Sugar and Spice (The Glitter and Sparkle Series Book 3) Page 6

  “Obviously.”

  Her eyes narrow with speculation. “What were you doing all that time?”

  My stomach rolls at the thought. Both Mason and I ended up eating far more than we should have, and I’m suffering today. We had way too much sugar, way too late at night, and I’ve been battling a headache all day.

  I don’t envy Mason. The last thing I would want to do this afternoon is taste twelve different types of cookies.

  “Scott!” Tammy calls across the room before I can answer Sadie. She’s wearing a headset and mic, and she looks like a woman on a mission. “You must change your shirt—no stripes.”

  It’s one of the rules. Apparently tight stripes will create what’s known as a moiré effect. On screen, it will look like the lines are moving. The dress code was clearly marked in our packets, and Tammy doesn’t look pleased.

  Scott blinks at Tammy, confused, and then his wife Misty gives him a shove. “Hurry!” she says. “We go on soon!”

  Tammy turns to the group, looking exasperated. “We’ve had a last-minute change. Mason has moved from judge to host, and Jonathan York flew in this morning to take his space. This doesn’t affect you in the slightest, but I wanted you to be made aware of it before we go on camera.”

  One by one, people look my way, shooting me suspicious glances. Christy…Chrissy—one of the plastic blonds—raises her hand.

  Tammy gives her a look that would send Sadie scurrying for cover and bites out, “Yes, Chrissy?”

  Ah, it’s Chrissy.

  “What happened to Frank?” the woman asks, referring to the previous host.

  “It doesn’t concern you. All you need to know is that we have a different host and new judge.”

  Chrissy flinches and nods.

  Finished with her, Tammy turns to the door. When she sees Scott lingering, she demands, “Please tell me you didn’t wear that during the interviews.”

  The guilty look on Scott’s face says it all.

  She snaps at him to hurry up and then growls into her headset, “Who interviewed Scott, and how did they fail to notice he’s in stripes?” She pauses and then answers, “No, we have to completely refilm…”

  Thankfully, she strides into the kitchen as she finishes her conversation. Waiting for the filming to begin is nerve-racking enough without her hovering over us, ready to pounce.

  “She’s terrifying,” Sadie whispers, and I must agree. Tammy’s intense.

  But the room might be worse. Everyone stares at me, speculating.

  “All right, everyone!” an overly bright woman with blond hair says as she steps into the dining hall where we’re all waiting. Paula’s another producer, not as senior as Tammy. It’s like they’re playing good cop/bad cop because she’s all sunshine and smiles. “Just like in elementary school, we’re going to form a single-file line. When I call your name, please stand in front of me.”

  Jessica and Anne, the pretty cousins from Tennessee, go in first. They’re followed by Charlie and Susan. Two more pairs go, and then Paula calls for Sadie and me.

  When Misty and Scott are called, Misty panics. “Tammy told him to change his shirt. He’s not back—”

  Scott runs into the room, rolling up the sleeves of a light-blue button-up shirt that looks miserable to bake in. Misty sags with relief, and then they take their places.

  Soon we’re all in a row, and Paula continues with her instructions. “Here’s how this is going to work. You will walk into the kitchen,” she says and then points to her mouth, “and you’re all going to smile. We are happy to be here! This is exciting! You’re in HBN’s Christmas Cookie Bake-Off!”

  Her excitement is nauseating.

  “Jessica, there is a red X on the floor. Once you reach it, please stop—do not look at the X. Look at the judges. And smile.”

  We nod, and Cole rolls his eyes at his brother. When he sees I caught him, he grins and raises his eyebrows, challenging me to tattle on him.

  I laugh under my breath and turn back to Paula.

  “Are we ready?” she chirps.

  Without waiting to see if we are, she turns on her heel and leads us toward the door leading into the kitchen. Before she enters, she stands to the side and motions us forward, using her hands like an over-eager stewardess.

