Page 27 of Fire and Icing (The Firemen of Waterford TN #1)

The question is so out of the blue it catches me off guard.

“Syd? No, why?”

“No reason.”

There’s a reason. Guys don’t ask if a woman is seeing someone without a reason.

“Are you interested?”

“I’m already seeing someone.” He smiles a drowsy smile. Then he reaches across the pillows and brushes a hair away from my brow. His fingers trail down my cheek when he pulls them back to his side of the pillow barricade.

“Happily committed to my fake girlfriend.”

We’re both quiet. I roll over and click off my lamp.

Dustin murmurs, “Goodnight, Firecracker,” and I regret not having a cool and adoring nickname for him yet. I simply answer, “Goodnight,” and then the silence settles in again. But I whisper, “Trouble,” because he is. Just like he said—the best kind.

It’s not long before Dustin’s soft, heavy breathing fills the space between us.

I study his silhouette in the dark. At some point, I drift off to sleep, and as I predicted, I wake with the pillow wall intact.

I’m mostly glad about that. Of course, I’m glad.

It’s not like I want to climb him like a tree in our sleep—or at any other time.

Walls are good, even if they’re made of pillows.

After breakfast, we’re instructed to make our way onto the set earlier than the planned schedule. The cameras are set up and we’re all mic’d.

Dustin and I take our places at our station. The air feels thick with anticipation. I don’t know what’s up, but it feels like they could be sending another couple home. If not that, something big. The hosts stand side-by-side at the front. All six judges are lined up behind them.

The female host, Kamela, addresses the group. “As you know from the materials we sent you when you signed your NDAs and the other program contracts, we reserve the right to change rules, procedures, and any other element of the show at any time.”

Kamela allows that sentence to soak in. The bakers and their partners stand as stock-still as a squadron of cadets.

“So, on that note, we have a change of judges for the upcoming rounds. We were approached by a baker here in Tennessee. She’s a cottage baker …”

The rest of Kamela’s words sound like she’s talking underwater. Tennessee? Cottage baker? Approached them? I know in my bones what’s coming. Ominous does not begin to describe the feeling. A change in judges?

Vanessa is going to be judging me?

What kind of fresh chaos is this?

I glance at Dustin. He knows too. His eyes say everything. But he’s also silently telling me what he always says: I’ve got you. We’ve got this .

I return my focus to Kamela. She’s closing out her announcement. “So we’ll have judges coming in from each of your hometowns for this round and the next. We’ll still have three professional judges on the panel, of course. We advise you to adjust your preparations and samples accordingly.”

She looks to her left. Vanessa and eight other people walk in.

Vanessa’s eyes scan the room. She lands on me and Dustin and does a little finger wave.

Her face looks like the cat who ate the canary, only if the cat were possessed and needed to be drowned.

Not that I advocate cat drowning. Not in most cases. I’m willing to make an exception.

I don’t have time to linger on any overly malicious thoughts because Kamela turns her attention to the main camera and says, “Today, our challenge is called Layers of Love. The baking teams will be wowing us with their pastries.”

I turn to Dustin. “No wonder they wanted us here early. This round is going to take a while. Pastry is time-consuming.”

“Forget all that,” he says. “I know you’re going to make an incredible pastry.” He puts his hand on my shoulder, giving me an assuring squeeze. “We’re going to. Our team. But, Emberleigh? Vanessa? What in the world?”

“I don’t have time to give her a second thought. We’ve got to get focused if we’re going to win. She’ll vote against us. That means we need to wow the other judges. Even one negative vote could send us home depending on how well the competition performs.”

“Right.” He nods a single, definitive bob of his head. “No thinking about …”

Thankfully, Dustin swallows his last word because Vanessa saunters over to our station.

Dustin instantly has his arm around my waist—possibly in a show of solidarity or a gesture of comfort. I jump just the slightest. I didn’t expect his touch. My emotions are all over the map with him.

Vanessa looks at Dustin, her eyes track down his arm, and then she stares into my eyes.

“You know, in team baking, I believe it’s the chemistry that truly makes the difference in how a couple performs together.”

She shifts her gaze to Dustin and bites her lower lip.

He tugs me toward him and I lean in.

I look up into his eyes and he stares down at me.

Is this real? Fake? Does it only appear to be more to onlookers?

Does Vanessa believe we’re in an actual relationship?

“Best of luck,” she says, walking away. “Layers of love … we’ll see.”

The countdown clocks start less than a minute later and Dustin and I spend the next four hours in a precision-level focus to create a mille-feuille with Earl Grey pastry cream and rose-raspberry jam.

