Page 56 of The Alpha and the Baker

Unsurprisingly, a third of their crowd was on their feet and cheering, while the shifters next to us all high-fived. It was just one round, and only the second round at that, but it meant we were tied.

That was less than ideal.

“It’s all right,” my mom whispered, leaning into Felicia. “We’ll clobber them in the rest.”

Felicia cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t you mean we’ll cobbler them in the rest?”

“Boo,” I said, ruffling her hair. “That was terrible.”

“On the contrary, I would argue that I’m a comedic genius and that pun was gold.”

I opened my mouth to tease her, but my mother pinched my arm. “Don’t argue with our head baker! She knows what she’s talking about.”

By the time the cobbler round started, I’d pulled myself together.

It was much harder to get a read on the judges.

Almost every team’s dish looked similar, with only the color of the filling slightly peeking through the top being different.

I didn’t know what was special enough about cobbler for them to warrant their own category, but since this was one of Felicia’s dishes, I was sure we would win.

And sure enough: “And the winner of our cobbler round is team eight, the McCallisters!”

Hah! I knew it! Of course Felicia would win! She truly was unstoppable.

I felt a little bad for the other teams, who had so far been completely locked out of the competition with three of the eight rounds going to shifters, but I didn’t feel bad enough not to enjoy the sour looks on our rivals’ faces. As long as it was in my head, I saw no issue with being a bit petty.

Next stop, the savory round.

“Wish me luck,” my mother whispered to me as the judges began to walk down the competitors’ tables.

“You don’t need it.” I meant it. With every round, my confidence grew. “Nobody has anything on your wellington.”

“I appreciate the support, but you are a bit biased.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not right,” Felicia said, putting her arm around my mom’s shoulder.

Warmth flooded through me. Anybody looking at us would likely assume that Felicia had known us for ages.

I didn’t take her being so comfortable around my pack for granted.

If anything, it was further proof that I really was dating the right person.

I held my mother’s hand the entire time, gently squeezing, and I wasn’t surprised when the feedback from the judges was all insanely positive.

I did, however, wait until they were done judging the Ramirezes and had already walked away before I congratulated her verbally.

Talking during our rival’s time would be crossing that petty line that I didn’t want to.

“See, I told you that you would kill it,” I murmured to her, giving her hand three more squeezes in quick succession. “Everybody loves your wellington.”

“Let’s not celebrate yet. They still have to announce the winner.”

“It’ll be you. Trust me.”

Sure enough, after approximately ten minutes: “And the winner of the savory round with a truly exceptional dish that might be one of the fanciest we’ve had in competition, is the beef wellington from team eight, the McCallisters!”

“See?” I cried, pulling her into a full-on hug. “I told you!” Maybe it was a little over the top, but it was my mom. My sweet, stalwart mother, who had been a loving and supportive spouse to my father and a guiding light for me.

“Goodness! I won the round! I really did!”

She sounded like she was on the verge of tears, so I hugged her harder.

Man, I really had let the business of the day-to-day steal so much time away from us, hadn’t I?

Silently, I resolved to do something special with her at least once a month, beyond taking her to a dinner in the city.

Maybe we could sign up for cooking classes together?

Or she could just teach me at her house.

She was sad when I’d moved into my own cabin five years ago, so maybe it wouldn’t hurt to do those activities there.

I kept holding her all the way until she had to return to the kitchenette, then I dealt with the very eager crowd wanting a small part of the beef wellington.

A lot of people asked if she made it for a restaurant or anything, and I tucked it into the back of my mind to ask Felicia if she’d want to work out a deal with my mother like she had with Letitia.

“And the winner of confection is team five! Making up for that soggy bottom pie round with truly brilliant matcha and strawberry lollipops.”

Huh, a bit disappointing, but that still left us at three, the Ramirez pack at one, and another team at one. We were solidly in the lead.

“Next up, I hope all you tasters still have an appetite because I’ve seen some real pretty dishes staying cool in our fridges. This is the tricky custard round!”

Oh boy.

I knew without a shadow of a doubt that Sal and his crew were about to pull out their flan, and that it was utterly delicious. I honestly didn’t know if Polly’s custard buns would be able to beat that dish, but I crossed my fingers and hoped anyway.

