Page 52 of Meadowsweet and Marigold (EverAfter CozyXverse #1)

"We look happy," he corrected, stepping closer to examine the damage with mock seriousness. "Though you do have some filling on your face that's probably not intentional."

"Where?" she asked, raising her hands to her cheeks.

"Here," he said softly, his finger tracing along her jawline where a streak of dark berry juice had landed. "And here." His touch followed the stain down toward her chin, his movements gentle and deliberate.

Instead of simply wiping away the mess, he paused, his gaze meeting hers with an intensity that made her heart skip several beats. "May I?" he asked quietly, the question both specific and general, requesting permission for something that felt much more intimate than simple cleanup.

She nodded, not trusting her voice, and watched his eyes darken as he leaned closer. His tongue traced the path his finger had followed, licking away the sweet berry juice with deliberate care, the warm wetness of the contact sending shockwaves through her entire nervous system.

The public setting made the gesture even more intimate somehow—the knowledge that they were surrounded by people, that anyone could look their way and see this moment of connection. Her whole face flamed red with a mixture of arousal and embarrassment as his mouth lingered against her skin.

"Gus," she whispered urgently, her voice barely audible. "We're literally in public."

"I know," he murmured against her jaw, his breath warm on her skin. "But you taste like summer and happiness, and I couldn't resist."

The crowd around them had indeed noticed their display, and instead of disapproval or judgment, they erupted in cheers and wolf whistles, the whole town apparently delighted by this demonstration of affection.

Someone shouted "Get a room!" but it was said with such obvious good humor that it only made everyone laugh harder.

"Well," Marigold said, her voice still shaky with adrenaline and arousal, "I guess we've provided the entertainment portion of the competition."

"Best kind of entertainment," Gus replied with a wink that made her stomach flutter with renewed butterflies. "Now let's finish this pie so we can win you that prize."

They returned to their work with renewed energy, the playful intimacy having somehow loosened rather than tightened the atmosphere between them.

If anything, they worked even better together now, their movements flowing with the kind of natural synchronicity that came from complete comfort with each other.

The lattice top was completed with professional precision, each strip perfectly placed and evenly spaced.

They brushed the crust with beaten egg for a golden finish, sprinkled it with coarse sugar for extra sparkle, and carefully transferred their creation to the communal ovens that had been set up specifically for the competition.

"Into the fire it goes," Gus announced ceremoniously as they slid their pie onto the middle rack. "Now we wait and hope the baking gods smile upon our humble offering."

The waiting period was perhaps the most nerve-wracking part of the entire process. With nothing left to do but clean their station and watch the clock, anticipation built to almost unbearable levels. Other teams paced nearby, some looking confident, others clearly worried about timing or technique.

"How will we know if it's working?" Marigold asked, peering through the oven window at their pie, which looked perfect but somehow vulnerable in the industrial oven's cavernous interior.

"Trust," Gus said simply. "We did everything right, used good ingredients, worked with love and attention. Now we have to trust the process and let the pie become what it's meant to be."

The philosophy felt applicable to more than just baking, and she found herself nodding with understanding that went beyond their immediate circumstances.

So much of her new life required exactly this kind of trust—faith that good intentions and honest effort would lead to positive outcomes, even when she couldn't control every variable.

When the timer finally announced that their baking time was complete, they retrieved their pie with the kind of ceremonial care usually reserved for newborns or precious artifacts.

The crust was golden brown and perfectly baked, the lattice pattern distinct and beautiful, the filling bubbling gently through the gaps in a way that promised ideal consistency.

"It's gorgeous," Marigold breathed, genuinely amazed by what they'd created together. "Look at that color, those perfect edges. It looks like something from a magazine."

"It looks like something made with love," Gus corrected, his voice carrying quiet satisfaction. "Which is the only ingredient that really matters."

As they set their pie on the display table alongside the other entries, Marigold felt a surge of pride that had nothing to do with competition or winning.

They'd created something beautiful together, had shared laughter and teamwork and moments of connection that would stay with her long after the judges announced their decisions.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer's voice boomed across the square once again, "it's time to meet our distinguished panel of judges!"

The first two judges were introduced as expected—the local bakery owner and a food writer from the regional newspaper. But when the third judge stepped forward, Marigold felt her stomach drop with recognition and something approaching dread.

"And our final judge, visiting us as part of his documentation of rural life, photographer Cypress Wolfe!"

Cypress emerged from the crowd with his characteristic easy smile, looking perfectly at home despite being an outsider to the community.

He wore casual clothes—jeans and a button-down shirt—but somehow managed to look effortlessly stylish in a way that reminded her forcibly of their college years together.

"Great," she muttered under her breath, feeling the day's perfect mood threatened by this unexpected complication.

Gus glanced at her with concern. "Everything okay?"

"Fine," she said quickly, not wanting to explain the complex emotions Cypress's presence stirred up. "Just surprised, that's all."

The judging process was thorough and theatrical, with each team presenting their pie to the panel while the crowd watched with rapt attention. When their turn came, Gus lifted their creation with obvious pride, the lattice crust catching the afternoon light beautifully.

"This is our mixed berry pie," he announced to the judges with the confidence of someone presenting a masterpiece. "Fresh berries from my own garden, combined with traditional techniques and a healthy dose of collaboration."

The first two judges tasted their pie with obvious enjoyment, making appreciative sounds and taking notes on their clipboards. But when Cypress took his bite, his expression became more complex, thoughtful in a way that made Marigold's nerves spike with anxiety.

"Sweet," he said finally, his gaze finding hers across the table. "But you used to like spice, didn't you?"

