Page 6 of Cinnamon Rolls and the Guy Next Door (Holiday Romance in Snowflake Falls #16)

Chapter Six

KIERAN

The festival grounds are already packed when I arrive in the morning.

The bright sunshine burns off the mountain mist, and the smell of frying dough from the donut stand makes my empty stomach clench.

I didn't eat breakfast; I was too keyed up about what's coming. It was hard to tear myself away from Juniper’s warm, perfect body this morning.

All I wanted to do was stay in bed with her, forever if I could.

The baking tent looms ahead, white canvas glowing in the morning light. Inside, three stations are set up for the finals.

“There's our champion.” Viper's voice comes from behind me.

I turn to find him with Hunter and Colt. My stomach drops. Colt's dressed as Clay again, complete with that icy expression that makes people step aside.

“President,” I nod.

“Are you ready for this?” Colt asks.

“Ready as I'll ever be.”

“Good. We'll be watching. Make the club proud.” He claps me on the shoulder, harder than necessary. They position themselves at the viewing rope as other spectators file in. The tent fills quickly; the finals draw a big crowd.

Juniper arrives five minutes later in a purple dress covered with tiny red hearts. Her hair is pinned up in victory rolls, and she's wearing red lipstick that makes me think about smearing it, tasting it. Tasting her again,

Our eyes meet across the tent. Last night hangs between us; every touch, every moan, the way she said my name when she came. She gives me a small, private smile that goes straight to my cock.

Beatrice bustles in last, arms full of supplies. “Morning, everyone! Ready to have your ass whupped by an old lady?”

The judges take their positions. Magnus is at the center, flanked by the nervous young man from yesterday. The young judge keeps glancing at Colt, then away.

“Finalists,” Magnus begins. “Today's challenge is a free-for-all. You have three hours to create two dozen pastries that represent your unique style. Technical skill will be weighted equally with creativity and flavor.”

He pauses, looking at each of us.

“Additionally, to ensure fairness, we'll be rotating judges throughout the baking process. Each judge will evaluate different aspects independently. I have the final say.”

The nervous young judge fidgets. Good. Let him sweat about whether his bribe from yesterday will matter and what Colt will do to him otherwise.

“Begin!”

We dive into our work. I’ve made cinnamon rolls again because I don’t know how to make anything else. I've made these rolls enough times now that my hands know the motions. Mix, knead, proof. The repetition is almost relaxing.

Across from me, Juniper moves with grace.

She's added something new to her recipe. I can smell it. Cardamom, maybe? Orange zest? It looks like she’s doing rolls again, too.

She catches me gawking at her and winks.

The crowd presses against the ropes, craning their necks to get a look at what we’re making.

An hour in, Juniper's mixer starts making a grinding sound. She hits the stop button, but it keeps running, the blade scraping against the bowl with a metallic shriek.

“Shit,” she mutters, yanking the plug.

“I’m sorry, but equipment failure is not grounds for additional time,” one of the judges says.

Juniper's face flushes. She starts mixing by hand, but she's lost precious minutes. Her perfect timeline is shot.

I look at my own dough, already in the oven, rising beautifully for some reason. Then at Juniper, whisking frantically, sweat beading at her temple. Beartrice's Danish pastries are also in the oven. If things continue, Juniper's going to lose on timing alone.

“Focus on your own station, Mr. Laird,” the nervous judge says.

But I can't. I’m painfully aware of the determination on Juniper's face and the way she's not giving up. She’s the best baker here.

Colt catches my eye from the crowd. He nods toward my oven, message clear: win this.

Beatrice shrieks as she removes her pastries. They’ve been in too long and are too crisp, the fillings leaking everywhere, and the outsides charred.

I open the oven door. My rolls are perfect. Golden brown, with even swirls, the smell is delicious. All I have to do is pull them out and plate them up.

Juniper's still struggling. Her dough’s in the oven, but she's running out of time for the final glaze. Her hands shake slightly as she works.

I consider Clay's orders and the bribe. Think about the alibi that's already established; hundreds of people have seen the fake ‘Clay’ here all day. But then I remember Juniper's beautiful face last night when she said she knew I wasn't a cheater, her eyes shining.

I open my oven door. The heat blasts out, carrying the perfect scent of cinnamon and butter. My rolls are magazine-worthy. I reach in, grab the tray, stumble, and flip the entire pan.

The crash echoes through the tent. Two dozen perfect rolls scatter across the floor, dirt and grass sticking to the glaze.

“Fuck!” I roar, shaking my fist, selling it for the open-mouthed audience. Three small, out-of-control dogs run under the rope and start chomping on the scattered rolls, growling and tearing them apart.

The crowd gasps. Colt starts to laugh before he catches himself and frowns, remembering he's being watched and pretending to be his sterner brother.

“Oh, Kieran,” Beatrice says sympathetically.

But Juniper's looking at me with an expression I can't read. She knows. Of course she knows. I didn't stumble by accident.

“Five minutes!” Magnus calls.

Juniper plates her rolls with seconds to spare. They're not as perfect as usual; the glaze rushed. But they're complete. And they smell incredible.

Beatrice's Danish pastries are burned to hell. My rolls are destroyed on the floor.

The judging is quick. With my rolls inedible, it's between the two women. The judges taste, confer, and then Magnus steps up to the stage.

“The winner of this year's Fall Festival Breakfast Pastry Baking Competition is Juniper Winslow!”

The crowd claps enthusiastically and people surge forward to congratulate her. But she's still looking at me, eyes bright.

I start to turn away, but Juniper catches my arm.

“Why?” she asks quietly.

“You know why.”

“I think your club president isn’t happy.”

I glance at Colt, who's already leaving with Viper and Hunter.

“Probably.”

“It was your win.”

"No, beautiful. It was yours. It was always your win.”

She rises on her toes and kisses me, right there in front of everyone. The crowd whoops. Someone whistles. When she pulls back, her lipstick is smeared and her eyes are shining.

“You're a fool,” she says.

“Yeah.”

“My fool?”

“If you'll have me.”

She kisses me again, and I know the Prez’s anger will be worth it. Some things matter more than following orders. Some people matter more.

And my Juniper? She matters most of all.