“Yeah!” Syna chimed in. “Bill it as the great Cupcake Conflict or something. We can even get a production crew from Santa Fe Studios to come film it. My hubby works with a lot of those guys. Heck, the local news might even want to cover it. Or maybe it’ll get picked up by one of those reality TV cable channels!”
“Dear, I’m afraid there’s already a show like that,” Hortencia informed Syna. “Several, in fact.”
Pauline raised an eyebrow at her partner.
“What? I watch the Food Channel.”
“Hasn’t helped your cooking,” Pauline muttered.
“Anyhow,” Janice said. “Like studly said, our gal can beat the britches off that slimy scumbag when it comes to cookin’. Miz Pyle, all ya gotta do is print an item that invites people to judge for themselves who’s the better chef, promise lotsa free treats, and we’re in business. He won’t dare refuse, or he’ll look like he’s scared to face our Sera.”
Marnie coughed contemplatively. “Well, that would certainly address some of Chef Austin’s accusations, especially if Miss Wilde wins the contest. But I don’t see how it would counteract the comments about Miss Wilde’s more… personal… issues.”
The BRBs put their heads together, whispering.
Sera surfaced at last from Asher’s drugging kiss to the sound of some seriously intense muttering from her friends. From their expressions, they might have been debating anything from the right way to disable a nuclear reactor to the best brand of lube in Pauline’s back room.
“Wait, maybe we could…” murmured Syna, the gist of her suggestion inaudible to Sera.
“Nah, we’d probably get arrested if we tried that, but wouldn’t it be awesome if we could?” Aruni said sotto voce, shaking her curly head regretfully.
Bobbie touched her pearls and squinched her well-plucked brows together in consternation. “C’mon, Pauline, you’re our resident evil genius; help us out!” She gazed expectantly at their fearless leader.
But Pauline just flapped her hands at her minions. “Hush, women.” She flopped back in her armchair and gave her niece an assessing look that was nevertheless rich with pride…and respect. “I don’t know what you’re fretting about, you ninnies. You can quit your scheming. My Baby-Bliss has got this one in the bag.”
Oh, Pauline. Sera’s heart overflowed as she looked from the man she loved to the woman who had raised her to know she deserved it.
I’m damn well gonna give it my best shot.
Chapter Thirty-One
The mixer blades beat with agonizing slowness.
Whomp.
A lifetime.
Whomp.
Two lifetimes.
Whomp.
Galaxies were born and died.
By contrast, Sera’s heart was pummeling her ribs like an overzealous karate instructor. Sweat beaded her upper lip, and she glared into the brushed aluminum bowl as if her will alone could froth the egg whites into the nice, stiff peaks she was after. But no matter how she fiddled with the switches on the stand mixer’s sides, the blades would not speed up. Her whites refused to foam. The pinch of salt she’d added did nothing to help. Or wait, had she accidentally used sugar? There was no time to start over. The meringue has to be ready in five minutes, and I still have to brown the tops! Shit, did I even set the oven?
She turned in a blind panic, flinging open the Blodgett’s gaping maw. No racks! What am I supposed to do without racks? I’ve got a hundred mini meringue pies to dish up, and no way to caramelize the crusts!
Wait… a brûlée torch! Gotta be a brûlée torch around here…
She patted her apron, she flung open cabinets. Not so much as a cardboard safety match to be found in the whole goddamn kitchen! Ever more frantic, knowing her whole career, her very happiness, depended upon success, Sera searched the space for something—anything—she could use. Her gasping breaths were the only sound, until…
Wham!
A booted foot sent the kitchen’s double doors swinging violently toward opposite walls. Into the breech stepped a figure in a billowing leather duster and a hat to match. From halfway across the steam-shrouded room, Sera could see Blake’s black eyes narrow with malice as he caught sight of her. His lip curled derisively. In slow motion, one hand rose lazily, brushed aside his heavy coat, and revealed the holster at his hip.
Heart pounding, Sera lunged for the gun belt she was somehow unsurprised to find strapped to her own side…
And came up holding a half-squashed chocolate éclair.
A sinister grin spread across Chef Austin’s face as he raised his pistol…
And Sera shrieked as she came suddenly, violently awake.
A yawning maw met her gaze.
Fortunately, it was Silver’s yawning maw, smelling somewhat unpleasantly of puppy chow and all too full of tongue, which he proceeded to slop across her face as he barked, happy to see Sera awake. He pranced all about the bed, tail wagging frantically, spent a moment tunneling into the mussed bedclothes in case he’d missed any excitement, then flopped on his back in the warm spot Asher had left, paws up and begging for belly rubs.
Sera ruffled his fur absently, grateful for the wholesome enthusiasm of the puppy. It went a long way toward dispelling her nightmare—though not far enough. His master might have done a better job, she thought with a mental pout, but Asher was nowhere to be seen. Shower? Coffee run? He must have already walked the dogs, because Silver wasn’t whining to be let out, and Sascha wasn’t pacing at the half-open bedroom door the way she did when things got urgent. It warmed Sera’s soul a little to realize she was learning the Wolf household’s rhythms and routines, and even—maybe—beginning to find her own place within them. She turned her attention outward, smiling ruefully as a god-awful clanging and a raft of Hebrew curses informed her Asher was in the kitchen attempting to make breakfast.
She appreciated his efforts, but there was no way she’d be able to eat this morning, even had her otherwise lovely new boyfriend not been a horrendous cook. Her stomach was too busy putting on a Cirque du Soleil interpretive performance—theme: petrified pastry chef.
Today we settle the score, Blake, Sera thought with a certain grim determination. Once and for all. I may not have dreamed up this cockamamie scheme, but now that I’m committed, I am damn sure going to give it everything I’ve got.
Marnie had baited the trap well—and with rather more pizzazz than Sera had expected.
New Mexican Standoff!
Break out your dessert forks, Santa Feans. In response to recent comments made by celebrity chef Blake Austin, Ms. Serafina Wilde, proprietor of Bliss, a newly opened bakery known for more than mere culinary delights, is calling out her former mentor. Mr. Austin, in town to oversee the opening of his newest investment, the Blue Coyote on Canyon Road, had called into question Miss Wilde’s competence in the kitchen, among other, more personal complaints. Miss Wilde now invites Mr. Austin to a “battle of the baked goods” at next week’s Winter Fiesta.
“Let the fine folks of Santa Fe be the judge,” said Miss Wilde. “I’m confident my confections capture the true essence of bliss. But if Blake thinks he can do better, he’s welcome to give me a run for my money.”