We grab a sack lunch the chefs prepared as an alternative and retreat to our room mid-afternoon, exhausted and relieved.

Vanessa did judge against us, falsely claiming that the razor-thin pastry layers weren’t flaky enough and the Earl Grey was the wrong flavor palette for this dessert. Thankfully, the other judges disagreed. We’re down to six couples for the next round tomorrow.

We devour our chicken salad sandwiches and fruit medley. I grabbed an extra lunch for Dustin and he inhales it.

“I’m going to get soft here,” he pats his belly, leaning back in the chair.

“You’re what?”

“I usually work out two hours a day. I’ve barely been exercising.”

“You can. If you need time to work out, please, take it. There’s a gym on site.”

“You could come with me,” he suggests.

“Uh. No. That’s a one hundred million percent no. I like hiking. I’m not a gym girlie.”

“I didn’t ask you to switch religions,” he teases. “I’m just asking you to go workout with me … after we practice.”

“Practice what?” My eyes snap up to meet his.

“Practice you not flinching when I touch you. Practice looking like a couple. With Vanessa here, the stakes are higher. And she’s on the prowl to find a weakness. So, we need to practice.”

“How exactly do you suggest we practice?” I fold my arms over my chest.

“Not like that,” Dustin chuckles, pointing at my stance. “Here,” he stands, extending me his hand, and pulls me up until I’m standing right in front of him.

Less than a foot of space separates us.

“Are you going to kiss me?” I blurt.

“Did you want me to?” He smiles. “Just kidding. You already said no kissing. Though, I probably should kiss your cheek or your temple. Something easy like that.”

Am I still breathing? My heart is definitely attempting to thump up and out of my throat.

“Yeah. Easy,” is all I can muster.

“Okay, so … I’ll just do some things I’d do if we were dating and you just relax so you’re not so jumpy when I touch you in public—especially in front of Vanessa. Remember, I’m the guy you supposedly like. A lot.”

He smiles as if I really do like him and he knows it, and he’s pretty pleased with the fact.

I do like him. A lot. And that’s the problem.

Dustin asks, “Ready?”

“No.”

He chuckles lightly. “We don’t have to practice, Firecracker. I just think it will give you an edge when you’re in front of your nemesis.”

“I’m all for an edge around her.”

“So, you ready?”

“I feel like I’m going skydiving,” I confess.

“Nah. This is light work.”

He reaches out and clasps my hand in his. We’ve done this. He’s held my hand before. It’s nice. Secure. Almost safe.

“You good?” He smiles down at me.

“I’m not so innocent, Dustin. I’ve held hands before. We’ve held hands before.”

“Not innocent, huh?” His brows raise.

“I mean, I’ve had relationships.”

“Okay then.” He smiles playfully. “You show me how it’s done.”

“No, I’m fine with you … doing whatever you think needs to be done.”

“You’re killing me,” he says, bursting into laughter. “My ego! Is it so awful to think of me holding your hands, or …” he brushes my hair back over my shoulder. “Kissing your cheek?”

Dustin leans in with the same ease that he apparently does everything. His movements are slow, careful, but not hesitant. He holds my gaze until he’s a breath away and then he brushes his lips across my cheek. I shudder. I hope he doesn’t feel my reaction.

The door to our room pops open and housekeeping walks in. “Oh! Sorry! Sorry! So sorry madam, sir. So, so sorry!”

She backs out and shuts the door behind her and Dustin and I burst into laughter.

I gather my wits and take a good step backward, putting a few feet of space between us.

I know what Dustin and I need.

It’s not practice.

It’s definitely not him touching me more.

We need the rules.

I’ll just reiterate them and restore some boundaries. “I understand why you had to be a bit handsy at book club and even when we first arrived here, and today in front of Vanessa. And now, with the … uh … practice. Just … maybe a little less of that.”

“Handsy, huh? I wouldn’t call it handsy.”

“Okay. Well, whatever you call it. We need less.”

“Less touching you?”

“Less being so …”

“So …?” He’s grinning like I amuse him.

“So … boyfriend-y.”

Dustin chuckles softly. “I’m supposed to be your boyfriend, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then, I think I’m going to be boyfriend-y.”

“Right. But not so much …”

“So much what?”

What do I say, not so much breathing in my ears and sending chills down my spine? Not so much drawing me into your arms so that your warm, campfire scent lingers around me for hours after you held me? Not so much smiling in that way that makes me see your face when I close my eyes at night?

“Just tone it down,” I finally say, feeling flustered and ridiculous.

“Okay. I’ll tone it down,” he agrees.

I have to wonder if this man even knows what tone it down means.