Page 28 of The Last Autograph
Just as she was about to mix her scone dough, she knocked a spatula onto the floor. Jake picked it up, but instead of placing it back on the counter, he held her gaze while offering it across the bowl of mixture. As a bead of sweat trickled down the back of her neck, Molly was certain that if she’d checked her reflection in a mirror, her face would be a heightened shade of blush red.
“You feeling okay, Molly?” he murmured.
For a moment, her surroundings vanished as she focused on the tone of his voice: so tender compared to previous times they’d spoken. She accepted the spatula and lowered her gaze.WTAF?“Yes, Chef.”
He nodded. Smiled softly. “Good.”
When the judges moved on to the next contestant, Molly took a deep breath, opened the oven door as the timer chimed, and removed the cake layers with shaking hands.
Next, she poured the buttermilk into the dry ingredients and mixed it to combine with a dinner knife. But as she turned the scone dough onto a floured board for a featherlight knead before cutting it into shapes, Jake doubled back.
“That dough’s overly wet.” He looked at her, his expression serious once again, as if he was genuinely concerned about the state of her scone mixture. Obviously he hadn’t received the memo from the organizers about bringing his poker face to the competition. But then, she’d noticed him interacting warmly with the other contestants, just not her. “Is that intentional?”
Molly failed to suppress the hint of a smile. She’d made cheese scones many times over the years, and her grandma had taught her to make the dough sticky to the touch. “It is, Chef.”
He stared. “Let’s hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Yes, Chef.”Screw you.“I do, Chef.”
Jake lingered for a moment and then, as if he’d sensed her unspokenscrew you, actually chuckled before walking away. Her face now hotter than ever, Molly finished prepping the scones, slipped them into the oven, and set the timer for twelve minutes.
With the judges absent while the contestants put the finishing touches on their creations, Molly relaxed slightly. However, when they returned for the blind taste test, her nerves were hanging on for dear life over the edge of an extremely high imaginary cliff. So much for CeCe’s assertion that being a contestant would be fun and that the judges last year were hilarious.Really?
Before them, twenty cakes in various shapes and sizes lined a trestle table, waiting to be judged. Molly watched as Jake put a forkful of her cake in his mouth.
“Whose is this?” he asked a moment later.
Shit. Molly raised her hand slightly.
“Please step forward.”
“Yes, Chef.” She walked to the front of the room, the eyes of the crowd following her every step as two women in the second row whispered behind their hands.
“The cake is a little dry.” Jake held her gaze. “But your presentation is good. I love its organic essence, and the passionfruit curd is worthy of a mention. Just remember, when testing, a squeaky-clean skewer often means an overcooked cake when fruit is the star of the show. Better to have a touch of crumb and a moist end result than a dry feel in the mouth.”
Moist…dry feel in the mouth?At first, she thought he must be joking, but his manner told her otherwise, and there was nothing she could say but, “Thank you, Chef.”
For the second time that morning, Jake looked at her with a slight warmth to his expression, and Molly’s knees weakened as she struggled to get a grip. Out of respect for Jesse’s memory, she couldn’t afford to let him affect her. Not only that, but her instincts told her to be wary. Jake Sinclair had an edge to him that she couldn’t quite grasp. She had no idea what he knew about her or the conditions surrounding Jesse’s will, and her intention was to keep her behavior professional and her distance discreet.
After similar feedback from the other judges, Molly returned to her station, pleased that the first round of judging was over but wondering if the dryness of her cake would be enough to see her eliminated.
An older woman standing in front of her turned and whispered, “Well done. I didn’t think it would be this pressured.”
“Me either.”
“But that Sinclair guy’s a serious bit of smash. I do like them a little younger.” She raised a brow and smiled. “And that neatly clipped scruff on his chin… He’d be welcome to bake in my kitchen any day of the week.”
Molly had to stop herself from laughing.A serious bit of smash!What an understatement that was.
People in the audience came and went, with the perimeter of the tent standing room only the entire time, but as she focused on the task at hand, Molly tried not to think about the size of the crowd.
However, just as she was plating up several scones on a board, along with generous pats of butter, a loud “Go, Molly!” rang out from the back of the tent, followed by an ear-piercing whistle of encouragement.
When she glanced up, Mitch, Tayla, CeCe, and Luka—all standing together—grinned back at her. Directly in front of them, looking relaxed and happy in the seniors’ seats, were Aunt Andrea, Uncle Frank, and Gloria. And as Jake turned to stare out over the audience, Molly’s nerves sang louder.
Todd addressed the bakers. “Would the first two rows step forward with their scones, please, followed by the next two?”
Molly waited at the back while sixteen other contestants preceded her, then picked up her board and walked to the judging area with the remaining three contestants. According to the judges, the scones had been a mixed bag so far: some as hard as rocks, others light and tender.
