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“Friction.” Nanna smirked. Maggie tossed her purse over her shoulder and grabbed her box of supplies.
“Come on Penny, let’s escape the looney bin before they lock us up in here and lose the key.” Maggie walked out the back door, praying that Penny followed.
“Do you want to talk about Lucas?” Penny asked as she opened the hatchback.
“Do you want to talk about Bash?” Maggie replied.
“No. Hell no,” Penny quickly said.
“Ditto.” Maggie shoved her box in before closing the door.
They were halfway home when Penny turned down the radio, asking, “Do you know what you’re baking?”
“The apple cake. Everyone liked it best. Plus, it seems more appropriate for fall.” That Lucas had said it was his favorite didn’t influence her. She wasn’t doing it to make him happy, but to acknowledge that he’d played a part in her win. She’d be able to buy Brewster’s ahead of schedule, because he’d forced her hand and given her the confidence boost she’d needed.
And the mock audience had been fun. Once her nerves had subsided, she was comfortable holding center stage. And everyone enjoyed the desserts. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed feeding people and watching their pleasure. Once she owned Brewster’s, finishing the kitchen would be her top priority. The menu would only feature homemade baked goods, and she’d cancel the weekly orders from the food distributor. No more cookies or bars wrapped in cellophane. Her customers deserved the best.
Chapter 9
Maggie bent to check the cake’s progress in the window, not bothering to stifle her yawn. A restless night, an early start, and a warm day—not to mention the stuffiness of the trailer—had her yearning for a cup of coffee or a glass of ice-cold water. The semi-trucks fitted with portable kitchens allowed one side to be open, but with all the ovens going, it was hot.
The three trucks, each fitted with five kitchens, formed a U-shape, and the viewing audience sat in the middle. QV Flour and Milling had originally planned on ten contestants. Adding the two Tetons teams required renting another truck, but the sponsor couldn’t pass up the free advertising and interest they knew the team would bring to the event. And, as long as they were renting another truck, they might as well fill it, so the sponsor had invited three of the top-performing regional second-place winners.
Maggie had learned about the additions yesterday. Lucas’s fun wager had created not two, but five new competitors. Before he’d opened his big fat trap, she’d only considered two competitors a threat. But now the lady from Sunriver, whose oven had malfunctioned in an earlier competition, was here as well. She’d cleverly created a parfait using the cooked edges of her cake and whipped cream. Maggie felt that the Sunriver lady finishing second place after that disaster made her the number one threat, other than one of the Teton teams, whom the crowd adored.
The organizers had stationed Lucas’s team across from her, and the defense team—led by Oregon—was in the trailer between them. Lucas, Cal, and Bash seemed to have everything under control. The same couldn’t be said for the defense. She’d seen heated discussions and frowns, and their workspace was a disaster. Lucas was sure to beat them, which was great, as long as he didn’t beat her, too. His dream had already come true. Now it was her turn.
Her timer buzzed, and she pulled the cakes from the oven. The top was set, and the edges pulled away from the sides of the cake pan, but she inserted her thermometer to check the internal temperature to make sure. An underdone cake would ruin her. Satisfied, she pulled the other two pans out, set them on the cooling rack, and set her timer for ten minutes.
While she waited, she pulled the apple compote from the refrigerator. Making the filing had been her first step. It was risky to start with it—most bakers would focus on getting the cakes in the oven first—but she knew if the filing didn’t cool and set properly, it wouldn’t be sturdy enough to hold everything together. The last thing she needed was her layers slipping apart and landing on the judges. She’d set the bowl in an ice bath to quicken the cool-down and the trick worked. Maggie gave the chunky, jam-like filling a stir and did a quick taste test, smiling as the apple pie taste hit her tongue. Perfect, she thought as she dumped the ice bath into the sink.
