Page 25 of Fire and Icing (The Firemen of Waterford TN #1)

“Here’s the piping bag,” she says, holding it out.

I feel around for it, grab it and poise it over the cupcake.

“Dustin,” Emberleigh says. “You're holding it upside down.”

“I can’t be.”

“Why are you already covered in marshmallow?” Her voice is amused.

“Already? Man, I'm good at this, aren’t I?”

Emberleigh fixes the bag and coaches me through filling cupcake after cupcake.

“Did I mention how much I’m loving being your partner right now?” I tease her.

She nudges me with her hip. “Dustin, be serious.”

“I am serious. Very serious.”

She makes a tsking sound and then says, “Let’s get back to work.”

“I’m all yours,” I tell her.

If only. The more time I spend with her, the less it makes sense to fake this relationship.

Why can’t we just date? I like her—a lot.

She seems to like me. If the way she was clinging to me in her sleep is any indication, her subconscious is on board with something far more than friendship.

Now isn’t the time to push. Emberleigh needs to focus on the contest. Once we win and we’re back in Waterford, I’ll make my move.

“Okay, next,” she says, handing me another cupcake.

The couple in front of us argues all the way through their baking process.

Emberleigh leans in and whispers, “Thank you for not being difficult.”

The place on my ear where her breath skittered along my skin hums after she pulls back. I swallow the newly formed lump in my throat and manage to say, “No problem. I’m here for you.”

The room’s chaotic, but we’re in our own bubble.

Emberleigh swaps out the piping bag holding the filling for the frosting bag. Once I’m poised to frost, she says, “Now pipe a swirl on top. Gently.”

“Define ‘gently.’”

“Like ... like you’re petting a kitten.”

“I’ve never piped a kitten.”

I hear her choke back a laugh. That’s a win.

My swirl lands … I think. “Nailed it,” I say proudly.

“You iced the wrapper. And your thumb.” She’s giggling.

“I’m changing the world of cupcake couture. Side-swirl cupcakes. It’s the next trend. All the rage in Paris. You watch.” I effect a French accent. “Cherie, I have baked a cup-ah-cake-ah for you. It’s side-ah-swirled-eh.”

Emberleigh laughs, but then she stops suddenly, whispering, “Chef’s coat heading our way. One of the judges. Her arms are crossed.”

The definitive click of high heels stops in front of us. “Innovative technique,” the woman says dryly. “Let’s hope it tastes better than it looks.”

The clicking of her heels resumes without her waiting for a reply.

I whisper, “Fan club’s growing by the minute.”

Emberleigh groans. “We’re so getting eliminated.”

“Or we’re going viral.”

She’s quiet for a beat.

“Don’t worry. We’ve got this,” I assure her.

“You don’t know that,” she says softly.

“I don’t know that, but I know you.”

I do know her.

We frost the rest of our cupcakes and Emberleigh asks the host if she can be the one to torch the frosting to give it that campfire-toasted flavor and appearance.

After the torching, I have to put the blindfold on again.

Emberleigh’s hand is over mine, guiding me as I drizzle chocolate on each of six dessert plates when another judge stops by.

“What are we baking here?” he asks.

Emberleigh’s voice is professional, controlled. “A vanilla cinnamon cake with a honey marshmallow cream center and a toasted marshmallow buttercream frosting. We’re evoking a gourmet s’more, but elevated—nostalgia meets couture cupcake.”

“Nice flavor selection,” the judge says. “I’m intrigued. S’mores are nostalgic, but hard to elevate. Your cupcake might actually pull it off.”

He leaves and we finish plating the last of the six cupcakes—one for each judge.

She places the bag of the graham cracker crumble in my hand, then she guides me through sprinkling it on each cupcake. Then she hands me a gourmet square of dark chocolate to set at an angle on top of each cupcake—all while I’m still blindfolded.

When the cupcakes are fully decorated, Emberleigh lifts my blindfold.

I glance up. We have four minutes left on the clock.

She exhales a long breath, takes one look at me, points to my face and doubles over.

“What?” I ask, unable to suppress my smile.

She’s adorable. And in these moments when she’s completely free and unhindered, there’s something beyond captivating about her.

Maybe it’s because ninety-nine percent of the time she’s up in her head overthinking all her responsibilities, or she’s holding back, keeping her heart safe from something, I’m not quite sure what.

“You …. You should see yourself.”

Naturally, the roving cameraman catches our interaction on film.

“I can’t see myself,” I remind her. “Care to help a guy out?”

She grabs one of the towels hanging on the stove handle and wets it in the faucet.

“Stand still,” she says, reaching up toward my face. “You got frosting everywhere.”

I bend down and she wipes along my chin, across my lips and over my cheeks. Our faces are inches away from one another and the wildest urge rushes through me to lean in and kiss her.

I don’t, of course. But I would if the setting and circumstances were different.

The host stops by our station with one minute left on the clock. “You two are couple goals. Have you thought about opening a bakery together?”

I smile, grateful for both the compliment and the distraction from my thoughts.

When I glance at Emberleigh, she’s smiling, so I say, “Yes,” at the same time that Emberleigh says “No.” We both chuckle.

And then Emberleigh clarifies, “I already own a bakery with my partner. And, did you just witness his frosting skills? He’d put us out of business. ”

“I think I keep you in business with my donut purchases,” I say, adding a wink for good measure.

Emberleigh’s mouth tips up in a soft smile and the corners of her eyes crinkle. Then she steps back, crosses her arms and assesses me, checking to see that she got all the frosting and filling off of my face.

I stand still, loving every minute of her attention.

Call me desperate. After this contest, I don’t know where things will land.

I’m relatively certain she’ll still consider me a friend.

Will she still want me around—outside my visits to her bakery, apart from my role in the contest? Only time will tell.

The buzzer sounds throughout the room. Some couples are still scrambling to plate their cupcakes. Others, like us, finished ahead of time. We all step back from our cook stations.

Instinctively, I wrap my arm around Emberleigh’s waist in a gesture of support. Our moment of reckoning is near. We’ll either go through to the next round, or we’ll head home tonight.

I look down at our cupcakes. They look amazing. The brown toasted coloring on the swirled homemade marshmallow topping adds this next-level feel to the cupcake. I don’t know how these won’t pass inspection, but I’m just a guy with a sweet tooth. What do I know?

Emberleigh leans in and whispers, “You’re good at this.”

“At what?”

“Pretending.”

If only she knew how real this feels to me. Because I’m all in—and this fake dating thing? It’s getting harder to fake by the second.