Sugar and Spice (The Glitter and Sparkle Series Book 3) Read online

  And all six of them turn to me. Put on the spot, I clear my throat. “I don’t know.” Then, not quite able to look at Brandon, I say, “It would be rude to ignore him.”

  Without a word, Brandon hands me my phone. There’s something in his hardened expression that tells me he doesn’t approve—but why should I care?

  I quickly scan what Riley wrote, erase all of it, and type, You haven’t even wrote me a song yet. I think it’s a little early to pull out the puffy paints.

  Then I bite my lip, trying and failing to hold back my smile.

  Less than half a minute later, he responds, I’ll have plenty of time to work on it for you…because you’re going to Colorado.

  I stare at the text, dumbfounded.

  “Harper, what’s wrong?” Lauren asks.

  Was that just a touch of light-hearted optimism or is he stating a fact?

  Before I can ask if he’s serious, he responds, Congratulations. I don’t know about you, but I’m certainly looking forward to the next few weeks.

  “Harper?” Riley demands.

  I look up, still in shock, and turn to Sadie. “We’re on the show.”

  “We’re…what?” Sadie blinks at me, just as baffled as I am.

  Shaking my head, I look back at my phone. “We were selected for the show. We’re going to Colorado.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I thought HBN’s holiday lodge was the product of a large studio. Sure, they always panned the picturesque scene to a backdrop of festive Christmas music…but still.

  As I stare at the massive structure in front of me, I quickly come to terms with the fact that I was very, very wrong. The word “lodge” conjures pictures of cozy cabins and little wood-burning stoves, but the mansion in front of me has more in common with a five-star resort. In a nod to tradition, massive timber beams parade as pillars. The entire exterior is stone, and the roof is brick-red. There are balconies, porches, and windows galore.

  All in all, I suppose it’s not a bad place to spend the two weeks before Christmas.

  A man who appears to be in his mid-twenties hurries forward to greet us. “You must be Harper and Sadie from Montana, correct?”

  Sadie smiles, practically giddy. “That’s us!”

  I resist the urge to rub my temples. My partner is very chipper. Honestly, I have no idea how she doesn’t drive Brandon insane.

  The man doesn’t seem to mind. He’s obviously a member of the crew, and he’s attractive in a relaxed, friendly sort of way. He gives me a wink as he checks our names off the list on his clipboard. “I’ll take care of your luggage, and you can check in with Tammy. She’s at the desk in the lobby.”

  Feeling as if I’ve stumbled into a movie, I walk inside, half dazed.

  “What do you think they do with this place for the rest of the year?” Sadie asks as she gapes at the entry. The lobby is open, and the ceiling is at least three stories above us. An eighteen-foot Christmas tree twinkles in front of the main windows, decorated with tasteful white lights and glittering glass ornaments.

  Everywhere I look, there are garlands, wreaths, and swags. It’s Christmas overload, but in the best way.

  “Culinary tourism,” a male voice says from behind us.

  We turn to face him. The man is older than we are, probably in his late twenties. His dark blond hair is short, his arms are massive, and he’s at least six-three.

  He’s not handsome in a traditional sense, certainly not like Mason or the guy I will not mention. But there’s something about the way he carries himself, of how comfortable he is in his own skin. It’s working for him.

  Sadie blinks up at him, looking both intrigued and half-terrified.

  “People with more money than sense can book a week here to train with various chefs,” he continues.

  I study him. “You don’t approve?”

  “To each their own. I’d rather put my money toward a real culinary education.” He flashes us a thousand-watt smile. “Which I did.”

  Sensible, honest, built like a gladiator—I like him. We’ve been here five minutes, and we’ve already bumped into two good-looking guys. If I must spend two weeks with Sadie, this isn’t a bad way to do it.

  “Are you a contestant?” Sadie asks, her voice syrupy with excitement.

  “From Chicago,” he answers Sadie, but he turns his eyes on me. “And you’re Miss YouTube—American’s new sweetheart, media favorite, and the bane of half a million vapid eighteen-year-olds.”