  I take a deep breath right before I walk into the kitchen. I paste a smile on my face that I believe looks genuine and focus on not tripping. Ahead of us, Jessica stops and turns toward the judges. We all follow suit, and I find myself staring at Mason. Alexandra, Peter, and Jonathan are with him, but I can’t keep my eyes off the man whose room I was in until the wee hours of the morning.

  There are seven cameras dispersed throughout the kitchen, and he smiles for them like the pro he is. It’s a knee-weakening smile. The kind that hits you in the gut and steals your breath. His eyes flicker over all of us, but they spark when they catch mine. It makes me want to glance around to see if anyone else noticed that the room temperature just went up twenty degrees.

  But they all appear to be oblivious.

  “Cut!” Tammy claps, disgruntled. “Jessica! You looked at the X when you entered. You must not look down.”

  Jessica’s cheeks turn pink. In her thick southern accent, she asks, “But how else am I supposed to know where the X is?”

  Tammy rolls her eyes. “Look around. Do you see where you’re standing right now?”

  Looking as if she’s not sure if it’s a trick question, Jessica slowly nods. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Then stop there. Again!”

  We end up walking in five times. It’s insane. The second time, Eugene sneezed. The third, Catherine stumbled. The fourth, Jessica looked at that darn X again.

  The fifth time is the charm, however, because Tammy allows us to get on with it. No wonder we started at nine in the morning. If we stop and start this many times, it will take all day to film the show. Not to mention how long it will take the crew to do the edits and then put it up tonight so the viewers can vote.

  Mason formally introduces us to the judges on camera, though we technically met all of them, except for Jonathan, for the first time last night. As he finishes up the welcome and reminds us what’s at stake, I scan the ingredients piled on the table. Twelve holiday baskets hold jars of molasses and all kinds of spices.

  Mason steps forward, his eyes bright. He talks a bit more, making nice with the cameras, and then he motions toward the stand of baskets. “You have two hours to create three different cookies that showcase the holiday flavors of molasses and ginger. Remember, the viewers will be judging you on your presentation, so make them festive.”

  “And cut!” Tammy hollers. She yanks her headset’s mic down, getting it out of her face. “Perfect, Mason. Good job.”

  Oh sure, he doesn’t have to do it again.

  Tammy strides in front of us. “When we begin again, you will scramble to your baskets and then hurry to your workstation. We won’t be filming this a second time. If you trip and fall on your face, it will be on the show.”

  “Do the baskets contain different ingredients?” Anne, Jessica’s cousin, asks.

  “Not this time,” Tammy assures us, and then she steps aside. “But we want to keep it interesting, so hurry like the prize money depends on it.”

  A cameraman moves right by my side, the lens practically in my face. I give him a sideways look.

  “Just ignore me,” he says with an Australian accent.

  “Yeah, okay.” I laugh and shake my head.

  With several cameras trained on him, Mason tells us to collect our ingredients. We make a mad dash to the table. As if we really are racing for something good, Chrissy shoulders past Sadie, just about knocking my partner on her rump. Before Sadie falls, Cole grabs her arm, steadying her. She gives him a grateful smile and glares at Chrissy.

  I grab a basket, and we hurry back to our station.

  “What’s in here?” Sadie asks, peering inside.

  “Molasses, spices—nothing unusual.” I’m
relieved to see several cookie cutters as well. At least we won’t have to fight the other teams for the ones on the shelf.

  Sadie and I are prepared. We have several dozen recipes in our arsenal, and we knew we’d eventually find ourselves making ginger cookies.

  “The sandwich cookies?” Sadie asks, facing me as she’s walking backward, heading toward the ingredient carts.

  “Yep.” Wasting no time, I’m already measuring sugar into the mixing bowl. “And the gingerbread cutouts and the spicy gingersnaps.”

  “On it.” Her blond ponytail swings as she whips around, off at a quick walk.

  We’re not even five minutes in when Charlie calls for a medic. He must have nicked himself with a knife. Lindsay only shakes her head, not the slightest bit fazed that her partner is already bleeding.

  There’s a little bickering between teams, but I do my best to block it out. Sadie returns and immediately hands me the butter so I can cream it with our sugar blend.

