“Hi, I’m Justin Mallory from New York, and I was the winner of season one. My fondest memory of the competition was the episode where I won best in show with my take on a sachertorte. The charity I want to win the money for is the New York LGBTQ housing charity. I love cakes and pastries and not a day goes by that I don’t bake, but I have to be careful.” He patted his flat belly, and I envied his hand.
What? Earth to Brody, snap out of it.
Only I couldn’t snap out of it because Justin was the hero of my lust filled I-hate-my-ex-husband fantasies, and after talking to him today, he was even more up there. We’d been the same age, only nineteen. I was studying in college, and he was the winner of season one and taken the one hundred thousand dollar first prize. Just a skinny kid with spiky hair, eyeliner, and a ready smile, he had a passion for baking the same as me, and it didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes. And now I was in the same room as him, just a few steps away, and for the first time in a long time, I was attracted to a man who wasn’t my soon-to-be completely-ex.
I’d envied him then when he had the chance to bake for a living and win that money, but I’d also had a healthy lust for the way he looked. Where some people loved actors, I loved the fact he could roll puff pastry with his eyes closed. He’d filled out now, and even with his Christmas sweater and those ridiculous antlers, he was attractive. Marc had agreed, had gone on and on about Justin’s package of sex and fun, but in the same sentence, he would criticize me for spending too much time looking at Justin. I should’ve known he was an asshole back then.
He was right though about staring at Justin. I probably had done it, but Justin was more than hair and abs. He’d been the hope that one day I could get on the show and maybe win. Then I wouldn’t be a barista struggling with student loans and a marketing course that was killing my creativity one day at a time. Justin had a job in a small bakery and winning had been his ticket to a new life where he could do what he wanted. Watching him win, I’d dreamed of myself in his position, able to set up my own business doing what I loved. It had taken until I was out of college, right until season four to get accepted as a contestant, but I’d done it, and my company Bakes by Brody was given the start it needed.
Concentrate. Shauna did her introduction, then Kristen, who was next to me, and then finally it was my turn.
“Hi, I’m Brody Thomas from Corning, New York, and I won season four. My fondest memory of the competition was before my season even started. It was the day I found out I was chosen to be a part of the show. In real life I own Bakes by Brody, or 3B as we like to call it, and I’m completely self-taught. I’m hoping to win to raise funds for a local hospice back home that looked after my grandfather.” Humor, I need to add something funny. I patted my belly, which was a lot softer than Justin’s. “Like Justin, I need to be careful, but let’s be honest, if it’s cake, I eat it.”
I carried a little extra weight than I was used to, my belly soft, but I tasted cake for a living, I had to cut myself some slack. A soft belly and fifteen pounds I didn’t need was a small price to pay for everything I could achieve. Even if Marc had called me weak for not going to the gym. Weak? I hadn’t had the time to think about me when I worked every hour I was given.
I heard Justin laugh. God, he had an amazing laugh, all kinds of cute and sexy and—
Stop this shit. Focus.
Ivan took the baton from me, talked about his cat for some reason, then Clare did her spiel about technicality and how she was here to win, and we were done, the big intros finished.
“Okay, guys, that’s a wrap. Be back here at 8 a.m., first bake cupcakes, and we’re giving you a heads up way ahead of time so make this count. The theme is general Christmas and starts filming at ten. Any questions?”
No one said anything. We’d all been here before.
“Okay then,” Derek said and clapped his hands. “Venetia, Lewis, Courtney, a moment please for voice over clips.”
The six of us bakers stepped back and away, the jingle bells on Shauna’s sweater jangling in time to her steps, and then finally we were all in a back room which would become makeup central. We took off our Christmas sweaters, replacing them with our normal clothes. I used wipes to clear the gunk from my face, the touch of base and powder that we had to have, and then I was ready to leave. I pulled on my jacket and changed from shoes to boots. I’d walked here, and I was walking back.
“You heading to the Fairmont?” Justin asked from where he sat at the counter removing makeup.
“Yes. I’m walking. Thought I would clear my head, think about things.”
“Okay if I walk with you?”
My chest tightened. My libido did a dance. Hell, I would probably get a hard-on now.
“And me!” Ivan announced.
“I’ll do that,” Shauna added.
My cock settled back to sleep, like a hamster in a nest, foiled by the other contestants, all of whom wanted to walk over the grounds to the hotel as well. Why did no one drive anymore?
We set out, naturally falling into groups of two, but I was with Shauna, who was rambling on about jangling bells, and not with Justin, who was in deep conversation with Clare over something that must have been important the way she was clinging to his arm. She was doing that whole please don’t let me slip thing.
I was pissed I hadn’t thought of it first.
Chapter Seven
Pro tip – keep cake moist by eating it in one sitting
Justin
Clare gripped tight to my arm as we walked back to the hotel.
“So what ideas do you have for tomorrow?” I got the feeling that she wasn’t asking out of interest. I sensed a cold calculation in the question, and I wonder what she’d think if I told her I had no concepts in my head. So, as was usual in Justin-world, I winged it completely.
“I’m not entirely fixed on a final decision.” Fixed? Final? I didn’t have one idea, let alone several to choose from. The remit for the first round was to create twenty-four cupcakes, all exactly the same, embellished with the theme of general Christmas. I could bake cupcakes blindfolded, but whether I could make them crazy good like the other season’s winners was something else altogether. Typically for the beauty shoots I shared on social media, I had a chef or two at hand to fix whatever imperfections the camera would show, but here I was on my own. After cupcakes, it was the mystery challenge, set by the judges, both of whom were experts in the field, and it could be anything from making choux buns to creating the Eiffel Tower out of shortbread. We wouldn’t know until the very moment we pulled back the cream-colored sheet that would be covering the ingredients. Then of course there was the showpiece, the final bake to wow the judges, which could be the difference between staying and going.
“You’re so creative to have more than one,” Clare murmured, but to me, it sounded as if there was sarcasm in her tone. I genuinely wished that she wasn’t clinging to me like a limpet, in fact, I’d prefer it if Brody was the one holding my arm.
If he slipped I could catch him or let him fall into the snow and topple onto him, gently, and maybe we could sneak a kiss—or more.
“Not so much creative as still choosing the best direction,” I lied, but she wasn’t listening to me. She was turning back and looking at whoever was behind us.