30. Alice

ALICE

W ith my heart racing, I step away from my masterpiece and absently reach into my pocket, only to remember that I never grabbed my silver dollar off the floor last night.

And just like that, the rush of the competition is mixed with memories of sitting on Michael’s face, sending my pulse even higher.

Not now, Alice.

My fingers twitch, but I leave my hand in my pocket. The silver dollar is only worth a dollar, but it was given to me by my grandma and is important to me.

The luck may not have held out for yesterday’s cake, but overall, I’m happy with how the last few days have gone. I’ve done my best. I’ve done something outside my comfort zone. And I got to meet Michael in person. In a very personal way.

Heaving out another breath, I allow myself to look at Michael for the first time in hours.

He walked around the set, stopping to see everyone’s progress once an hour, but I made a point to keep my head down. The camera crew probably hates me, since I’m not engaging well, but I couldn’t let myself look at Michael. If I looked at him, I’d want to look at all of him, and I barely finished as it was.

But right now, Michael is preoccupied with Hugh at the table in front of me, so I take the opportunity to look my fill.

This might be the last time I see Michael in person. And if that’s the case, I want to soak it in. Between the sight of him and the memories from last night, I should be able to sustain myself until my mid-seventies at least.

Movement at the edge of my vision pulls my attention over, and my face pales.

A third camera person is standing off to the side, her lens aimed right at me.

I drop my gaze to my cake.

Well done, Alice. Way to look like a lovesick puppy until the very end.

A chorus of good job s comes from Hugh’s table, and I lift my head, expecting to see them move over to Brent’s table, but instead, Joey holds a hand out for the judges to move straight to my station.

Pamela beams. “Wow! This came out stunning!”

“Thank you.” I smile back.

My nerves may feel like a bundle of sparking lights, but I’m proud of my effort today. And I’m going to keep my shoulders back.

And I’m going to make eye contact with Michael.

“Yes.” Michael’s voice sounds like pure sin. “Very beautiful.”

I open my mouth to thank him and find his eyes on me instead of the cake, stealing my breath away.

I take a fortifying swallow. “I tried my best.”

He nods, then turns his attention to the cake.

My lips press together as I watch him lift the clear sugar dome off the cake, then prepare plates for Pamela and himself. They each get a slice of cake, an ornament cookie, and one of the rings from the kransekake cookie tree.

I try to watch both of their reactions, but my gaze keeps moving back to Michael’s mouth.

He takes several bites of the cake, tasting the layers separately and together.

“Oh my,” Pamela exclaims, eyes closing. “This cream cake is absolutely divine.”

I pick up the hand towel on my counter so I have something to twist in my grip. “Thank you.”

They both set their forks down and move on to the cookies.

Time seems to drag.

Pamela makes little noises of enjoyment as she eats.

“Is there orange in these?” she asks, holding up the sugar cookie.

I nod. “Orange zest and vanilla bean.”

“It’s brilliant with the cake.” She nudges Michael with her elbow. “Don’t you agree?”

Michael grunts, moving to taste the next item.

I tip my head toward the partially demolished cookie tree. “I added a little bit of lemon to the kransekake to stick with the fruit and citrus theme. I know they aren’t necessarily traditional holiday flavors, but I felt like they fit. And citrus somehow makes a dessert feel lighter. So you don’t mind eating it even if you’re stuffed,” I try to joke but just end up making an awkward gesture.

Both judges finish tasting everything, and I grip the towel tighter.

“Well…” Pamela starts but trails off.

I follow her gaze to Michael’s hand as he reaches for the fork he set down earlier.

He isn’t…

Michael grabs his fork and scoops up a large bite of the cake. The ambient sound in the room dropping to pure silence.

He is.

My eyes stay glued to his hand as it lifts. Up and up until I’m staring at his mouth, watching his lips part.

Holy shit, he is!

Michael puts the forkful of cake into his mouth for a second bite.

Pride swamps me.

Michael Kesso just took a second bite of my cake.

A Second. Fucking. Bite!

My legs suddenly feel like the Jell-O that turned on me yesterday, and I have to reach out to brace myself against the countertop.

I watch his throat work, expecting him to say something. But instead, he takes another forkful of the cake, and another, until he’s finished off the entire slice from his plate.

Pamela chuckles and pats him on the shoulder. “I take it you liked it?”

My gaze finally leaves his mouth to meet his eyes.

He’s shaking his head. “Not like. Love.”

My heart squeezes.

“Fucking delicious.”

One of the camera techs chokes on a laugh, and I hear a gasp come from somewhere else in the room, but I can’t even think about the implication of Michael swearing on live TV. I’m too busy being stunned.

I got a Michael Kesso Second Bite.

Tears fill my eyes, but it’s for a whole new reason today.

Instead of embarrassment and shame, I’m filled with an immense sense of happiness and pride.

Pamela clicks her tongue. “Language, Mike.”

He lifts one shoulder in the most I don’t care shrug I’ve ever seen. “Alice is worth the fine.”

My mouth goes dry.

Did he just say?

Pamela shakes her head, looking at the ceiling in exasperation. “Alice’s cake ”—she emphasizes the word—“is worth the fine.”

Michael doesn’t reply, refusing to confirm her statement. He just stares at me as he scrapes the last bit of cream cake off his plate.

When he places the fork in his mouth a final time, closing his lips firmly around the cool metal, an embarrassing sound crawls up my throat.

One of the camera guys moves closer to me, and I watch as Michael’s eyes snap to him, pinning him in place with a murderous glare. The camera guy stops, then takes a step back.

“Well.” Joey throws his arms out as he comes around the counter to stand beside me. “Talk about a turnaround.”

“Thanks,” I reply, trying to remember that this is a show and that I need to act like an actual human. “I’m glad I could create something good today.”

The corner of Joey’s mouth tips up into a smirk right before he drapes an arm around my shoulder.

“Not just good, freaking delicious. Remember?” He winks, but it’s not me he’s looking at.

Michael’s eyes are narrowed at the spot where Joey’s body is touching mine, and he slams his fork down on the counter. “We’re done here.”

Confused but happy, I watch as they all walk across the aisle toward a pouting Mikayla.