Ella jumped to her feet and dropped her notes in her seat. “That’s it. I’m tired of all these ridiculous accusations. That’s not true, not a word of it! What happened between me and Gray is a private matter. And for the millionth time, I never took your recipe book!”
“You did! You’re a thief and a liar, and if those people out there knew what you’d done, they’d leave you like the—”
The door flew open, and Gray stood there, glowering, Tiff peeking around him. “Stop it!” he thundered.
Jules flushed. “I’m sorry, but it’s the truth and you know it. Ella—”
Tiff pushed her way past Gray. “One of your mics is on!”
What? Angela turned to look out the window. A crowd of young girls was on the other side of the glass, their phones held up. “Are they filming us?”
“Oh no,” Jules said, looking stricken. “I didn’t—”
“Close the blinds!” Tiff waved her hands. “Close the blinds now!”
Angela and Mark hurried to the windows and soon the blinds were all drawn.
“Whose mic is on?” Tiff asked frantically.
Ella turned to Aunt Jo. “Check your mic.”
“It’s not me!” Aunt Jo fumbled as she struggled to pull her mic box out of her pocket. “I turned it off twice now and— Oh. It was me.” She clicked it off, sending Ella a regretful look. “Sorry. It must have come back on when I sat down.”
“No, no, no!” Tiff pressed her hands over her face. “Ella, everyone heard that and there will be video, too. I—I have to get back out there and make an announcement. We have to do some damage control or— Oh Lord, this could be bad.”
“I should be the one to speak, not you,” Ella said, her face as pale as it had been flushed just a few moments earlier. “Those accusations were about me.”
“What will you say?”
“The truth. That’s all I have.”
Tiff swallowed and then nodded. “Right. I’ll buy us some time and ask the choir to do another round while you work out what you’re going to say. I— Yes. The show must go on.” She cast a disappointed look at Jules before leaving, with a regretful shake of her head.
Ella watched her go, her gaze stopping on Gray, who stood beside the door. Ella managed a weak smile. “I guess I’ll have to leave town now.”
He took a step forward, but then caught himself. Instead, he spread his hands wide. “I’m so sorry. Mom shouldn’t have said that.”
“He’s right,” Jules said, looking deflated. “Ella, I didn’t mean for our conversation to be public like that. I lost my temper and… I’m sorry.”
Ella threw up a hand. “Don’t. We’ll talk about that later. But right now we need to judge those cakes.”
Looking miserable, Jules nodded and returned to her seat.
Angela’s heart ached for her daughter. Jules was stubborn and proud, but she loved her sons with all her heart and was a lioness where they were concerned. Angela wished she could explain that to Ella, but there were too many people standing around. I’ll talk to her later. She needs to understand why Jules is so passionate about protecting her family.
“Great day in the mornin’,” Aunt Jo muttered. “This event is going to hell in a handbasket. Now the whole world thinks Ella is a thief, which is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, and I’ve heard a lot of dumb things in my life.”
“You’re right,” Ella said wearily. “I didn’t take that book. I wish I knew who did, though.” She sat back in her chair. “But we need to focus on the contest right now. If you’ll get out your notes, everyone, we can start.”
The three judges went to work. Jules didn’t speak much, and Angela noticed that although Ella was polite, she didn’t once look directly at Jules.
Mark had been watching Gray, who still stood by the door. “He looks beaten.”
Angela agreed. “It wasn’t Ella who did that to him. It was your mom and her suspicions and you and your refusal to let him make up his own mind about his life.”
Mark bit his lip. “It’s not Mom’s fault, Grandma. It’s mine.”
It was nice to see Mark admit his duplicity in this. “Neither of you has been fair to Ella.”
“It’s worse than that. I—” He closed his eyes and raked his hands through his hair. “I have to fix this.”
Fix it? That would be nice. But Angela couldn’t think of a single thing he could do that would smooth over the giant rip his mother had just made in Ella’s life. “I wish you could—”
He walked with a suddenly purposeful stride to where the judges sat. “Ella?”
Gray took a threatening step forward. “Don’t!”
“Good Lord!” Aunt Jo hopped to her feet, grabbed her cane, and stepped between Ella and Mark. “You Stewarts need to leave poor Ella alone!”
“Mark!” Angela hurried to catch his arm. “Leave Ella be! You’ve done enough as it is.”
“I can’t. I—I need to say this. And if I don’t do it now, when will I?” Mark fisted his hands at his sides and clenched his eyes closed. “Ella, I need to tell you something. I know you didn’t steal the Book of Cakes. It was me. I stole it.”
CHAPTER 17 ANGELA
Angela poured two cups of tea and set them on the kitchen table. Gray sat at the chair at the end, his expression a mixture of fury and hurt.
“What a mess.” Angela sat down across from Gray.
He sent her a hard, fuming look.
“Your brother—wow. I had no idea. And that after your mother just let it all out, as if she were a water hose with a crimp in it that suddenly released.” Angela had hated leaving Jules behind, but she still had her bake-off duties to attend to. After Mark’s confession, which had left Ella pale and shaking, she’d ordered everyone out of the room except the judges. What a mess.
Angela’s phone beeped. “Mark and Jules are on their way home.” She put her phone down. “That isn’t going to be an easy ride for him.”
Gray shook his head slowly. “I never thought Mark would do something like that.”
“Me neither.” She sighed and toyed absently with the tea tag. It was clear their little family needed to work on themselves and their relationships with each other, which made it all the more imperative that Angela stay. I can’t leave them now. They need me. And, to be honest, she needed them.
Gray pushed his tea away. “Do you have anything stronger?”
She looked at her own cup and realized Gray was right. Tea was too weak for a moment like this. “Single malt whiskey?”
A faint of glimmer of humor softened the lines around his mouth. “I knew I could count on you.”
“Of course.” She got up and opened the door under the kitchen sink, bent down, and dug around a bit before she came out with a bottle of twelve-year-old Macallan. She pulled out two water glasses and poured them both generous measures and added some ice. “When your mom gets here, this is iced tea.”
“Iced tea. Got it.”