Chapter 42

42

Annika

I've never been at a television studio before, and after today, I don't know that I'll ever want to be in one again.

They have a kitchen set up with two work stations, so Grady and I are physically separated on the set.

And then there are the three bajillion cameras aimed at us from all angles, the makeup they insisted on slathering on our faces—Mama's too—and the small obligatory crowd sitting in like we're on a talk show, but not a big one.

I'm sweating harder than I did during basic training ten years ago, and I haven't even screwed anything up yet.

"How are you feeling about your chances of beating the Crow's Nest team today?" Star Knightly asks me while Amy and Bailey fly around our workstation prepping me for making killer brownie donuts.

" Chance isn't something I dabbled with in the Army," I tell Star. "Preparation and war planning, though…" I shrug, even though I feel like a total ass saying exactly what Grady and I talked about saying when discussing all the smack-talk. "Let's just say we've got this."

She smiles.

I'm pretty sure she eats conflict for breakfast.

But I might not be blowing smoke about having this contest in the bag. Or at least I won't embarrass myself. We've done seven dry runs, and I've actually turned out three batches of edible baked goods now.

I can make killer brownie donuts that we'll decorate with unicorn horns and the special white chocolate Duh-Nuts logo that we made with a mold Amy talked us into last week.

She's an angel.

An angel who can cook and who's taken so much pressure off of Bailey—and me—and who's getting along fabulously with Mama, who's starting to experiment with some new measuring tools that her mobility specialist found for her so she can do more than knead dough and roll cookie balls.

She's seated at the end of the counter where I'll be working, eyes shielded from the bright lights by her special sunglasses, proudly wearing a Duh-Nuts T-shirt in lavender, her face turning this way and that, and I imagine she's trying to catch snippets of conversations and sniff the brownie donut ingredients.

Roger, Liliana, and Birch are in our section of the stands to cheer us on.

Grady and Georgia are prepping their own station across the kitchen while his family lurks nearby.

Grady's grandparents, in full pirate regalia. His parents. Tillie Jean. Cooper.

Sue.

He brought Sue.

I give myself a minute to imagine that halfway through the contest, Grady drops his bowls and spoons and rolling pin and announces to the world that he's bowing out, not because he can't win, but because he loves me and that's worth more than any bakery.

And I'd drop my killer brownie donuts and rush past the judges' tables—where there are some seriously intimidating judges—to throw myself at him, kiss him passionately, and tell him that I quit the contest too, because he's worth more than chocolate.

I don't know where we'd live, because Mama can't live by herself, and Bailey still thinks Grady is the devil, and he's probably right that everyone would lose interest in coming into our bakeries for gossip because he made me cheesecake isn't nearly as juicy as he stole our galaxy donuts and made them rainbow donuts .

But I wouldn't have to sneak over to his house under cover of night like I have every night for the last week.

We could go on dates.

Take Mama to Cannon Bowl in Shipwreck, because their bumpers are new and she had so much fun bowling last weekend at the game center just outside Snyderville, except for the part where the bumpers broke and she got too many gutter balls.

Grady could come over and cook us dinner while Bailey plays fetch with Sue.

I could bake cookie bricks and offer to feed them to Pop's parrot if he doesn't clean up his language, though I suspect Sue would actually enjoy them.

The softball rivalry next summer could be fun instead of mean .

We could unite the two towns.

We could be not a fucking secret .

Bakeries be damned.

"Annika?"

I blink at Star.

She just asked me a question. I think.

Shit .

"Yes?"

She looks over at Grady's crew, then back at me. "You two were best friends," she says.

I'm supposed to say Yeah, we WERE , but I don't want to talk smack about Grady.

I want to tell her that he gives the best neck rubs in Virginia.

That he insists on 2% chocolate milk instead of whole, because he has to run two fewer miles a week to keep in shape if he cuts out the whole milk.

That sometimes he falls asleep with his goat on his couch, and if I could put that picture I snapped of them three nights ago as the background on my phone, I'd basically have a permanent smile on my face.

But instead, I say something Amy has coached me on. "Yes, we're making killer brownie donuts. It's an original Duh-Nuts recipe, served with fresh whipped cream and a salted caramel truffle, because there's no such thing as too much of a good thing. You really went all-out with the judges, and I'm having a complete brain fart about who they all are, because cameras make me nervous."

Dammit .

That'll undoubtedly make the cut for the show news, but it's better than me calling Grady names.

I don't want to call him names.

He's talked me off six ledges this past week, and given me three times that many orgasms.

At least.

Star and I both look at the judges' table, where there are two men roughly the size of mountains poking at each other over the head of a third man who would be impressively sized if he weren't between the twins.

Although the middle guy's chin cleft keeps sparkling when the light hits him right, which is weird.

And the twins are weirdly familiar. I think I've seen them on commercials for deodorant or jock itch cream or Sharpies.

Sharpies?

Why am I thinking of Sharpies?

Anyway.

