Focus, you stupid bastard.Henry turned back to his station. He needed to blanch his fruit to get the skins off, then cook it down in time to cool all the way through. He couldn’t worry about anything else.Especiallynot Bertha or Finn.
There wasn’t enough room in his brain to worry about themandwhat Tristan was doing.
“So, Tristan!” Dexter marched over. “What do we have to look forward to today?”
What we have is another series of interruptions.But Tristan kept that perturbance off his face. “It’s a chocolate fudge bundt with stewed Rainier cherries and rock salt for a little depth and crunch.”
“Interesting. Sounds like it’s going to be a pretty moist cake.”
“Assuming everything goes according to plan.” At least he wasn’tquiteso frantic as he’d been last time they’d done this interview. He had the cherries bubbling away gently. He needed to glaze a few he’d left whole and whip some cream with a bit of the stewed mixture, but not so much as to leave the cream slack. Plenty of time to get things done, and plenty of solid flavors on the table. How could you screw up cherry and chocolate?
Dexter looked around, leaning his hands on the counter. “It certainly smells like chocolate. And with whipped cream? A bit like aSchwarzwälder Kirschtorte, then.”
Tristan nodded. “Without the bite from the alcohol, and with a little more intensity, I think, but the flavors are all in there.”
“And is this something you would make for an event?”
“I haven’t. But if someone asked, or I thought it was a good fit for a theme, I would. Non-vanilla flavors have been big in wedding cakes the last few years.” He gave his cherry mixture a quick stir, releasing a puff of cinnamon-and-wine-scented steam. “Haven’t met anyone this adventurous yet, but I’m sure I will sooner rather than later.”
“And I guess you’ll be prepared, now.” Dexter clapped him on the shoulder—he wasawfullytouchy, not something Tristan cared for—then walked to the other side of the room. They were switching up the order this time. There were probably executives mapping out exactly who each judge should talk to at which time for every filming session.
At this point, his cake was down to a waiting game. He had everything in place. His mixing bowl and the balloon attachment from the mixer were in the freezer so his whipped cream would stiffen up better and faster. His coconut had already been toasted off and was cooling, and the rest of his decorations were heat-sensitive, so they were hanging out in the fridge until he needed them.
“Black forest cake?” Henry sat on the stool at his station, looking right at Tristan with bright chocolate eyes. “It flies out the door back home.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you do a great business on it. Must be nice.”
Henry shrugged. “They have a fair markup, so decent profit margins. I’ll have to make sure to try this one of yours, see if it’s up to snuff.”
Tristan’s belly tightened. “You don’t think my work’s up to snuff?”
“It’s a competition.” Henry smirked. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“Fine,” huh?Was Henrytryingto press his buttons, or was it accidental? Either way, buttons were getting pressed.And I’m going to be the bigger person, even if I strain a muscle in the process.If Henrywasjealous of him, acting unfazed in the face of stiff competition was as good a way as any to get under his skin. Hopefully. “I wasn’t really going for black forest cake. I’m not quitethatbasic. I was thinking about these cookies when I got the idea. I don’t know anyone who makes them, but they sort of appear at Christmas parties.”
“Chocolate chip with the maraschino chunks?”
“Those are the ones.”
“And they always have too much salt in the dough?”
Tristan nodded, proud to be able to answer up to that one. He picked up the container of rock salt. “Hence the garnish.”
“Well, I hope it turns out.” Henry shrugged, then ducked behind the counter with his perfect teeth and hair and muscles. Tristan still couldn’t tell if there was any direct antagonism in that conversation, or who had come out on top if there had been.Probably not me.Henry had seemed completelyunflapped.
Tristan thrust those musings aside, refocusing on his recipe and double-checking his components were ready.
He’d have time to overthink their conversation tonight.
Breathe, Henry. Almost finished.Henry and Tristan had both gotten glowing reviews on their bundts. Henry’s stone fruit bundt had apparently been quite sophisticated, and Tristan’s, on tasting, had perfectly captured all the best elements of those damn cookies. Meanwhile, Katherine had made a decent Victoria sponge, but the judges had seemed unimpressed. And Bertha had bested them all when it came time to judge the coconut cakes, but that was a Southern thing, so she had the advantage.
Now Henry stood in front of three tiers of flavored chiffon, covered in a perfect mascarpone buttercream. He’d gone with spumoni for his flavor profile: pistachio, cherries, and chocolate. They all looked identical, covered in the rich white frosting, but each one was flavorful... he hoped. He’d never made a pistachio cake, and never tried to impart so much cherry flavor into a cake before. Not before the practice rounds, anyway. Those cakes had been flavorful, but ...
Stop it.The clock gave him only fifteen minutes to finish decorating. He’d worked on his buttercream flowers while the cakes baked. All he had to do now was get them in place, then fill in and make everything presentable. It was a largely traditional wedding cake in appearance, and he had to stand on a step stool in order to reach the top. He’d start there and cascade his blossoms down.
From so high up, he got a good view of what Tristan was doing as well.Nota traditional wedding cake would be the answer. Each tier was a different lurid, acidic color. Green—almost the exact same color as theGet Bakedsign—orange, and electric blue. It was undeniably bold and striking and unlike anything else in the room. He’d pulled out some strange flavors for it too: Cotton candy, butterscotch, and peppermint. Henry had smelled them baking, and it was like a candy shop in an oven.
Now Tristan embossed and etched out a quilting pattern on the sides of his cakes. Would he manage to finish in time?I sure won’t get mine done if I keep watching him.Henry pulled his attention back to his flowers. Those were easy enough. A dollop of buttercream followed by his frozen flower. He piled up a mass at the top, then trailed down in an offset wave so no part of the cake was left undecorated.
