Chapter 19

Chapter

Nineteen

The competition"sset up under a pavilion in the park, right where the town meets the ocean. There"s something about the sea breeze mixing with the scent of baking that feels just right. Five teams are lined up, all bustling around their stations, prepping like there"s no tomorrow. Eliza and I, we"re one of those teams, and I can"t help but feel the butterflies doing somersaults in my stomach

Eliza, noticing my nerves, leans in. "Just focus on the baking. We'll work the magic together," she reassures me, her confidence infectious.

"I know I should"ve asked before, but you"re a witch then? I mean, you know how to do the spells and all that? Morgan's a shifter, so…"

She chuckles, busying herself with the ingredients. "Morgan"s my half-brother. Different dads," she explains. "My magic"s a bit different from his. I got into love potions for a while but realized baking was my true calling. Less complicated. More satisfying. Zero ethical ramifications," she explains, her tone light but sincere.

Before I can digest this new piece of information, my attention is unwittingly stolen by the sight of Morgan making his way through the crowd. The way the sun catches his hair, the easy grace in his step—it"s unfairly captivating. Eliza catches the direction of my gaze and teases, "Unless you want a love potion for my brother? I will gladly help with that," Her playful nudge draws a reluctant smile from me, even as my cheeks betray me with a blush.

Before I can even rebuff her comments, her face falls. "You"ve got to be kidding me!"

I turn around and look behind me. Anger instantly rises in my chest. Tomas is here, laughing and slapping backs with some guy I don"t recognize. They"re cozying up to the judges like they own the place, and my heart sinks like a stone.

"He said he wasn"t competing," Eliza mutters, disbelief and annoyance lacing her words.

"Tomas? You know him?"

"Tomas? I don"t know any Tomas, but that guy's name right there is Gerad." She points to the dark-haired guy standing next to Tomas. "He"s the second half of The Fondant Fellas who won last year. What a lying sack of— Wait, did you say Tomas?" Eliza seems to realize who Tomas is to me. The pieces fall into place with an almost audible click.

"The one and only," I reply, the words tasting like vinegar.

Tomas makes his way through the crowd, each step measured and full of the confidence I used to find so alluring. "Hey Claire, do you have a minute?" he asks, his voice carrying that old, familiar charm.

Eliza raises her eyebrows but steps aside without another word.

"I don"t have anything to say to you," I start to say.

"Don't be like that. I couldn"t stay away when you said you were here. I had to see you. Had to try and make things right," he explains, his gaze holding mine, searching for... what? Forgiveness? Understanding?

I cross my arms, feeling a protective wall go up. "And joining the competition with Gerad was part of your grand plan to apologize?" The skepticism is heavy in my voice.

"No, Gerad's willing to partner with Eliza. He knows it's you I want by my side. We're unstoppable together, Claire. You know that."

"Except we're not together. You made sure of that. Or did you forget I caught you with another woman in OUR BATHTUB." I can't help that I'm shouting. Seeing Tomas here, in Mystic Hollow of all the places, is enough to make me lose all common sense. He's not supposed to be here. Mystic Hollow is my sanctuary. His presence here feels like an invasion. It is an invasion.

"I messed up. I know I did. I wasn't thinking clearly. We've both been busy with work. I just needed a release you know?"

Tomas keeps talking, but my gaze drifts to Morgan. He's keeping a respectful distance yet watching closely like a hawk minding its territory. His silent support and the quiet strength in his stance fuel my resolve.

"You're wasting your time. I've found a new partner. One I can trust," I respond, my voice firmer than I feel.

Tomas"s smile falters as he glances at Morgan, then back to me. "Moving on so quickly?" he quips, the jovial tone failing to mask the bite behind his words. "I thought our dreams meant something to you."

"Our dreams?" I can"t help but laugh, bitter and sharp. "You"re the one who tossed them aside, Tomas, not me."

The tension between us is palpable, drawing the attention of those around us. This isn"t the time or the place for such a showdown. "You need to get back to your station," I say, eager to escape the spotlight.

"I just hope you don"t have to make croissants in the first round." His smirk is like a slap, a reminder of every doubt he"s ever cast on my skills.

It takes every ounce of restraint not to snap back. Right at that moment, I hate Tomas. And I don"t hate anyone. I"m lost for words. I can"t even think. I half expect Morgan to walk up and deck Tomas.

But it turns out he doesn't have to. In the next instant, Tomas loses his balance, slips on a magical piece of ice, and falls right on his ass, taking a tablecloth with the winning trophy on it down to the ground with him. The clatter of the trophy hitting the concrete echoes, drawing curious glances from all around.

