Page 138 of One for the Road
A throat cleared somewhere nearby, then Duncan spoke. “Bakers, please make your way to the stage.”
I pulled back, foreheads pressed together while we shared air for several heartbeats. The village green completely fell away.
“Probably a bad time to tell you this,” she said, panting. Holding me as tightly as I held her. Something so tender and hopeful in her expression, my heart thudded out of rhythm. “Jess is retiring. She offered me Brown’s. I can rent it from her, open a bakery of my own.”
I drew back in surprise. It wasn’t at all what I expected her to say, and yet – “Please tell me you said yes, Lang.” I released her hips to thread my fingers between hers.
“Of course I said yes.” Her smile turned luminous. “But now . . . I really, really need that prize money.” She nodded to the stage. “No pressure.”
No pressure.
I sucked in a steadying breath.
I’d get her that money, even if she didn’t want me at the end of it.
My legs were shakier than a baby deer’s when I stumbled onto the stage in front of the entire village. But we did it hand in hand. And this time, I never wanted to let go.
38
Isla
“You’ve been practising,” I said, watching Alistair chop the apples with a focused dexterity. Each slice of the knife sharp and confident.
He didn’t glance up, didn’t even pause, just replied, “Impressed?”
“Yes, actually,” I whispered giddily in his ear, my body sliding against his, barely aware of the onlookers as I grabbed the pie dish and started tucking in chilled dough.
The clock showed thirty minutes had already passed.
I couldn’t believe how much fun I was having. Last summer, I couldn’t stop looking at the crowd or the judges milling about with clipboards, my hands shaking so badly I’d dropped an entire bag of flour.
Now, my hands were steady as they moved through the motions I’d repeated a thousand times before.
I couldn’t get Jess’s words out of my mind. I was growing my own tree, proving myself in front of the entire village. Even if we lost, it would take nothing away from my skills as a baker.
Alistair and I waved at Teddy before she and Callum went off to try out some rides with the rest of the Macabe clan. I’d insisted they’d be bored standing around to watch the entire three-hour contest. They’d promised to return in time for the judging.
Without instruction, Alistair tossed the filling ingredients into a bowl. Apples, sugar, cornflour, lemon, vanilla. For all his pre-game nerves, he hadn’t wobbled once. His determined expression was the hottest thing I’d ever seen in my life.
We still had so much to talk about, yet it was almost impossible to not get caught up in the vision of us in my kitchen in Croft Cottages. A lazy Sunday, Teddy sitting on the counter, licking sugar from her fingers.
Almost.
“No, Cam – that’s the salt! No, not that one—” Annabelle’s sharp voice cut across the stage, bringing me back to the moment. A crash rang out and—
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Cameron snarled.
“May I remind all contestants that this is a family event.” Duncan’s voice came through the microphone, and the crowd tittered.
For the first time, I glanced at the bench beside ours. Through a plume of flour, I could see Annabelle and Cameron looked harried and intensely pissed off. Flour stuck to their hair and eyelashes. Coating their aprons too. Their bench wasn’t any better. Fruit dotted the counter, a pan was boiling over and a jar of treacle lay on its side, dripping onto the floor.
“You didn’t label anything, how was I supposed to know?” Cameron spat in a harried tone so unlike him.
“It shouldn’t matter.” Annabelle sounded moments from losing it. “We agreed you wouldn’t touch anything,remember? Because you didn’t carve out any time to practise.” There was a long streak of red berry juice across Annabelle’s white shirt.
This must be how it felt to experience personal growth, because I didn’t even feel smug. Just relieved. That could have been me. A year ago, it was.
Alistair clearly felt the opposite as he called across the bench, “Shouldn’t a chef know the difference between salt and sugar, Cam?”
