Page 23 of Sugar and Spice (Glitter and Sparkle #3)
“Unfortunately, we have to send two teams home today. Jerome and Cole, Scott and Misty, and Max and Eugene, you’re in the bottom three.
Jerome and Cole, the judges said your design was sloppy, but your sugar cookies tasted great.
Scott and Misty, the judges said you spent too much time on a design that didn’t work, and your cookie base was dry.
Eugene and Max, the judges said your cookie was nice, but it didn’t stand out. ”
We hold our breath, waiting to hear the judges’ and viewers’ decision.
“I’m sorry, Scott, Misty, Eugene, and Max, you’re going home.”
Cole closes his eyes and tips back his head, relieved. Jerome clasps Scott’s shoulder, showing his condolences. We shake hands with Eugene and hug Max.
I liked both teams, and I think we’re all sad to see them go. Everyone except Chrissy and Christy that is. They’re still busy reveling in their win.
“We’re down to five teams.”
I glance at our competition. Sarah and Quinn, Cole and Jerome, Jessica and Anne, Sadie and I, and Chrissy and Christy are all that’s left of the original twelve teams.
“Yesterday’s competition was all about design, but today’s is about taste. You are going to take a traditional holiday cookie—a cookie that isn’t usually a favorite—and turn it into something delicious. You have ninety minutes to make three variations of Russian teacakes.”
Sadie stiffens beside me and whispers, “What’s a Russian teacake?”
“It’s a round nut cookie rolled in powdered sugar.”
She nods, and I can tell her mind is already working.
“And…go!” Mason says, setting the timer on a network-provided tablet.
We scramble to our workstations like we need all the time we can get, but I’m confident. Brandon’s mom makes the best Russian teacakes every year for Christmas, and she’s been letting me help since I was ten. I know them like I know the recipe for my basic chocolate cupcakes.
“Any ideas?” Sadie asks when she returns from the ingredient cabinet with an armload of nuts.
I grin, confident we’re going to win this thing. “Lots.”
An hour and ten minutes later, we have six dozen perfectly powdered, tender-as-can-be, little round, ball-shaped cookies stacked on three platters. Now we’re adding garnishes to make them pretty.
Mason’s already made his rounds, but he comes by again and whispers, “Chrissy and Christy burned a batch, and they’re scrambling to make another.”
I try not to smile; I really do. But, oh, those two are awful.
Anne hobbles from her station on her crutches, heading toward the ingredient cabinet. Since we’re finished, Sadie hurries to her. “Tell me what you need. I’ll help you carry it all back to your station.”
And this is why both the viewers and the judges are in love with her.
Mason looks around the room. He’s somehow lost his cameramen—they’re all busy filming cookies coming out of the ovens.
“Did Yvonne get in touch with you this morning?” he asks quietly as he comes to stand by my side.
I nod. Mason’s assistant called at half-past seven, asking for everything from my dress size to my preferred brand of beverage for the flight. I was only on the phone with her for five minutes, but I swear she knows me better than any of my past boyfriends.
“We’ll leave as soon as we’re done filming the judging,” he whispers, and then he moves away.
Now that our cookies are complete, I let myself daydream about New York. I told my mother I was going last night, and though she took it better than I expected, my father was not happy. After I swore for the eighth time I would conduct myself as the lady he raised me to be, he cooled marginally.
You would think that with two eight-year-old twin boys still at home, they wouldn’t feel the need to coddle me so much. They know I’m an adult, and they know I am capable of making my own choices, but they worry. I suppose that’s just the price you pay when you’re the eldest.
Of course, they worried about Riley too, but then she met Linus. Linus is a rock. A tall, handsome, sweet and wholesome, sandy-haired rock.
Mason is a musician—one with groupies. He also happens to have one major flaw that’s impossible to overlook—he’s not Brandon. I think all along, just like me, my parents expected us to end up together. They’re fighting some disappointment of their own.
I turn my eyes toward the ingredient cart where Sadie loads her arms full of garnishes for Anne. She gives the injured girl a big smile, more than happy to help.
As much as I hate to admit it, she’s perfect for Brandon. He deserves someone beautiful and sweet, and Sadie is both. Maybe it’s officially time I try to move on.
She catches me smiling as she walks back to the workstation. Instantly wary, she says, “What?”
I laugh. “You’re not so bad, Sadie.”
The girl looks astonished. “Um, thank you?”
A crash and two screams interrupt our conversation, and we both whirl around, toward the commotion.
Anne’s on the floor. She gasps, and her face has gone horribly pale.
Chrissy lies on the floor next to Anne, sprawled out on her belly.
The blond-haired woman pushes herself up and turns to Anne.
The words that come out of her mouth aren’t fit for television, so it’s good the show is on an editing delay instead of live.
According to Chrissy, Anne purposely tripped her with one of her crutches.
Anne has the woman on heavy ignore, and a medic has already rushed over to assist.
“Harper, he’s not looking at Anne’s ankle,” Sadie whispers, horrified.
She’s right—he’s studying her hand and wearing a deep frown. It must hurt. Anne tries to hold back sobs, but tears run down her face. Luckily for her, she’s a pretty crier—the viewer’s hearts will go out to her.
We stand here, watching the commotion as Tammy yells at everyone to get back to work. The timer doesn’t stop for anyone.
“Do you think she’s all right?” Sadie asks.
Mason and several of the crew members hurry to assist Anne as she tries to stand, but it quickly becomes apparent she’s not going to be able to use her crutches with an injured hand.
Cole gallantly strides forward, leaving Jerome to finish up the plating, and picks the girl up, bridal-style. She blinks at him, overwhelmed, and he carries her from the kitchen, with the medic leading the way.
Mason walks over to Sadie and me, his expression grim. “The medic thinks she broke her hand when she fell.”
“A sprained ankle and a broken hand?” Sadie exclaims. “How will she finish the competition?”
Mason purses his lips and shakes his head, but we both know what he’s thinking.
She won’t.
Chrissy is still making a fuss, and I watch her with disgust. The two women continue to claim Anne tripped Chrissy on purpose, and they all but demand the clock be reset.
In the producer’s usual way, Tammy ignores their arguments and shoos them back to their workstation, not-so-gently reminding them time is almost up.
The two snarl, but they hurry back, trying to salvage their final batch. I’m sure they would have loved Tammy to reset the timer—after all, the cookies they slid in the oven before the ordeal are probably done now, and that would have given them extra time for cooling and decorating.
Since we’re finished, I have the freedom to watch them several more minutes, and one thing becomes clear.
Someone might have intentionally caused the two women to collide, but it wasn’t Anne.