My breath hitches, caught between a gasp and a laugh, as Tomas flounders on the ground.

Iris slides up beside me. Her expression barely masks her suppressed amusement. "Well, that was… refreshing," she quips, the corners of her mouth twitching in an effort not to laugh outright.

For a moment, Tomas just sits there; his pride bruised more than his body. The sight of him trying to salvage what"s left of his dignity would be pitiful if it weren"t so satisfying.

"Need a hand up?" Iris"s offer is laced with mock sincerity, her voice sweet as honey but with a bite underneath. The snowflakes, remnants of her swift intervention, sparkle in the sunlight, a silent testament to her loyalty.

Tomas"s glare could freeze the ocean, but Iris meets it with the warmth of summer. Undeterred, he scrambles up, his exit less a march and more a retreat, pride limping along behind him.

As he retreats to his corner of the competition, Iris turns to me, her face softening. "What a douchebag," she says, the words a simple verdict on the scene that just unfolded.

I let out a breath I didn"t know I was holding, the tension in my shoulders easing ever so slightly. "I know. I have no clue what I ever saw in him." The words feel like a confession, an admission of a mistake I"ve carried for far too long.

"Don't worry; I'll keep him in line if he tries anything else," Iris promises, her winter magic ready.

"Thanks. That means more than you can know."

With a final nod, Iris heads back to where the spectators are gathering, her stride confident. I try not to stare when I notice Morgan join her.

Returning to my station, I shake off the distraction. "Okay, where were we?" I ask Eliza, trying to refocus.

Eliza studies me for a moment, her concern evident. "Are you sure you"re good?" she asks, her voice laced with genuine worry.

"I"m fine. Don"t worry about it." I force a smile, pushing down the unease that Tomas"s smarmy act has stirred up.

Behind us, Tomas is already playing up his charm, the judges and a section of the audience drawn to him like moths to a flame. I bite back a sigh, forcing myself not to roll my eyes at the spectacle.

The announcer"s voice booms across the pavilion, the sound bouncing off the ocean and back to us. After welcoming the spectators and introducing the teams, the competition officially kicks off. "Contestants, your first challenge is to create a dessert that embodies the elements of fire and ice. You have two hours. Good luck!"

I look at Eliza, my mind going blank. It's like I've temporarily forgotten every recipe I've ever baked. I feel the weight of the challenge pressing down on me. If only I had a sliver of Iris"s winter magic in me, this round wouldn't be so daunting.

Eliza"s voice, full of enthusiasm and creativity, cuts through my brain fog. "How about we go with a Christmas pudding? It"s classic, but we can give it our own twist."

Christmas pudding, also known as plum pudding, is a traditional British dessert commonly served during the Christmas season. Despite the name, it doesn"t actually contain plums; the name dates back to a time when plums referred to raisins or other dried fruits. The pudding is made from a mixture of dried fruits, like raisins and currants, nuts, and spices, such as nutmeg, cinnamon, and cloves. Oh, and a heavy dose of brandy or run. That's what makes it flammable.

I nod, the idea slowly taking root. "Christmas pudding… I can work with that. What"s the plan?"

"I'm thinking we can turn them into tarts. That way they can set up faster. What do you think?"

"That's a good idea. What about the magic?"

"Leave the enchantment to me. I"m thinking of casting an emotion spell to evoke the sheer joy of Christmas morning. Imagine the judges feeling that burst of childlike wonder with each bite."

"That sounds incredible," I admit, already feeling a tad more confident. "So, what do you need me to do?"

"Just focus on the pudding. Clear mind, clear heart," Eliza instructs, her tone reassuring. "I"ll handle the magic."

I glance over at Tomas, who"s continuing to captivate the judges and the crowd with his flamboyant cooking style. A pang of irritation hits me, but I push it aside. "You wouldn"t happen to have a pair of headphones, would you?" I joke, half-serious, wishing for anything to drown out his theatrics.

Eliza raises an eyebrow, "You"ll be fine. Just concentrate on our dessert."

With a deep breath, I turn my attention back to the task at hand. We gather our ingredients, the rhythm of baking drawing me into the familiar comfort of the kitchen. Raisins, almonds, flour, sugar, eggs—the components of our Christmas pudding come together under my hands, each step a small victory against the nerves.

The aroma of bananas from the team behind us catch my attention as they work on their bananas foster. I hate to admit it, but it smells heavenly. Doubts nag at the edge of my thoughts, questioning whether our pudding can stand up to the competition"s flair.

