Cupcakes and Christmas - R.J. Scott Page 0,29
would say then look coy. Right now, I wasn’t in the mood for pretending to be modest or having to look Brody in the face. I managed to get in a mention of cream plus stared into my oven with my ass in the air plus two rounds of “Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer.” That would have to do.
By the time I’d settled into the rhythm of design I was telling myself that upsetting Brody wasn’t my fault. Why didn’t Brody think a flirtation was okay? Was I that bad? Was I not the kind of person that warranted a flirtation? Maybe some gentle touches or kind words.
He said he was going to ask you for a coffee. He asked you to save Jeremy.
On autopilot, I’d created tiny car shapes for the top of my cupcake, all in white, decorated with the smallest pink sugar paste window I’d ever managed.
I’d received a few messages from kids in the last couple of days, probably because of the superhero bake I’d done. One of them asked me how to make fondant icing templates, and I hadn’t answered yet, but I took a couple of quick snaps of what I was doing when the cameras weren’t on me and saved them for later. So what if my demographic wasn’t ten-year-old kids, I wouldn’t leave this one hanging. Although what he’d think of the naked chest post last night and the suggestive mention of frosting I don’t know. Maybe I needed to set up a second stream for my social media that was kid friendly? I filed away the thought for later because I had to concentrate. One thing I do know is that I smiled at the thought of helping out new bakers who wanted to learn.
And the smile was genuine.
The cars were cut out of rolled icing, and I placed them gently on top of each cake into the swirled topping which tasted of just the right mix of vanilla and rose. The buttercream had a touch of pink hue, and it tasted like heaven. It was so nice that I could eat a bowl of it.
Of course, then I’d be sick, but somehow I’d done enough with my cupcakes, and with only five minutes on the clock I’d nearly finished. A small dusting of edible rose-pink glitter and I was done. I set my cupcakes on the end of the bench and spent the last few minutes tidying up. As I deposited the bowls into the sink, I cast a look at Brody’s cupcakes.
And my world imploded.
They were stunning. He’d chosen a musical theme with tempered chocolate notes aside of tiny violins that he sprayed gold against the red and white cream which was sumptuously layered with the notes. They were a winning design, and if they tasted as good as they looked, I was losing against him. Self-doubt was crippling, and I panicked. In real life, one of the on-site pastry chefs would come over and primp my cakes, make them more this or more that, ensure they were perfect for the beauty shots we’d use on my social accounts. I didn’t have anyone doing this here. Were the car shapes too big? Did they look enormous against the swirled icing? Were the swirls delicate enough? Maybe I should have tempered chocolate the same as Brody. Maybe I should have—
“TIME!” Courtney shouted and startled the hell out of me. Too late now, what’s done is done. “Tools down bakers.” Ivan cursed under his breath. Shauna squeaked, but the rest of us were soberly quiet. This was the first bake of the competition and one of us would be going home tomorrow after the final gingerbread extravaganza. I didn’t want it to be me.
I won’t let it be me.
One by one we took our cakes up in order. Clare’s were given a perfect. Ivan received a well done with provisos about flavor. Shauna got a thumbs up from Venetia, which was the highest plaudit from her. Kristen got a handshake from Lewis, the highest accolade from him. Then it was Brody with his perfect cakes.
Venetia fluttered her hands in front of her, pressing them to her chest. “Oh my, I’ve never seen chocolate work so perfect before. Look at those tiny notes and the violins, oh my.”
“Well if it’s on looks alone, you could have a winner here,” Lewis warned. He cut open a cupcake and hmmmm’d. I could see the way a small amount of chocolate filling oozed, and the