When her timer beeped again, she moved the cake pans to the freezer for a quick cool-down and pulled together the ingredients for the caramel cream cheese frosting. A collective gasp rose from the audience. Maggie dropped a measuring cup and her eyes widened as smoke billowed out from the end kitchen in Lucas’s trailer.
The baker grabbed the fire extinguisher and opened the oven door as waves of black smoke poured out. In her haste and panic, she didn’t aim the extinguisher at the oven when she pulled the trigger. Her first shots hit the kitchen next to hers, destroying that baker’s cooling cakes and the frosting on the stove. This time, whipped cream wouldn’t be enough to save the baker from Sunriver.
The fire department quickly confirmed the fire was out and reassured the audience, while several of the judges checked with the remaining contestants in that trailer. Lucas’s team had been working on their far bench and they’d turned their backs to the fire. A stupid move, but their broad shoulders had blocked the small amount of fire-retardant foam that had landed in their direction. The backs of their shirts were damp, but otherwise, their kitchen and food were safe.
Maggie’s eyes itched from the smoke, but she’d take burning eyes over burned cake and incinerated dreams. She lifted the bowl of apple compote to her nose to clear the smell of smoke and a movement across the way caught her eye—Lucas pointed at his wrist, reminding her that time was ticking.
A few firefighters stood in front of the men’s kitchen, and from the look on Lucas’s face, he didn’t like what they said to his team. Maybe I’ll lose another competitor, she wondered as she grated nutmeg into the compote. She almost felt bad about how good she’d feel if that happened.
As she pulled the cakes from the freezer, a cheer rang out. Cal and Bash were removing their shirts and the women in the audience loved it. Lucas laughed—his shirt stayed firmly in place—but the striptease didn’t amuse Maggie. What kind of underhanded trick was this? Was his food so bad that Cal and Bash had to strip to impress the judges?
Maggie tore her gaze away and focused on mixing the butter and cream cheese while she measured the powdered sugar and leveled each cake. After she added a few tablespoons of honey to the frosting and gave it a final taste test, she filled her pastry bag and began to assemble the cake. She piped a ring of frosting on the inside edge of the bottom cake layer, forming a dam before spreading the apple filling and drizzling it with caramel. She topped it with the next layer of cake and repeated the process. Once assembled, Maggie gave the cake a crumb coat and set it in the fridge to set.
“Contestants, you have thirty minutes,” the head judge announced. Maggie’s stomach dropped. She was behind schedule. Not much, but she’d need to compromise. If she wanted to give the crumb coat time to set, she wouldn’t have time for the finishing touches—the elaborate piping on top to mimic a lattice pie crust—but if she frosted the cake prematurely, it could take more time and create problems.
A plain but attractive cake is better than a cakey mess, she reminded herself. Lucas would tell you to go big or go home, the competitive, irrational part of her argued. He’s not the boss of me, the toddler in her argued. Get out of my head, Lucas, and take all these voices with you.
Maggie stared at her remaining ingredients. She couldn’t see what the other competitors were doing, and it had been impossible to guess the judges’ preferences as they’d checked on the competitors throughout the morning. They’d laughed and joked with everyone, putting them at ease. But Maggie didn’t sense there was a clear favorite, other than the team across from her, two-thirds of whom were naked beneath their aprons.
“Twenty minutes.” What’s the plan, Maggie-girl, she thought as she pulled out the cake. Going big, was her answer. She gave the frosting another stir and, satisfied with its consistency, she opened the utensil drawer for the small, offset spatula. It wasn’t there. She tore open another drawer. Nothing. She pawed through the spoon crock as her heart raced. No, no, no, she silently screamed. Her phone pinged on the counter with a text from Lucas.
What’s wrong?
Of course, he’d notice her public panic attack. Quickly, she thumbed back, No offset spatula.
She looked across the audience and saw him show his phone to Bash and Cal. He looked confused, but Cal sprang into action, pulling open doors. Maggie could have cried with relief when Cal sprinted from their trailer with two frosting knives brandished overhead.