But as Eliza and I pour our efforts into the dessert, I cling to the hope that our unique blend of tradition and magic will carry us through.

Time ticks by way too fast, and before I know it, we"re down to the final ten minutes. My heart"s racing, a mix of anticipation and anxiety churning inside me. Our Christmas pudding sits there, looking every part the festive dessert, but I can"t shake the nagging doubt. Baking"s my thing, sure, but Christmas puddings? That"s a whole different story.

The judges make their way to Tomas and Gerad"s station, their keen eyes taking in the golden perfection of the flaming Baked Alaska before them. The crowd falls silent. With a nod of approval, one judge, a distinguished woman with a short blonde bob named Miranda, talks first. "This looks exquisite," she declares, her fork diving into the meringue with precision. The silence stretches, a tangible tension in the air until her face breaks into a smile of genuine appreciation. "The balance is spot-on," she continues, her voice carrying across the pavilion. "The meringue is light and airy, while the ice cream provides a delightful contrast. It"s a dance of textures and temperatures, executed with skill. Bravo!"

Suddenly, it starts to snow around them. Big fluffy flakes swirl under the pavilion, revealing their magical surprise. The crowd claps appreciatively, ooohing and ahhing at the impromptu snowstorm.

"Looks like Iris isn't the only winter witch around here," Eliza murmurs to me.

I nod, listening to the rest of the judges' critiques.

Her colleagues nod in agreement, their own forks now diving into the dessert. Murmurs of approval ripple through the judges as they share their thoughts. "The presentation is also top-notch," Simon, the second judge, adds, his gaze admiring the artful peaks of the meringue. "It"s not just a dessert; it"s a statement."

I can"t help but grit my teeth; Tomas's knack for showmanship is evident in every aspect of their dish. It"s irksome, really, how effortlessly he seems to charm everyone around him, judges included.

Then it"s our turn. The judges approach, their expressions unreadable. My heart"s thumping so loud I"m sure everyone can hear it. They take their first bites, and for a moment, there"s a hush, a breathless pause that stretches on forever.

Their faces transform, eyes lighting up with genuine delight. "This is remarkable," Alberto, the head judge, exclaims, the joy in his voice unmistakable. "It"s like being a kid on Christmas morning again!"

But then, the mood shifts. The same judge pauses, a frown creasing his brow. "There"s a... slight bitterness at the end," he notes, his words sending a chill down my spine. "It"s as if all the excitement just... dims."

Simon agrees. "Like I just unwrapped all my toys and didn"t get the one thing I"d asked Santa for," he says.

I know at that moment it"s my fault. Despite my best efforts, the bitterness I"ve been carrying, thanks to Tomas"s unwelcome presence, has seeped into our creation.

I risk a glance at Eliza, "Sorry," I mouth to her.

"It's okay," she whispers back.

It seems to take forever for the judges to sample the rest of the desserts. Finally, we're all called to the front to find out who is being cut and who is making it to the second round of the competition.

The judges stand before us, a row of culinary expertise and opinions. The air is thick with anticipation. Each team is holding their breath, waiting for our fates to be announced.

"Our first group to make it to the next round is... Tomas and Gerad!" Alberto announces, his voice echoing through the pavilion.

"Of course," I say under my breath.

"Asshats," Eliza says on an exhale so only I can hear.

I join in the polite applause, masking my true feelings with a practiced smile. Tomas beams, soaking in the praise like a cat in the sun, and I can"t help but feel a sting of irritation.

"And our second group to make it is Shelly and Michael!" Miranda declares, her enthusiasm evident.

The tension ramps up a notch, leaving only one more spot for the taking. I exchange a nervous glance with Eliza, the silent question hanging between us: will it be us?

"The third group was a tough decision. It really could go either way..." Alberto begins, drawing out the suspense. My heart hammers in my chest, and I'm sure everyone in the audience can see it.

"But in the end, the group we"re excited to see more from is… Eliza and Claire!" he finally reveals.

A wave of relief crashes over me, nearly knocking the breath from my lungs.

Eliza wraps me in a tight hug. "We did it," Eliza whispers, her voice a mixture of disbelief and joy.

"We really did," I respond, the weight of the world lifting from my shoulders for just a moment.

As the applause dies down and the eliminated teams offer their congratulations, I can"t help but sneak a peek at Morgan. He"s smiling, that supportive glint in his eye, and I feel a warmth spread through me that has nothing to do with the sun overhead.