21. Rian

21

RIAN

T he cacophony of chatter and clanging pans welcomes me as we enter the bustling competition tent. The air is thick with the heady aromas of vanilla and caramelizing sugar, a dizzying perfume that sets my heart racing with excitement.

We drop our savory pie off with the judges, then I guide Natalie and Jessa towards our assigned station, my hand resting lightly on the small of Natalie’s back. The casual intimacy of the gesture sends a shiver of desire through me, echoing the simmering tension that’s colored our interactions since our passionate encounter a few days ago.

We haven’t had a chance to be alone since then, but the flirtatious messages we’ve exchanged through Myrtle’s enchanted journal have kept me constantly aching to touch her, taste her again.

As we begin setting up our workspace for today’s challenge, scones, Natalie flashes me a conspiratorial grin. “I have a surprise for you two,” she says, reaching into her bag and producing a small, shimmering jar. “I’ve been working on a special blend of magical spices, courtesy of some of Myrtle’s leftover supplies and a dash of my own newfound powers.”

Jessa’s eyes widen with excitement as she leans in for a closer look. “Whoa, Natalie! That looks amazing!”

I carefully take the jar from Natalie, marveling at the iridescent mixture within. The scent is intoxicating—and altogether new. Gratitude swells in my chest as I realize the effort and care she’s put into this gesture.

“This is incredible, Nat,” I murmur, meeting her gaze with a warm smile. “Thank you.”

Jessa is practically bouncing with enthusiasm now. “Can we try it out in our first practice batch? Please, Dad?”

I chuckle, ruffling her soft fur affectionately, laughing as she pulls away, rolling her eyes at me.

“Of course, pumpkin. Let’s see what magic Natalie’s cooked up for us.”

Together, we set about preparing a batch of scones, carefully folding Natalie’s shimmering spices into the dough.

As we work, I find myself stealing glances at Natalie, admiring the confident precision of her movements and the way the soft light catches her white-blonde hair. There’s an ease to our interaction, a natural rhythm that feels both comforting and thrilling.

The first batch of scones rises in the oven, the spices releasing their tantalizing aroma, and I allow myself a moment to savor the warmth and joy of this shared experience.

A shrill ding pierces the air, signaling that our test batch is ready.

Jessa bounces on her hooves as I carefully slide the tray from the oven.

But as the steam clears, my heart sinks. The scones, rather than being golden-brown and fluffy, are a peculiar shade of shimmering purple, their surfaces glinting with an iridescent sheen.

“What the...” I mutter, frowning as I reach for one of the oddly colored pastries. The moment my fingers brush its surface, however, the scone begins to float, drifting lazily towards the ceiling of the tent.

Jessa giggles, her amusement quickly morphing into concern as she realizes the implications. “Dad, we can’t submit these! They’re not right.”

I nod, my mind racing as I try to figure out what went wrong. Was it the spices? The proportions? The baking time?

I’ve had strange results in the kitchen before when testing out one of Myrtle’s blends, but it’s always been worth it to keep trying and make the combination of ingredients work. But do we have time for that now?

Around us, the other contestants are taking picture-perfect pastries out of their ovens, their creations decidedly anchored to their plates.

“Okay, okay,” I breathe, trying to quell the rising panic. “We can fix this. Jessa, start measuring out the ingredients for another batch. I’ll try to figure out what we need to adjust.”

As Jessa scrambles to gather the flour and sugar, I start mentally running through the recipe, desperately trying to pinpoint our misstep. The minutes tick by, each one feeling like an eternity as the pressure mounts.

The stress is taking on obvious toll Jessa while we work. Her normally steady hands tremble as she measures the ingredients, her eyes brimming with tears of frustration. She’s finally been excited about this competition, brainstorming ideas with both me and Natalie over the past few days.

To see that spark fizzle out breaks my heart, her confidence crumbling under the weight of our missteps.

“Hey, Jessa-bear,” I murmur, pulling her into a hug. “It’s going to be okay. We’ve got this.”

She sniffles against my chest, her small frame shaking. “I don’t want to let you down, Dad. I don’t want to embarrass us in front of everyone again.”

I think back to that first competition weekend, what I said to her when she wasn’t participating. I swallow; my words must have made more of an impact than I thought.

“You could never let me down,” I assure her, stroking her soft fur. “You’re the most talented baker I know. We just hit a little bump, that’s all.”

As the words leave my mouth, I can feel my own doubts creeping in. What if we can’t fix this in time? What if we end up being the laughingstock of the competition?

Natalie, as if sensing my spiraling thoughts, leans in close. “Rian, Jessa, breathe,” she says calmly. “We can do this. Trust in your skills, trust in each other.”

I smile, confidence renewed. This must be what one of Nat’s pop stars feels like after a pep talk.

Beside me, Jessa squares her shoulders, her jaw set in a stubborn line that reminds me so much of her mother.

“Let’s do this,” she says.

We plunge back into our baking, the world around us fades away, narrowing to the tasks at hand. Measure, mix, knead, repeat. The minutes blur together, punctuated only by the pounding of my heart and the fierce love and pride I feel for my daughter.

Natalie’s presence beside us is a steadying force amidst the chaos. Her hand finds the small of my back, a gentle, reassuring touch that speaks volumes without words.

Sliding our final creation into the oven, I allow myself a moment to breathe, to take stock. Jessa leans against me, her small frame still shaking with exhaustion and anticipation.

I wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

“No matter what happens,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “I am so proud of you, Jessa. Always.”

She looks up at me, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Thanks, Dad,” she whispers.

Natalie steps closer, her hand finding mine, our fingers intertwining in a silent show of solidarity. “You two make an incredible team,” she says softly, her gaze flickering between us with a tenderness that makes my heart ache in the best possible way.

After the competition has ended, and Jessa is safely ensconced at her friend Allegra’s house in front of a movie, I settle into our usual table at the Orc’s Anvil for trivia night. Finn slides in across from me, his emerald eyes bright with their usual mischief as he surveys the bustling taproom.

Natalie and Ecco are at the bar, their heads bent together in animated conversation. I can’t help but let my gaze linger on Natalie, her blonde hair gleaming under the soft glow of the brass fixtures. She laughs at something Ecco says, her face lighting up, and my heart squeezes in my chest.

“So, Rian,” Finn’s voice cuts through my reverie, his eyes knowing. “What’s the story with you and Natalie? Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you two have been looking at each other all night.”

Heat creeps up my neck, a mix of embarrassment and pride at his implication. “Finn, I...” The words spill out of me, a confession I’ve been holding close to my heart. “I think I’m falling for her. Hard.”

Finn’s expression softens, a flicker of concern passing over his features. He leans back, his gaze steady as he asks the question I’ve been studiously avoiding.

“I’m happy for you, man. But... what are you going to do when she leaves?”

The words hang in the air between us. My stomach churns as cold reality seeps into the warmth of the moment.

I’ve been so caught up in the joy of our blossoming relationship, in the way Natalie has seamlessly woven herself into the fabric of my life, that I’ve allowed myself to pretend that there’s not a ticking clock hanging over us.

I know how important her career is to her. I’d never ask her to leave that behind.

So will she be leaving me behind instead?