  I stammer and glance at Sadie. She widens her eyes, silently telling me she has no idea how I should answer.

  “I’m Harper,” I say, purposely ignoring the last bit of his spiel, and I bob my head to the side. “And this is Sadie.”

  He smiles, his eyes glinting with humor. “Cole.”

  Cole. I lock it away for later. He’s blunt, but I like that, and cocky, but I’ll make an exception. And he apparently knows his way around the kitchen—which is downright hot.

  “We need to check in,” I say, jabbing a thumb at the counter.

  Giving us a nod—a single, upward jerk of the head—Cole moves along, sauntering away. His expression says we’ll undoubtedly be seeing more of him. Sadie cocks her head to the side, watching him go.

  When I give her a knowing look, her cheeks turn pink. “He’s built like a redwood.”

  “Maybe I should tell Brandon you were checking out Cole’s—”

  “Harper!” She glances Cole’s way, obviously hoping he didn’t hear, and then she presses her lips together, trying not to laugh. “Honestly.”

  “Assets,” I finish, unable to help myself.

  “That is not what you were going to say,” she hisses, unable to hold in her giggle now.

  I raise an eyebrow.

  She stares at me for several seconds and then shakes her head and grabs my arm. “Let’s talk to Tammy and find our rooms.”

  “Hello, girls,” Tammy says when she spots us, smiling in a no-nonsense sort of way.

  The show’s lead producer’s dark hair is pulled back, this time into a perfect bun. Her skin is porcelain, her cheeks lightly pink, and her brown eyes expressive. Somehow the severe way she prefers to wear her hair only enhances her features. Yet, her eyes betray her age—she must be in her late thirties. A person would be wise to invest in the company that makes her moisturizer.

  Sadie stares at the woman, star-struck. For a moment, I almost think she’s going to curtsy.

  “I have you on the third floor, rooms thirty-eight and thirty-nine.”

  “Are we allowed to have visitors?” I ask. Riley begged me to let her stay this weekend.

  Tammy raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “This isn’t a college dorm, dear. As long as you don’t disturb the other contestants, you can do whatever you like.”

  She says “dear” in a decidedly condescending way, but I shake it off.

  “So, it’s all right if my sister drives up to visit on the weekend?” I ask, just to make sure.

  “We’ll go over the official social rules at this evening’s dinner,” Tammy says, sighing. “But it’s fine if your sister comes. Most of the contestants are here with their spouses.”

  First—social rules? But it’s the spouses thing Tammy says that makes me pause. Not for the first time, I wonder how old the rest of the competitors are. Sadie, Riley, Lauren, and I all binge-watched every single season available on the internet as soon as we learned that we’d made it onto the show. Most of the contestants were either professionals with their own businesses or hobby bakers that had been practicing their craft for the past twenty years. The youngest pair we saw was in their mid-twenties.

  Sadie and I will be the babies. But that’s good—they’ll underestimate us.

  After filling out various stacks of paperwork—even though we’ve already practically signed our lives away—we’re headed up to the third floor, card keys in hand.

  Excitement rolls off Sadie. Everyone we meet smiles at her—because she’s that person.

&nbs
p; The one people smile at.

  The one who smiles back.

  The one who bakes competition-winning cookies, gives genuine, heartfelt hugs, and visits old people in retirement homes, patiently listening for hours as they tell her stories about pets that died twenty-five years ago and their third cousin’s knee surgeries.

  No wonder Brandon loves her. I’m starting to like Sadie, and I hate her to pieces.

  If that makes sense. Which it doesn’t.

  But nothing makes sense anymore. After all, a week ago, I received a text from the former lead singer of Forever Now, informing me I’d been chosen to compete in a nationally televised baking competition. This sort of thing doesn’t happen.

  We opt for the tall, open stairs instead of taking the elevator. At the top, I glance out through the windows. Dainty flakes of snow begin to fall, drifting to the ground in an idyllic sort of way. We’re in the Rockies, on the Denver side of Vail Pass. Mountains loom on either side of the valley, perfect white guardians.

