Not a bad idea.He didn’t know how marketable it would be—his Neapolitan loaf cakes sold pretty well, but spumoni wasn’t nearly as popular—but it would probably taste great.
“All right, thank you, Henry.” Sylvia smiled. “I’ll be taking the rest for further testing, nothing to concern yourself with.”
Henry cracked a smile as his cake was whisked away. He eyed Tristan on his way back, and an apology almost fell over his lips. Hedidfeel like a dick for thatgood luckexchange. But the moment was wrong, and the emotions were wrong, and before he knew it, he was once again behind his station without saying a word.
As he kicked himself for keeping quiet, his gaze fell on Katherine, the last baker in the row. She gave him a weak smile but... well, if Henry had to follow himselfandTristan, he wouldn’t have been too confident either. Especially not with three-tiers of different fruitcakes covered in boiled icing. Boiled icing could hide a lot—No, no, it’s supposed to look messy, I promise—but not the severe tilt to her tiers. Not even the most perfectly executed Swiss meringue buttercream would distract from that particular mess. It was a shame too: her first two rounds had actually been solid, especially that coconut cake, even rivaling Bertha’s.
Once more, they stood behind their cakes. Tristan’s whole body chilled. Not from fear, but... he was close to taking this round. Many of the critiques had been middling to poor, with Katherine taking the worst of it for her sloppy presentation. The judges had made a few remarks on the dry texture of Dorian’s lemon cake, and had been "uninspired" by the combination of vanilla, spice cake, and too-pale chocolate that Hezekiah had gone with. Tristan was pretty certain he’d bested both of them. Even in his overthinking cynical little heart, he knew he’d done a damn good job and had gotten it recognized by the judges.
He turned to face Henry. This wasn’t the most sportsmanlike conduct, but fuck it. It would feel damn good to gloat. “So, five bucks that it’s me? Assuming you still think you’re a shoo-in.”
Henry shook his head gently, not making eye contact with him. “I don’t take losing bets.”
Tristan struggled against the heat rising slowly up his cheeks. Not that it did him any good. The heat rose all the same. “I don’t think it’sthatmuch of a sure thing.”
“It might not be. But you wanted to know if I’d bet. I’m not betting against a wedding caterer on a three-tiered cake challenge. Especially not after hearing your critiques.”
“You weren’t a hopeless slack-ass or anything. And yours looked a lot more like a wedding cake than mine.”
All Henry offered in response was another of those shrugs.
Sylvia stood in her black pantsuit, coming across too much like a funeral director for Tristan’s comfort. But it wasn’t the death ofhisrun, not this time. He had a safe spot for sure. But would he have acovetedspot?
Or was he fooling himself and about to get his beautiful three-tier cake chopped in half by a cleaver? Moment to moment, he flip-flopped between the two thoughts, so fast his stomach threatened to unmoor and jump free from his mouth.
Sylvia clapped her hands. “Now, we saw some really amazing cakes from all of you. From the humblest butter bundt to towering, three-tiered behemoths, everyone put out quality product, but one of you was asliceabove the rest, with clever flavor incorporation and some even cleverer design choices.” She paused, then turned to the left. Toward Henry... or maybe not? “Tristan, congratulations.”
Gentle applause from all around washed away the cold of Tristan’s nerves. He’d won. Second set of challenges and he’dwon. Sure it was cake, but to be the best out of a group of professional bakers and pastry chefs? With a candy-flavored, off-the-wall cake like his? Not to mention against that flowered giant Henry made? Tristan couldn’t hold back a smile as warmth bubbled through his veins.Classic wedding cake didn’t cut it, but my ideas got the job done.
Sylvia’s husky voice broke through Tristan’s stupor. “Yes, well done, Tristan. Your candy-inspired confection was truly a sight, not to mention an experience for the taste buds. A well-earned victory.” There was a little more applause, then Sylvia went dour. “But unfortunately, not everyone's cake was quite at the same tier."
She paused, building the drama. Tristan rolled his eyes.Katherine. No way they’re letting her stay with that mess she presented.
Sylvia sighed. “Hezzie, I’m very sorry to say, you'll have to head home.”
It was a little punch to the chest. Not in a sad way. But Tristanwouldhave bet money on Katherine going home. By all logic, she should have been the one out. What did it mean that she was still standing?
“The judges liked your coconut cake, but your Victoria sponge was a touch on the safe side, and they didn’t think you handled your time well enough on the tiered cake. And unfortunately, someone has to go.” Sylvia shook her head and approached, arms open.
“That’s a wrap,” said Jacob from backstage.
A wrap? No explanation of what had gone down? From the bewildered looks on everyone else’s faces, Tristan wasn’t the only one taken aback. Katherine herself had a thousand-yard stare. Theonlyexplanation that made sense to Tristan was that Katherine, at least, had strived for originality. She’d swung for the fences and failed. And maybe that was worth more to the judges than something well-executed and predictable.
There was no way to be certain his hypothesis was correct.I’ll have to run with it anyway. No safe plays.
Henry clapped him between the shoulder blades, pulling Tristan back into the current reality just in time to watch the crew carry a cleaver and step stool over to Hezekiah’s cake. “Told you I’d lose if I bet against you.”
Henry’s hand landed a second time, then he was off, leaving nothing but goddamn motherfucking coconut. That couldn’t simply be the shampoo, and they’d made the coconut cakes hours ago.
Soon, though, he was distracted from thoughts of natural coconut scent and assaulted by a rush of congratulatory back-patting and phony encouragement from the other competitors. None of them could actually be happy he’d won. Impressed maybe, but these weren’t his friends. None of them actually felt good about coming in third or worse.
Because Henry wasdefinitelysecond.
Willa, though—she showed more interest than the rest. Dark eyes twinkled as she smiled. “Congratulations, Tristan. I’ll make sure I try these award-winning chiffon cakes.”
“I wouldn’t call them award-winning. Not yet.” Tristan chuckled under his breath. His chiffon had brought him some mentions here and there around Seattle, but no awards. “Thanks anyway.”
“You like doing those kinds of flavors? A little weird?”