“Shit, that does look good,” my mother whispered as she rejoined me at the table, and I had to do a double take. I really wasn’t used to her swearing.

“It tastes good too,” Felicia said with the slightest sigh, and my mother gave her such a betrayed look that I had to hide my grin behind my hand. “What? It’s true.”

“And how do you know it tastes good?”

“Easy there, Mom,” I warned gently. The last thing we needed was in-fighting on our own team. “She catered an event for them, and they gave her some to take home. I had it, too, and it was really good.”

I’d never seen my mother send me a look with so much confusion, but Felicia cut in before I could explain further.

“They’re actually quite nice, ya know. Abuelita Ramirez gave me a present when I left. She didn’t have to do that.”

“That’s just because you’re so likable,” my mother said stubbornly.

The older generations were a lot less removed from the beef between our two packs than mine was, or the young ones after me. “I’m sure they were?—”

“Not now, Mom,” I said firmly, acutely aware that Sal and his team could hear every word out of our mouths. “They were excellent hosts, and their flan is good. That’s the fact of the matter.”

She let out a little humph, but what surprised me was the incredibly happy expression Felicia sent me. I didn’t know quite why my words cheered her so much, but I was happy they did.

Thank you, she mouthed over my mother’s head. I didn’t reply back, but I did shoot her a wink, which made her smile wider. At least she was in a good mood, which was a good thing, because neither of us were surprised when it was time for the judges’ next ruling.

“And the winner of the custard round is team nine with their truly incredible flan!”

Shit.

Not surprising, but still a punch to the gut. We now only had a one-round lead, and it was time for cakes.

“What if my sweet cream has curdled?” Auntie Letitia muttered as she wrung her hands beside me. “What if the rhubarb filling has split?”

“It’ll be fine,” Felicia assured her. I was so happy she was here to help me offer comfort. Not that I resented doing it, but I knew from experience that it took a lot more positive voices to drown out that one internal negative one.

“And the winner of our cake round ties up the competition, with team nine winning for their amazing tres leches cake!”

Well, that wasn’t good.

I couldn’t believe it. It had come down to the final round. It was like something out of a movie, with the winner taking all.

However, to the credit of all the rest of the teammates, they seemed to be good sports about knowing that they were locked out of the competition. I hadn’t thought that two shifter teams would sweep so many categories, but perhaps our extraneous motivations had made that rather inevitable.

“Looks like it’s time for the showstopper,” Felicia said with a fierce and yet calm determination.

“There’s no way anyone can hold a candle to yours,” I said, trying to put as much conviction in my tone.

“Oh, I know. I went real old school for this. I guarantee you there isn’t a single other person here who would try to make a full croquembouche in the time we had allotted.”

What the hell was a crock in bush?

My answer came when Felicia returned with a tower of multicolored cream puffs held together with caramel and spun sugar. When she set it down, the expression of triumph on her face was something else.

“Believe it or not, this was really complicated to make, especially since I used five different flavors of pastry cream. That’s hard enough on its own, but I also made sure that each one was perfectly tempered.”

“Tempered? Like you have to do with chocolate?” I asked, racking my brain through all the knowledge I had picked up over the last couple of weeks.

I knew that was a very specific process where chocolate was raised to a specific temperature, then cooled to another specific temp to make it… glossier, I thought?

“You remembered that?” Felicia beamed at me, and I almost forgot what we were talking about.

“I try to remember everything you tell me. Often with mixed success.”

“Oh, you sweetheart,” she said, giving me a lightning-quick kiss on the cheek.

“In this case, tempering is a way to cook the pastry cream and make sure it’s as smooth as possible.

If you try to mix the egg yolks into the hot milk without tempering, it can often scramble the yolks.

Nasty. What you wanna do is stir in a little bit of the hot milk into your egg yolk mixture and raise the temperature slowly so that it can emulsify. ”

I knew what most of those words meant, but I would ask for a more thorough explanation once everything was said and done. However, when I looked at the towering arrangement of tiny pastries, I had a feeling we were a shoo-in for victory.