement. "And now, without further ado, the runner-up in the Dunklin County Bake-Off is…Mars Catering from Grandville, Missouri!"

Everyone claps, but I hear a few groans off to the right behind me. They sound familiar, but my focus is back on Dottie as she announces the winner.

"And our winning team is…the Marchetti Brothers from Chicago, Illinois!"

I don't feel anything for a few seconds. Shock. Is that what this is? Then, the thunder of applause rushes back in. I grin at my brother and grab his arm. "We did it, Dom."

"Oh my God. We did. Mom is going to be so happy."

My face feels like it's splitting in two. Even Paxton is smiling and giving us a thumbs-up.

Perpetua, in her sunflower hat, steps onto the makeshift stage with the tall judge. As they converse with Dottie, unease flutters in my stomach.

"Hold on, everyone," Dottie says with a frown. "We've just been made aware of an issue." She talks to the woman again and then nods. "Two teams used the exact same recipe. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, but this last round was for originality. I'm not sure who cheated off of whom, but since neither recipe can now be considered original, Mars Catering and the Marchetti Brothers are both disqualified. Our new winners are…" She scrunches her face as she studies the paper. "Our new first runner-up is Dacha Treats from Springfield, Missouri. And our new winner is Sweet Obsessions Bakery from Grandville, Missouri."

The shock is back. Winning and then losing in a matter of minutes? Disqualified. As reality sinks in, all I can focus on is that Erik's team won. And Dom had been hugging him earlier. Did Erik somehow do this? Was everything between us an act? The first time I talked to him, he'd been so angry. Was this his way of getting revenge?

And what do I do now?