  I’ve never been to Colorado, but after living near Yellowstone, I doubted it was as fabulous as everyone claimed. I was pleasantly surprised. Along the main interstate, there are dozens of tiny towns, all clustered together. They all have a luxurious Swiss sort of feel with their nod to chalet architecture and white-ribboned ski slopes cutting through the dusky blue spruce.

  The lodge is away from the crowds, tucked into its own private nook, but the isolated feel is a mirage. We’re only ten minutes from a group of high-end outlet stores and a massive lake that’s currently covered in snow.

  Sadie walks ahead of me, decked in tall, high-heeled suede boots, dark skinny jeans, and a merry red scarf over a white, long-sleeved shirt. Her hair is pulled up today in a sleek ponytail, killing some of her Alice vibe. She murmurs the room numbers as we pass them, pausing once she reaches thirty-eight. She turns to face me, her bright blue eyes full of excitement as she flicks me the card key. “Want to do the honors?”

  Feeling a bit giddy myself, and irritated about it, I accept the card and slide it into the lock. As soon as the light blinks green, I turn the handle and open the door. Except the door doesn’t open, and I end up walking into it with a grunt.

  Grumbling under my breath, I try one more time. Again, the blinking green light lies.

  “The lock might be jammed,” a vaguely familiar male voice says from behind me. Before my poor brain can grasp the situation, Mason Knight leans around me, practically draping his manly self over my shoulders, and snatches the card key from my hand. He repeats the process, but when the light turns green, he gives the handle a swift downward tug as he shoves the door open.

  Bowing to his wishes like everything else in his life, the door swings open. I turn my head, about to tell him that I was about to get it myself, but then realize I have made the greatest mistake of my life. Because Mason’s lips are inches away from mine, and he’s smirking in the most wicked, delicious sort of way.

  The air whooshes from my lungs, and I’m left gaping at him, just like I did at our first meeting.

  “Hey, pretty girl,” he murmurs.

  Yep. That snaps me out of it.

  Making a scoffing noise, I nudge him away with my shoulder.

  “You know,” he says, crossing his arms, grinning from ear to ear. “That usually elicits a different sort of response.”

  I roll my eyes, and my gaze lands on Sadie. She looks like she’s going to pass out.

  Mason, remembering the girl’s existence at the same time as I do, turns to her, extending his hand. “Hey, I’m Mason.”

  A flighty giggle escapes her lips, and then she shakes herself. “Sadie.”

  She takes his hand, pretending to be brave, but it’s so obvious she wants to melt into a puddle at his feet. Mason, used to the reaction he has on the females of the species, doesn’t even blink.

  “How was your flight?” he asks us both, his eyes flickering back to me.

  “We drove.”

  He looks surprised. “That’s a long day.”

  Nine hours and fifty-six minutes, trapped in a car with Sadie telling me college stories about Brandon…and how fantastic Brandon is…and her wondering aloud if it’s too soon to start thinking of destination weddings involving—you guessed it—Brandon.

  He has no idea what he’s getting himself into.

  I give the musician a shrug.

  Mason watches me for several more moments, his eyes sliding over my face. “I’ll let you girls get settled, but I’ll see you at dinner.”

  Sadie says something—I have no idea what because I ignore her.

  Whether I want it to be or not, my whole focus is directed on Mason. He takes two steps toward me, closing the distance between us. Before my brain can remind my feet to step away, his hands pass under my jacket and settle on either side of my waist. His palms are warm through the thin sweater I’m wearing, and my brain short circuits.

  I suck in a surprised gasp, but before I can push him away, his mouth moves near my ear, and his jaw brushes mine. “There are certain…rules…in place between the judges and the contestants.”

  A tight, hot knot forms in my stomach, making me stumble slightly. His hand finds my elbow, steadying me.

  “We’ll have to be careful not to appear overly friendly in public,” he whispers, his words tickling my ear.

  My mouth goes dry, and I swallow before I answer. “Shouldn’t be a problem. I don’t even know you. You certainly don’t know me.”

  “Oh, but I plan to.”

  With that, he steps back, a crooked smile forming on his perfect lips, and walks down the hall, disappearing from view.