The comment felt loaded with meaning beyond its surface observation, a reference to their shared history that had no place in this public setting. She felt heat crawl up her neck, partly from embarrassment and partly from irritation at his presumption.

"I did," she admitted, keeping her voice level despite her discomfort. "But sweet stuff is my new addiction. People change, tastes evolve."

The response was pointed enough to make it clear she wasn't just talking about food preferences, and she saw understanding flicker in his eyes along with something that might have been regret.

Gus, apparently sensing undercurrents he didn't fully understand, stepped smoothly into the conversation with the kind of social grace that diffused tension without acknowledging it directly.

"You know," he said, addressing all three judges with equal warmth, "there's something magical about pie that goes beyond individual ingredients or personal preferences.

The distance we travel to get quality components in a small town like this, the time invested in perfecting techniques, the patience required for proper baking—all of that matters. "

He paused, his hand finding hers and squeezing gently before continuing.

"But in the end, it comes down to love incorporated into the pie, as well as the hands and partners who work together to make something that feeds both body and soul. That's what makes the difference between good pie and great pie—the intention and care that go into every step of the process."

The small speech was beautiful and heartfelt, delivered with genuine conviction that made the other judges nod with obvious approval. Even Cypress seemed affected by the sincerity of Gus's words, his expression softening into something more genuine than his earlier provocative comment.

"Beautifully said," the bakery owner commented, making notes on her clipboard. "And the pie itself reflects exactly that kind of care and attention."

"Agreed," added the food writer. "This is technically excellent and emotionally satisfying—exactly what pie should be."

Cypress was quiet for a moment longer, seemingly weighing his words carefully before speaking. "It's clear this was made by people who understand both the craft and each other," he said finally. "Whatever personal preferences might be, there's no denying the quality of the collaboration here."

The judges moved on to the remaining entries, leaving Marigold and Gus to wait with the other contestants for the final results.

The afternoon sun was beginning to slant toward evening, casting long shadows across the town square and bathing everything in golden light that made the entire scene feel like something from a Norman Rockwell painting.

"Think we won?" Gus asked quietly, his arm sliding around her waist in a gesture that felt both protective and celebratory.

"Honestly?" she replied, leaning into his warmth. "I don't care. This whole day has been perfect regardless of what the judges decide."

When the announcer finally returned to call for attention, the entire crowd fell silent with anticipation. "After careful consideration and extensive tasting," he began dramatically, "our judges have reached their decision!"

The tension was almost unbearable as he worked through the third-place and second-place winners, building suspense with the practiced skill of someone who'd done this many times before.

"And our first-place winners, with the highest combined score in Harvest Pie-Off history," he paused for maximum effect, "Gus Holloway and Marigold Everhart!"

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause so enthusiastic that Marigold felt momentarily overwhelmed by the volume of support. Gus swept her into a spinning hug that lifted her feet off the ground, both of them laughing with pure joy at their unexpected victory.

"We won!" she gasped when he finally set her down, still not quite believing it was real.

"We did!" he confirmed, his face radiant with happiness. "Though honestly, I think we won the moment you agreed to do this with me."

The prize presentation was suitably ceremonial—a golden rolling pin trophy that was clearly more symbolic than functional, and an envelope containing details about their actual prize. When Marigold opened it and read the contents, her eyes widened with surprise and delight.

"A spa package for four at the resort in the next county," she announced to Gus, then looked up to address the crowd that was still gathered around them. "I'll be taking Gus, Meadow, and Flint!"

The declaration sent a fresh wave of excited chatter through the assembled townspeople, and she could practically see the gossip wheels turning as people processed the implications of her including all three men in her prize redemption.

"Are they official then?" someone called out from the crowd, the question loud enough to be heard by everyone present.

Before she could respond, Cypress stepped forward with that easy smile that had once made her heart race. "They aren't," he said with apparent authority, as if he had some special insight into her relationships.

The presumption of it—the casual way he spoke about her private life as if he had any right to public commentary—made her jaw clench with irritation. But before she could formulate a response, Gus surprised her by agreeing.

"He's right," Gus said loudly enough for the crowd to hear, and Marigold felt her mood plummet with disappointment and hurt. After everything they'd shared today, after the intimacy and teamwork and obvious connection, was he really going to dismiss their relationship so casually?

But then he continued, his voice gaining strength and conviction with each word.

"We're not official yet. But I have every intention of fighting for her love, so everyone better keep an eye on us."

The bold declaration sent another wave of excited chatter through the crowd, and Marigold felt her cheeks flame red with a mixture of embarrassment and thrilled pleasure.

The public nature of his statement, the way he claimed his intentions so openly and confidently, made her heart race with something that felt suspiciously like joy.

"Gus," she whispered, not sure whether to be mortified or delighted by his theatrical romanticism.

"Too much?" he asked quietly, though his grin suggested he was perfectly satisfied with the reaction he'd provoked.

"Just right," she admitted, unable to suppress her own smile despite the attention they were drawing from half the town.

Gus grabbed her hand with triumphant satisfaction, their fingers intertwining naturally as he addressed the crowd one final time. "Now if you'll excuse us, we need to go home and celebrate our victory properly!"

The crowd cheered and whistled as they gathered their belongings and began making their way toward Gus's truck, the golden trophy clutched in Marigold's free hand like a symbol of something much larger than a baking competition.

As they walked away from the town square, Marigold felt the satisfaction of a day perfectly spent—work shared with someone she cared about, community celebration, unexpected victory, and public declarations that felt like promises of things to come.

Whatever complications might lie ahead, whatever challenges her multiple relationships might create, today had been unequivocally wonderful.

"So," Gus said as they reached his truck, "ready for that proper celebration?"

"More than ready," she replied, meaning it with every fiber of her being.