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“I’m Maggie Buchanan. I’m a baking goddess, and I know what I’m doing.”
Maggie took a deep breath and repeated the words.
“Again, and this time say it like you mean it. I’m serious, Maggie. I’ll keep you in here all night if I need to.” A part of him—hell, most of him—hoped she wouldn’t, and he could keep her closeted with him all night. But in typical, contrarian, Maggie Buchanan fashion, she complied. Her voice was stronger, and she wasn’t as pale.
“I will not confuse salt with sugar or baking power with baking soda.”
Maggie’s arms dropped to her hips, and she glared at him. “I wasn’t worried about that before, but I am now.”
Way to go, idiot, Lucas thought as he pulled her arms back up. “Say it.” She did, and her voice sounded strong and confident. Now he just needed to put some sparkle in her eye. He wanted Maggie confident and comfortable in front of the crowd, just like she was at Brewster’s when she created drinks or when she sold her baked goods at the farmers’ market.
“I will not burp or yawn,” he said. She snorted before she repeated the words back, but he saw the twinkle in her eye. The twinkle he’d put there, and it felt better than a touchdown in the last seconds of a tied game. A confident Maggie was a sight to behold.
“I will focus on the back row, not the front row.”
“What’s wrong with the front row?”
“Everything,” he said, stepping into her space. Her arms drifted down and landed softly on his shoulders.
“Where are you sitting?” she asked. Her voice sounded like she’d sprinted up the stairs and he wondered if she heard it, too.
“Back row. Focus on me, Maggie. Only me.” He lowered his head. Kissing her was the last thing she needed right now, but the only thing he could think about. He moved slowly, holding her gaze as her light-brown eyes turned to a warm caramel. Lucas gave her plenty of time to break the spell, but she didn’t. Her hands slid to the back of his neck as she melted into him. This was the slowest, hottest prelude to a kiss in his entire life. Every cell was on fire, burning to kiss her. Her eyelids dropped and—bang—someone knocked on the door.
Maggie turned her head and jumped back, leaving Lucas kissing the air. “We’re ready,” Cal called from the other side of the door.
“You are, too. You’ve got this,” Lucas said, dropping a quick kiss on her cheek and walking out of the pantry before he locked them in it and tossed away the key.
Maggie slid the blueberry lemon buckle into the oven and took one more sniff of the sugary berry goodness before she shut the door. The buckle wasn’t for the competition, but she knew the men would devour it and making it calmed her nerves. You’ve got this, she reminded herself as she turned back to her audience and clapped her hands. “Who likes chocolate and cherries?”
“Who doesn’t?” someone in the middle row asked and several players laughed.
“Then you’re in for a treat. Black Forest cake,” she said over her shoulder as she carried over the two round cake pans.
“Those store bought? Are you cheating, Maggie?” Marquess—one of the wide receivers—asked, sounding shocked. He’d teased her all night.
“Not store bought, but pre-made, by me,” she quickly added. “The rules state that if your product involves a substantial cool-down period, then you can start baking earlier in the morning. I made these this afternoon before you arrived.”
“So, you’re bringing double the lovin’ from the oven? Good strategy.” Marquess winked.
“I can only bake one cake, and I can’t decide which, so I’m hoping everyone will try a bit of both and let me know which one is the winner.” Because one of them was her ticket to her future. And thanks to Lucas, she’d be well on her way to making her dream of owning Brewster’s come true.
“I made this earlier, too,” she said, pulling the pan out of the refrigerator and showing them the whole berry cherry sauce. She needed to focus. Every time she didn’t, her mind slipped back to the almost kiss in the pantry, causing her heart to race. She’d felt a borderline blush for the entire evening, especially after Lucas’s sweet introduction of her to the group.
Maggie explained her process for layering the cake with the cherry sauce and then began measuring the ingredients for the chocolate buttercream frosting. Purists would frown at frosting on the sides, but Maggie hated a naked cake and thought people who didn’t frost the sides were cheap and lazy.
She scraped down the sides of the frosting bowl. Almost ready, she thought, turning on her trusty stand mixer one more time. She hoped they had a similar model at the competition.
“Better let me taste test,” Marquess said, standing up and leaning over the island after she turned off the mixer and scraped the beaters. Maggie twisted away from him and caught the scowl on Lucas’s face.
“Not so fast. My baby brother always gets one of them and I’m giving Lucas the other, since he organized everything.” She walked toward the back row, and her heart slammed against her chest as she watched his scowl morph into a grin. The grin she’d put there, and it reminded her why she loved baking and making food for people. It made them happy, and their happiness made her happy. It was a virtuous cycle.
“This is why you’re my favorite,” Cal said as she passed a beater to him. Penny elbowed him, but he let her swipe her finger up one of the beater tines like he always did before taking it back. Penny’s eyes closed in bliss.
Maggie carefully handed the other beater to Lucas. She didn’t want to drop it, but she didn’t want to touch him. Every time she did, trouble erupted in her body. Not trouble, more like an unwelcome awareness. Lucas motioned her closer, and she bent toward him.
“The buckle’s been in the oven for”—he looked at his fancy watch with all the hands on it—“nineteen minutes,” he said near her ear. She nodded her head. Embarrassed that she’d forgotten, but grateful that he had her back.
Maggie turned on the oven light and peeked through the window before setting the timer for the remaining twenty minutes. She turned to the group, and all eyes were on her. She wiped her hands on her apron and stepped back to the counter, squaring her shoulders. “While I assemble the cake, why don’t you guys give me some pointers on how to handle being nervous?” No one said anything as the old kitchen clock ticked loudly. Stupid move, Maggie. As if a bunch of professional football players are going to admit being nervous in front of each other.