  Sadie stares at me, mouth gaping open. She steadies herself on the wall with one hand and fans her face with the other. “Mason Knight just hit on you.”

  And as much as I hate to admit it, I liked it.

  A lot.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I dab the last little bit of sauce off my plate with a crusty piece of French bread, eying the hovering waiter with the suspicion of a wild dog not wanting to share her bone. If the man even tries to take this plate before I’m finished, I will end him.

  No joke.

  “Have you ever…” Sadie sighs into a spoonful of chocolate mousse, not even bothering to finish her sentence.

  Needless to say, the food here at HBN’s cabin is astounding. Word has it they coaxed Chef Louis Brenard from his diamond-encrusted, multi-million-dollar restaurant empire to create the menu. Lucky us.

  “You’re doing it again,” Sadie whispers, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

  I rip my gaze away from Mason.

  “I wasn’t.”

  But it’s a lie—I was looking at him, as I’ve been doing all night. My eyes can’t seem to stay away. He’s seated at a table with the other judges—top chef Alexandra Doyl and Peter Gostinberg from HBN’s Bake It Right.

  Tammy was sitting with them as well, but she abandoned their table long before the first course was served. She’s now standing in a corner, murmuring with a man in a suit who looks important. No wonder the woman is so skinny—she cooks, but she doesn’t eat.

  Purposely keeping my eyes off Mason, I let my gaze wander over the rest of the room. According to Tammy’s beloved schedule, this is our only formal dinner. From here on out, we may eat in the dining room, but only contestants receive their food for free. Family members and friends are required to pay. The only exception is the goodies left over from the bake-off challenges. Whatever doesn’t get scarfed down by the crew will be relocated to a dessert table in the corner. It’s a first-come, first-served sort of system.

  With the members of the crew and random cameramen wandering about the room, there are around seventy people in attendance. The mood is jovial, and the thrill of possibility is in the air. Any one of us could win—any one of us could take home the twenty thousand dollars.

  The gossip mill is oiled and working, and we’ve already learned quite a bit about our fellow competitors. First, there’s Sc
ott and Misty, a husband and wife team from Chicago. They own a bakery, and their croissants are supposed to be to die for. They’re both a little soft around the edges, each wears a huge smile, and Scott’s laugh is crazy loud—but in a Santa Claus kind of way, not like a drunk guy in the corner of the room.

  Then there’s Chrissy and Christy—no joke—cupcake bakers from New York. I’m guessing they’re in their late thirties, but there’s definitely an excessive amount of cosmetic surgery that’s gone on there, so it’s hard to say. One of the two, Christy, I think, scans the room like me. She’s the taller of the two, with unnaturally full lips and a pinched expression that never seems to leave her face. The two teammates whisper, and I have a feeling they’re sizing up their competition.

  Cole, the baking gladiator we met earlier, is seated with his partner and brother. Jerome’s equally as tall and muscular as his brother, and they’re already attracting attention.

  When Sadie follows my eyes, she shakes her head. “Can you believe there are two of them? Half of the viewers are going to swoon when they don aprons.”

  I cock my head to the side, picturing it. Yep, she’s right.

  When Cole notices me looking his way, he flashes me a smirk, acknowledging our earlier meeting. I return his smile, a little embarrassed he caught me looking.

  There are eight more teams, excluding Sadie and me. Sarah and her daughter Quinn are from Idaho, and they were the other team selected at the Montana auditions. Neil and Catherine are another husband/wife team, as are Charlie and Susan.

  Then there’s Jessica and Anne, strawberry blond cousins, both in their late twenties. They’re from somewhere down south because their accents are thick. All evening, the pretty pair has been giggling over the gladiator brothers. Neither Cole or Jerome seem to mind.

  Eugene and his grandson Max sit at the table with Sheila and Clary, a baking duo from California. With them are the girls’ husbands and Max’s sister, who’s here to support her grandpa and brother—or to fawn over Mason, which is what I’m leaning toward. Eugene must be in his late seventies, and Max is eighteen, making him the youngest contestant here. I got a chance to talk to them earlier, and they’re nice.