At the other table, there are two women—I think one's a billionaire, but not Honey Wellington, who was disqualified from judging since she moved to Sarcasm, which is taking sides, obviously, just like Cooper judging would've been—and there's another guy who's also familiar, but I can't place why.

"You don't recognize the Berger twins?" Star asks me.

I look back at the two identical mountains and shake my head.

"Professional hockey players," she tells me. "They're doing a charity golf fundraiser here in Copper Valley tomorrow, so we talked them into stopping here this morning before the festivities kick off. Zeus and Ares, with Chase Jett between them. He owns an organic grocery store chain. No pressure or anything, of course."

I croak out an answer, because impressing a billionaire grocery store owner could mean capital investment for expanding operations and setting Bailey up to run a Duh-Nuts empire with her creations mass-produced and distributed around the nation, and oh my god, I need a paper bag.

Star points to the other table. "Then we have Daisy Carter-Kincaid. You've surely heard of her."

Only because Liliana squealed my ear off in Duh-Nuts yesterday. Daisy Carter-Kincaid!! She's one of Honey's sort-of friends. She's so fucking awesome. Wouldn't YOU love to have a private jet that takes you to Europe for flings with Frenchmen and Spaniards all the time? I swear, I want to be her when I grow up. Plus—oh my god, her fashion sense. It's so DAISY. And she gives negative fucks. That's better than no fucks, you know?

I nod to Star, and she continues down the line. "Then we have Fatima Fayad, owner of Kefta, Copper Valley's hottest Moroccan restaurant at the moment, and then Edison Rogers. He's the bassist for Half-Cocked Heroes and also happened to be in town this week."

Holy shit .

"That's quite the line-up of judges for a small-town bakery war," I say.

"The stars lined up." She smiles brighter. "Quite literally. Are you ready?"

Bailey and Amy both nod at me.

My stomach twists itself in knots, but I nod too.

If I fuck it all up, it's good for ratings, and Amy prepped a back-up tray of both killer brownie donuts and unicorn cookies—and they're adorable, decorated like hipster unicorns in big glasses and beanies and beards—and Bailey has an emergency batch of her banana pudding chilling in the industrial fridge.

So we'll still have actual food for judging, if we need it.

Or if we need to bribe anyone at the studio.

"Any last words for Grady Rock?" Amy asks me.

Eighteen cameras and every person, bug, ghost, and goat in the studio turn to stare at me.

"May the best baker win," I tell them all.

Star grins like I've just fed her conflict meter.

Grady fake-growls at me and mouths you're going down .

And even though I rolled out of his bed with jelly legs and whisker burn and an extremely satisfied vagina not six hours ago, I want to throw a fifty-pound bag of flour at his head.

Claim me .

Claim me and love me.

How much longer do I have to be a secret?

Considering he murmured, I love having you to myself as I was climbing out of his bed this morning and texted to ask if the bubble waffles were helping our profits enough, probably a long time.

"Judges, ready?" Amy asks the panel.

"I'm always ready," one of the hockey twins says loudly. "Bring on the food."

"Can't argue with that," Chase Jett says.

The other twin grunts and nods.

Daisy Carter-Kincaid, whose short, curly platinum hair was purple in the pictures Liliana showed me yesterday, props her Manolos up on the table, making her short skirt rise almost indecently high, and a smile that's equal parts I own the world and I fucking love the world lights her face. "Impress me, peasants. Give me a reason to get another good workout in before I fly back to Miami."

She winks at the twins like they're the workout she wants, and I swear, I get a little wet in the panties.

I want half her confidence when I grow up. And I wouldn't mind half her ability to give zero fucks.

Edison Rogers snaps his dirty blond head away from her cleavage and nods to Star when he realizes she's looking at him.

"I was born ready for this," he says in a soft Texas drawl.

Bailey squeaks behind me. "Annika! That's Edison Rogers ! How did I not see Edison Rogers ?"

He turns a smile and a relatively innocent wink her way, and I decide I don't have to kill him so long as the only thing he offers her is an autograph. He has to be twice her age, at least.

"Fatima?" Star says.

"I am ready," she replies with a nod.

"Thirty minutes on the clock," Star says, "and…Go!"

Controlled chaos erupts at our workstation. Bailey shoves oil at me. Amy hands me a bowl full of eggs. Mama asks if I have the special vanilla.

My hands are shaky and sweating and I almost accidentally double the oil, but Amy catches me in time. If anyone's noticed she's the same Amy Tanaka who was second in command at the Madison Towers Hotel's kitchens not two weeks ago, they don't mention it.

Grady and Georgia are joking and moving together seamlessly.

Like a team.

Like she's the one he should be sleeping with.

I splatter an egg all over the counter and stifle a good fuck , because there are cameras all over the place, and I don't need the whole world thinking I'm teaching my thirteen-year-old sister to curse like a soldier.

Or like a pirate.

I like pirates.

I've watched Pirates of the Caribbean seventeen times. I went to a pirate festival on the Texas coast last fall and didn't tell Bailey and Mama, and only partly because the nostalgia hit me too hard.