  The ovens have already been pre-heated to 350 degrees, but we need 375 degrees for our ginger sandwich cookies. Before I can remind Sadie, she’s already resetting the temperature. After sharing a kitchen with her as much as we have in the last week, we’ve learned we work well together, despite the obvious reasons we shouldn’t.

  Sadie is focused and quiet while she works, and I appreciate that. She moves through steps methodically, unlike some of the competitors who are running about their stations like chickens, and we are able to each focus on our own tasks.

  I glance up from my dough and find she’s already started on the ganache for the sandwich cookies. She flashes me a hesitant smile and returns to her project.

  We just might have a chance to win this thing.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It’s three o’clock in the afternoon on the longest day known to man. The cookies are waiting for judging, and we just finished with our second interview. My feet ache, my neck is sore, and I am exhausted.

  But I’m confident in the cookies we made, even if I’m not looking forward to the judging process.

  “You’re a bit shiny,” one of the makeup girls says, patting my forehead with powder before I can so much as blink.

  “Thanks.”

  She nods and moves off, ready to spread her talc-like fairy dust with the rest of the competitors.

  Sadie sits across from me at the table, looking shell-shocked. “I had no idea.”

  Judging from the exhausted, nervous expressions the other competitors wear, they are feeling the same way.

  Christy and Chrissy prance into the dining area, back from judging. Their unnaturally smooth faces are radiant, which means they must have done well—darn it.

  I don’t care for those two, and I won’t shed any tears if they happen to go home.

  “Harper, Sadie—you’re up,” Paula says.

  Strangely, I’m reminded of a nurse calling my name at the doctor’s office. Sadie and I scramble to our feet, attempt to smooth our aprons, and then follow Paula in.

  The cameras are trained on us, and the lights are blindingly bright. The judges sit at a table, waiting. Alexandra and Peter are almost expressionless, but Jonathan flashes us a bright smile. He’s one of last year’s winners, and he more than anyone knows how difficult this is.

  In high school, I was in both FBLA and Student Council, so I’m no stranger to public speaking, but this is a whole new league. I swallow, desperately hoping I don’t make a fool of myself.

  I glance at Sadie to see how she’s faring. Her eyes are wide and nervous, but she has a sweet smile on her face. She looks like a doll—fragile and adorable. The judges’ expressions soften as soon as they set eyes on her.

  Perfect.

  My own smile becomes a little more genuine. They won’t go easy on us, but maybe they’ll temper their reactions for darling Sadie’s sake.

  “Sadie, Harper,” Mason says, his eyes lingering on me a moment too long as he says my name. “Please tell the judges a little about each of the cookies you made.”

  “Your first sample is a soft ginger sandwich cookie with a bittersweet chocolate ganache,” I say, thankful my voice is strong.

  Each of the judges takes a bite, none of them speaking. Sadie shifts, terrified.

  I’m not sure you can even call Alexandra’s bite a “bite.” It’s more like a kitten nibble. She wrinkles her nose. “I don’t care for your ganache.” She sets the cookie aside. “You said it’s bittersweet, but I’m only getting bitter.”

  Peter turns to her. “I disagree. I like the dark flavor, and the cookie is plenty sweet enough to counteract it. In fact, I think the cookie is too sweet, and I’m not getting enough of the molasses flavor.”

  Shaking his head, Jonathan finishes his cookie, polishing off the entire thing. When he’s done, he leans forward, his gaze going between both Sadie and me. “I loved it. The texture was spot on, and the sweet, sugary molasses complemented the dark chocolate perfectly. That was a good cookie.”

  A smile flutters back to Sadie’s face, and we both nod.

  “Sadie, can you tell us about the next cookie?” Mason says after several more minutes of debate.

  I wasn’t prepared for the judging to take quite this long. Apparently, we only see a fraction of it on television.

  Sadie clears her throat, and her hands flutter before she clasps them at her waist. “The gingerbread cutouts are a variation of my grandmother’s recipe. We always talked about auditioning for the show.”

