Brady strode back into the tent, and my heart went pitter-patter, my stomach swooping when I gazed into his handsome face. I was head over heels in love with this man. Maybe the swooping was fear that I was going to lose him when the newness of the relationship wore off, and he realized I had so many issues he’d have to deal with from my past. Then again, most of those issues had disappeared since Brady had been the one loving me every night.
He put his arm around my waist and his lips near my ear. “I have great news!”
At that moment, the judges filed back into the room, and Mr. Samson grabbed the microphone. “We have reached a decision. Is everyone here?”
Darla was standing at her table the same as we were, and most of the spectators were back in their seats.
“We’re all here,” I said, wishing I had time to hear Brady’s news, but I didn’t want to look rude in front of the judges either.
“Then, without further ado, let’s announce our winner! Both cupcakes were light, airy, and perfectly baked. However, the icing on Berry Sinful was quite delightful. We believe the secret ingredient was marshmallow fluff?” he asked, and I gave the nod. All three judges did a fist pump at their cupcake eating prowess. “We thought so! The combination with the strawberries and cream cheese was perfectly sinful for sure. Therefore, Berry Sinful has won the title at Strawberry Fest Bake-off this year! Congratulations, Team Fluffy Cupcake, for a fine performance, and thank you, Darla, for the wonderful runner-up cupcake.”
Mr. Samson put the microphone down and carried the trophy to us, his smile wide as he passed it over for us to admire. We smiled happily for the camera while we took pictures with the judges and at our tables. Thankfully, Darla remained at her table when they took the full shot.
After the pictures were taken and the congratulations were over, I addressed the spectators. “Amber is at our booth in the food tent. If you want to head over, she has samples of Berry Sinful ready for you to enjoy. Thanks for being here today and supporting Strawberry Fest and our business.”
The mass exodus from the building had me grabbing my phone and sending Amber a picture of the trophy and the words, get ready. I chuckled to myself and put the phone down, turning to Brady to hear his news when Darla interrupted us.
“Well, if it isn’t fatso and her adorable BF. What’s that old poem? Jack Sprat could eat no fat. His wife could eat no lean. You two personify that like no one else I’ve ever known.”
Brady stepped in front of me and leaned on the table. “Do you have a point, Darla?”
“No, she doesn’t,” I said, stepping to the side, so we looked like a team rather than him as my protector. “She has sour grapes because her frosting looked like bird crap, and ours was quite delightful.”
If steam really could pour from someone’s ears, Darla’s could be powering a locomotive.
“It isn’t even fair that you’re in this competition,” she growled. “Professionals shouldn’t be allowed to compete!”
“I’ll make sure to tell the judges to change the bylaws,” I drawled dryly.
“Is there anything else we can do for you, Darla? I think you better run along to the makeup and hair tent. You are a bit of a mess, and that crown is waiting. Better use your extra time to perfect your beauty queen look,” Brady said cheerily.
“I plan on it. I also plan to win. It’s a shame you decided to date this fat bitch instead of me. You deserve so much better than her. You could be fucking a beauty queen every night. Instead, you’re fucking the town’s orphan no one wanted. How does it feel to be the pity fuck, fluffy?” she asked before she spun on her heel and flounced away.
Refusing to react and let her see how much that hurt, I kept a smile glued to my face until she left the building, her tight ass swaying as she pranced away on those heels like the true bitch that she is.
“Haylee,” he said, but I held up my hand, taking a deep breath, so my actual reaction to her words didn’t run down my cheeks.
“Just—it’s fine. We need to pack this stuff in the van and get over to the tent before Amber is overrun by cupcake eaters.”
“Not until I make myself clear,” he growled. “You are not, nor will you ever be, unwanted or a pity fuck,” he said, pointing to where Darla had stood. “Do you understand me?”
“She’s not wrong in her assessment, though, Brady. Maybe not about the pity fuck, but about being the town’s orphan. I’m almost thirty, and if I count the people who care about me, I can use one hand and have fingers left over.” I waved my hand. “Forget it. We need to go,” I said, grabbing the handle of the cart and pushing it out into the air.
It had cooled off, and clouds were building in the sky, leaving a hazy cast to the afternoon that meant storms were coming. With any luck, we’d get the cupcake tasting done and the booth packed up before the rain hit.
“I’m going to move the van over by the tent,” I said to him over my shoulder. “If it starts to rain, we can’t be transporting product that far. Why don’t you head to the food tent and help Amber until I get there?”
He grasped the cart and pulled it to a stop. “I’ll load this and move the van. You’re the cupcake baker and should be there first. Let me do the heavy lifting for the rest of the day.”
“Sure. Okay,” I said, releasing the cart. “Just don’t be too long. Storms are coming, and it’s not safe to be in a tent.”
“You’ll see me in ten,” he promised. “And Haylee,” he said, his brow down to his nose, “I love you, more than anything. More than the love of one thousand friends. Okay?”
I nodded, trying for a smile but barely getting a trembling lip tilt. “I love you, too.”
He leaned over for a gentle kiss to seal his words and then pushed the cart toward the parking lot while I diverted to the tent.
I did love him, but unfortunately, Darla was right. He deserved better.
Twenty-One
The food tent was packed when I arrived, and most of the cupcakes had already fled the scene. Amber had given me a look that could mean nothing other than help me! I waded right in, helping her hand out samples of the cupcakes, accept congratulations on another winning entry, and take cash from people’s hands as they snatched up prepackaged cupcakes like sugar addicts looking for a fix. I wasn’t complaining. The more they bought, the less we had to pack up and take back to the bakery when it was time to go home.
It had been almost thirty minutes when I realized I hadn’t seen Brady yet. “Hey, Amber,” I said, now that the crowd was down to a manageable size. “Have you seen Brady around anywhere? He was supposed to bring the van over here half an hour ago.”
“He came in about ten minutes ago and gave me the van keys. Then his phone rang, so he stepped out. It was way too loud in here,” she answered. A rumble of thunder boomed in the distance, and she grimaced, turning her head toward the door of the tent. “We’re almost out of cupcakes and bread. I think we need to pack up and get out of here.”
When Amber was thirteen, she’d been caught in a tornado in the family camper. It roared through the campground while they were sleeping, and she barely survived. She still lives with the after-effects of it now with her leg. She also has severe PTSD about thunderstorms, which is to be expected, and this storm was taking us by surprise.