I'm not saying I broke up with my last boyfriend after that, but I'm not saying I didn't either.

"Annika! Too much sugar," Bailey hisses.

I jump, making me add even more sugar to the mix.

"It's okay," Amy murmurs. She directs me through increasing the whole recipe by half on the fly while Grady and Georgia are already moving on to—wait.

He said they were making banana pudding donuts.

But those aren't banana pudding donuts.

Those are muffins.

"Yo, Rogers," one of the hockey twins yells to his fellow judge. "You got any sisters?"

"Oh em gee, Edison Rogers is watching us," Bailey whispers.

"Are those hockey boys as tall as they look on TV?" Mama asks.

"You watch hockey?" I ask her.

"Annika, more whipping," Amy instructs while she plops a bag of flour up on the counter.

I go back to whisking the eggs and oil and sugar together. "Mama. Since when do you like hockey?"

"Since that goalie came home to the Thrusters. The one from Copper Valley. What's his name?"

"The one who wrote that really awful book that you can download on Amazon?" Bailey says.

"You people seriously can't concentrate at all, can you?" Amy mutters.

"It's the cameras. It makes us nerv?—"

I cut myself off with a squeak, because I didn't look closely at the cameras.

But now I am.

Specifically, behind the cameras.

My blood turns into dry ice, quietly steam-freezing my bones and muscles.

My father is running one of the cameras.

His camera is trained on Grady, but he keeps shooting a look at Mama out of the corner of his eye.

"Annika?" someone says near me.

"Oh em gee, too much cocoa! " someone else says.

His gaze darts from Mama to me, catching me watching him. He goes ruddy in the cheeks and I realize I have his eyes.

Me.

His dirty little secret.

I have his eyes.

I don't want his eyes.

He quickly looks away, but I know he knows.

I know he knows that I know exactly who he is.

Bailey doesn't know him.

Of course Amy doesn't.

Mama would, but she can't see him, and for once, I'm glad.

I'm so glad she can't see.

Star Knightly is back. My body is flushing with heat and freezing up and I have to bake donuts , and here's put-together Star Knightly, arriving just in time to see me completely fucking up this recipe because now there are two men in this room who are keeping me a secret.

"How's it going, Team Duh-Nuts?"

"It's going Duh ," Bailey says brightly. "As in duh , fantastic."

I start stirring the flour and cocoa into the wet stuff, like we practiced.

It feels off.

Like I have too much baggage in the dough.

I bend over the big bowls and whisper a quick, " I love you, you're beautiful, and you're going to love your new curves ," but it doesn't help.

Georgia cracks up at the next station.

Grady's grinning like it's something he said.

Of course it is.

He probably told his muffins he can't wait to caress their beautiful mounds.

"You don't like to talk about the time you were friends with Grady Rock," Star says to me.

"Ancient history."

"Plus," Bailey interjects with a sweet smile, "who wants to be friends with someone who picks a fight with a blind lady?"

"Grady's brother told me he had a huge crush on you in high school," Star presses.

"Because Annika's fabulous," Bailey says before I can open my mouth again. I keep stirring. "He probably still has a crush on her but can't handle that he can't have her. That's how guys operate. Like cavemen."

"Bailey," Mama chides.

Amy's smirking as she drops the cake donut pan onto the countertop next to me and pulls out the bowl of chocolate chips, peanut butter chips, and caramel bits that'll go into the donuts.

"Grady Rock was a very nice boy in high school," Mama tells Star. "So polite. Much less cocky than his brother."

"Cooper earned that swagger," his nana calls from the Shipwreck side of the stage.

Cooper winks and keeps a firm grip on Sue's leash. The goat's trying to get to our side of the studio.

My sperm donor studiously ignores us.

So does Grady.

And I suddenly see my future.

Me, unexpectedly pregnant with Grady's child.

Him, moving on to someone his parents approve of.

And all that dry ice in my veins suddenly explodes when hot lava crashes over it.

I start flinging brownie batter into a piping bag while Mama extolls Grady's virtues from before when he turned into a Shipwreck shithead and Grady ignores us and the louder of the two massive hockey twins checks me out and Amy very quietly asks me if I'm okay.

I'm not okay.

I want to cry.

And I want to go shoot something.

I had to stay current on firearms training in the Army, though I was a paper pusher and not in the infantry, and I haven't wanted to shoot something since I can't remember when.

But I do.

I want to go run ten miles and do seven thousand sit-ups and then shoot something until my arm's about to fall off.

Because if my body hurts and my ears are ringing and I'm back in badass Army chick mode, then maybe my heart won't hurt.

Maybe I won't care that Grady won't publicly admit he has feelings for me.

That we've been seeing each other.

That it's like the last ten years didn't happen, and we're just as tight as we were in high school.

Except we're not.

I'm his dirty little secret.

I keep telling myself that it's because he wants my bakery to do well, but his damn sure isn't hurting for mine doing well.

And you know what?

I fucking deserve better.