  Peter leans forward, resting on his elbow, and says in his charming British accent, “I’ll bet she’s proud of you for making it here.”

  Before she answers, Sadie purses her lips, composing herself. After several moments, she answers, “She passed away a few years ago.”

  Every one of them, including Mason, gives her the stricken sad face, each ready to eat out of the palm of her hand.

  Sadie braves a smile. “But I think she would be, yes.”

  They all bestow her with approving, understanding nods.

  “It has a good texture,” Alexandra says after she takes yet another baby bite. “And the flavor is excellent.”

  Jonathan nods, but Peter shakes his head. “It’s too soft. A gingerbread cutout should be snappy, something you can dip in tea.”

  “No,” Alexandra says curtly. “These are perfect and soft and delicate. Despite the age-old tradition, gingerbread should not break your teeth.” She turns to us. “And your icing is simply beautiful.”

  They all seem to agree on that point at least. The three bicker for a while, and then we finally get to the third cookie.

  “The last cookie in front of you is a sweet and spicy molasses crinkle cookie,” I say, “topped with turbinado sugar.”

  Sadie and I share a look, and we both hold our breaths as they take their first bite. This cookie was a gamble.

  Peter looks at us after a few moments, his expression thoughtful. “Is that cayenne?”

  We nod.

  “You certainly took a chance with that.” His frown deepens. “But I like it—it’s very subtle. If you’d used any more than that, it would have been overpowering.”

  My heart decides it can beat again.

  Alexandra agrees. “I like it as well. The sugar on top gives it a lovely crunchy texture, while the middle is soft and chewy.”

  “Jonathan?” Mason prompts.

  The last judge frowns at the half-eaten cookie, thinking. “It’s good. A little different, maybe not something I’d make myself, but it still has a nice traditional flavor.”

  I sag with relief. That could have gone so badly.

  We are finally dismissed, and we thank the judges and leave. Mason meets my eyes and holds them for several seconds before Paula whisks us away.

  I step into the dining area where everyone is waiting with their families, and then I stop dead in my tracks. Sadie ends up running into me, but I barely notice.

  “What are you doing here?” I blurt out to the entire room, though I’m looking righ
t at one dark-haired young man in particular.

  “Brandon!” Sadie exclaims, and she runs over and tosses herself at him.

  He catches her in his arms, but his gaze stays locked on me. My chest constricts in a painful way. I’m thankful when Sadie finally pulls back, making Brandon transfer his attention from me to her.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks, beaming. Any fool can see she’s completely besotted with him. For half a second, he gives her a concerned look, something I can’t quite decipher.

  And though I don’t want them to, and though I wish with all my heart I could look away, my eyes stray to his hands. He gently pats Sadie’s back before he steps away. The motion is genuinely sweet, softly affectionate, and it makes me want to scream. Or maybe cry. It’s one of the two.

  “How did it go?” he asks Sadie, but his gaze again strays to me.

  I shrug like I don’t care one way or the other. “It was all right. I think we did well enough to firmly secure our spot in the middle.”

  Brandon’s mouth twitches as he suppresses a smile. “The middle? Since when are you satisfied with that?”

  He knows I’m not. Of course I’m not. If you’re not here to win—if you’re not going to give it everything you have and a little more—then what’s the point in showing up at all?

  I narrow my eyes, refusing to give in to his friendly banter.

  With another soft stroke to his girlfriend’s shoulder, he sets her aside. “Hey, Sadie, I’m going to talk to Harper for a moment.”

  Wrinkles appear in her brow, but she quickly smooths her features. “Of course.”

  Her reaction is off—it’s a strange mix of disappointment, resignation, and denial. And I don’t understand it. If Brandon were mine, I wouldn’t stand idly by while he tells me he’s going to take a few minutes with a different girl.

  But he’s not mine; he’s Sadie’s. She must be doing something right.

  I try to look cool and collected as Brandon walks my way, but it’s an impossible task. I glance around, wishing I had something to hold or carry—anything to do with my hands.

  “Riley wanted me to give you this.” Brandon holds out a folded bundle of fabric.