Rosaline Palmer Takes the Cake (Winner Bakes All #1) - Alexis Hall Page 0,34

good chance she’d accidentally started a rumour that he was some kind of sexual predator and nobody would talk to him for the rest of the series. “I’ve . . . I’ve probably been unfair. I’m sure Harry’s a perfectly nice guy. And I’ll go see if he wants to sit with us.”

In the short walk across the lawn, Rosaline took the opportunity to scope out the other contestants in—if she was being honest with herself—a slightly Alain-focused way. She spotted him on a bench next to Josie, in the middle of what seemed to be an animated conversation. Which was fine. It was definitely fine. She had no claim on his time or attention, and it wasn’t like she’d gone out of her way to speak to him either.

But why hadn’t he? Come over. Said hello. Done something.

Yes, she was slightly out of practice. Still, it had been . . . nice? It had been nice, right?

And also, outside the moment, a bad idea. They were competitors in a TV baking show with a bunch of other people who’d probably be really annoyed if they found out they had a thing. If they did have a thing.

Maybe all they had was a kiss.

Or Alain was being considerate and trying not to start gossip.

Or Rosaline’s lips had accidentally communicated the idea that she wanted him to fuck off and never speak to her again.

“You all right, mate?” said Harry, making Rosaline realise that she’d been standing over him for longer than she’d intended.

“What? Yes. I mean . . . ” She felt suddenly like she was in secondary school again, telling a boy she had a friend who liked him and hoping he wouldn’t think that “friend” meant “her.” “Um . . .”

He visibly winced. As well he might. “Look, I’ve been meaning to ask, I didn’t upset you the other day, did I?”

“Upset me?” she repeated, slightly taken aback.

“Yeah. About the name thing. And the love thing. And the girl thing. And the pretty thing.” She thought he might actually have been blushing. “I just didn’t want you to think I was a dick.”

If she was being honest, she wasn’t used to thinking about guys like Harry at all. “No? Not really.”

“Great. Just, you know, checking.” He let out a breath that, to Rosaline’s surprise, said I am relieved, not That’ll cost you. “Because,” he went on, “sometimes I’ll say something and then I’ll think Christ, Harry, you utter ballsack, and it’ll be buzzing around my head forever.”

She gave him a slightly curious look. It felt natural for her to be constantly paralysed by the possibility of other people’s disapproval. But what did Harry have to worry about? He was a good-looking bloke who lived in a world of mates and pubs and women who didn’t mind being called “love.” “I think maybe everyone gets that. Although possibly with less ballsack.”

“Okay. Good.” He was silent a moment, possibly dwelling on the ballsack, and wasn’t that a strange mental image. “Thanks, mate.”

Rosaline suspected she’d regret asking this but couldn’t quite help herself. “Why am I mate all of a sudden?”

“You said I wouldn’t call you ‘love’ if you was a bloke. And I thought about it and you had a point. And it was this or start calling all my mates ‘love,’ and I reckon they’d look at me a bit funny if I tried it.”

She couldn’t tell if she’d won that one or lost it. “Fair enough, I suppose.”

“Well done last week, by the way. You done all right.”

“Thank you. You did . . .”

“Kind of average,” he offered ruefully. “My chocolate didn’t temper and my decorations melted. It’s always something, init?”

“Well, it’s still early days.”

He nodded. “Yeah, and I’m looking forward to tomorrow. I like a good pie. Except once we’re in the ballroom, some bloke with a camera’ll come round and be all, What you doing, Harry?, and I’ll be all, I’m making a pie, ain’t I? And then he’ll say, Can you say that again like you’re not answering a question. It’s a bit daft really.”

This surprised a laugh out of her. Because it was, when you got right down to it, a bit daft really.

“Anyway.” He gave her one of his unexpected smiles. “I should let you go, mate.”

“Actually . . .” Oh, why had she agreed to this? It was stupid, and terrible, and a bit patronising. “Anvita was wondering if you were okay? Sort of by yourself. Over here. Like you are. And