There was oohing and awing from the audience and the contestants all had reactions that were promptly filmed by the film crew. Grayson made scones every day in his bakery. But he knew the other bakers made them as well. His would have to be better than everyone else’s if he wanted to win the competition.
“Grayson, you can go to the pantry starting…now,” the announcer said, holding a stopwatch and clicking it as he pointed to Grayson.
Grayson grabbed the basket off his counter and ran to the pantry. He began scooping things into his basket. The competition was for scones. He had a secret recipe that he baked for his bakery every single day. It was the most popular item in Fate Valley Café and Bakery, and people raved about his scones all the time. He grabbed the only stack of fresh blueberries off the counter in the pantry, the special Brazilian vanilla, and lemons.
The rest of the contestants came running in, just as he was finished grabbing his special ingredients. He picked up his essentials, flour, sugar, cream, and butter and returned to the kitchen.
“Did you find everything you needed, Grayson?” the announcer asked, coming over to his station.
“I believe I did,” Grayson said.
“Time is up in fifteen seconds,” the announcer called to the other contestants.
Then he began counting down as the seconds ticked past. The contestants hurried back to their counters, panting, with their baskets full of ingredients.
“I see some confident faces and some less than confident faces,” the announcer said as the cameras rolled and caught the expressions of each of the contestants.
“You don't look very happy,” the announcer said to Charlotte from Pennsylvania. She’d come in second place in the last round, and Grayson knew she was his main competition.
“There weren't any blueberries,” she said. “I had to settle for strawberries.”
“Do you think you'll be able to make it work?” the announcer asked.
“I hope so,” she said.
Grayson's heart sank. He felt guilty, but he couldn't let it get to him. This was a competition after all, and they were all here for the same thing. To win.
The announcer told them it was time to start baking and the judges watched as the bakers mixed their pastries. Grayson mixed together sifted flour, cream of tartar for extra lift and flakiness, butter, sugar, and baking powder. He rubbed the butter into the mixture, using the heat from his hands to melt it as it mixed with the dry ingredients. Once the dough was mixed, he added several tablespoons of fresh lemon juice, two teaspoons of vanilla, and a dash of heavy cream. He mixed the wet ingredients into the dough and then carefully folded in the fresh blueberries. Once the blueberries were folded in nicely, he put the dough in the fridge.
While the dough cooled, he lined his baking sheets with parchment paper. He grabbed the dough from the fridge and rolled it out onto the parchment-covered counter to make sure it didn’t stick. When the dough was about an inch thick, he used a triangular pastry cutter to cut out the individual scones. He placed each scone on the baking sheets and sprinkled them with a layer of raw sugar for added sweetness and then popped them in the oven.
With his scones baking, Grayson grabbed a bottle of water to drink as he waited. The audience was growing restless as the bakers stood behind their counters, patiently waiting for the pastries to complete their baking. The big clock on the wall that timed the rounds was ticking down. The contestants had only been given thirty minutes for the entire competition. Grayson's scones only took twenty minutes in the oven, and he was certainly grateful for that.
Someone had set their oven too high and shouted as he pulled out a burnt recipe. Grayson looked over his shoulder, gritting his teeth. The baker had to try to salvage his entry by mixing an entirely new recipe and putting it back in the oven before time was up.
The competition was fierce. The woman on his other side had already pulled her scones out of the oven. They were chocolate chip with frosting. She already had them cooling as she whipped up her vanilla cream frosting to drizzle over the top. Someone else had made decadent lemon scones that smelled divine. He looked around the room, noting the extravagant pastries the other chefs were baking. He didn't know if his simple blueberry scones could live up to the competition. He pulled his scones from the oven and let them cool for a moment before placing them on the serving tray.
“Five minutes, everyone.”
One of the contestants at the back of the room was running around like a headless chicken trying to complete his recipe before time was up. Grayson's heart was racing in his chest with anxiety and anticipation. He wanted to win. But he also felt for all the other bakers. It was hard not to. He could smell their anxiety, excitement, and fear wafting all around him.
“One minute,” the announcer said. The man who’d burned his scones pulled his second recipe out of the oven and dropped them onto the serving plate.
“Ten seconds,” the announcer said. “Five, four, three, two, one… Hands off the recipes.”
Everyone put their hands in the air, indicating that they had finished their recipes and were all done.
Then they began to take their scones to the judges to sample. Grayson's was second to last for sampling. He stood nervously watching as Heathcliff York took a bite of his scone. He made the strangest face Grayson had ever seen. Grayson had tasted the scones himself when they came out of the oven. He knew they were delicious, sweet, flaky, and soft in the middle, just as they should be. The judges wrote their notes on their sheets of paper. Odessa Carver smiled at him and that made him feel less nervous. After the judges had sampled everyone's scones, it was time for the final judging.
“Have you made your decision, judges?” the announcer asked.
“We have,” Heathcliff York said. “We sampled all of the scones and I have to say I am disappointed. Some of these recipes taste like they could have been made by a second grader. But maybe that's an insult to second graders.”
Grayson gritted his teeth. His recipe was simple, for a simple small-town bakery. Maybe Heathcliff York was talking about him.
“But some of them were delicious, and we will reward the bakers who were able to impress us.”
They announced four of the contestants, Grayson being one of them, and asked them to step forward.
“Two of you were in the top and two of you were on the bottom. One of you will be the winner, and one of you will hang up your chef coat,” said Wayne Brown.
Grayson bit his inner cheek, sweat on his brow. What would he do if he lost the show in front of everyone he knew in town on a recipe he served them every day? It would be humiliating beyond imagination.
“Richard Thomas, Katy Daniels, you are on the bottom. Charlotte Gavin and Grayson Baxter, you are on the top.”
Grayson's heart leapt, and he let out a relieved sigh. Sweat trickled down his brow, and he wiped it off with a handkerchief from his pocket.
“Richard Thomas and Katy Daniels, your recipes did not live up to our expectations. Katy Daniels, your scones were burned. Richard Thomas, your scones were undercooked,” Wayne Brown continued.
“Charlotte Gavin and Grayson Baxter, your pastries were delicious. Charlotte, your strawberry scones impressed us with their flaky texture. Grayson Baxter, we’ve never tasted blueberry scones that were so simple, yet so tasty. Who will leave and who will win?
“There are many things we can forgive. Undercooking and overcooking could be overlooked. But Richard Thomas, you served us something that resembled dough more than a scone. Please hang up your chef’s coat and leave the kitchen.”
“The winner of this round is…”
Grayson looked out at Donika. She bent down to pick up her purse off the floor. A shot rang out in the event center. It sliced through Heathcliff York’s head midsentence as he was congratulating Grayson on his win. The man slumped forward, smacking his head into the table in front of him.
The other judges jumped up, screaming. The audience went crazy with chaos. Everyone wa
s screaming and crying. The cameras were all focused on the dead man, bleeding on the stage. Grayson didn't know what to think. Was it all part of the show? It couldn't be. Heathcliff York was actually dead.
Chapter 19
Donika sat up with a start, unable to believe her eyes. Everyone in the audience was screaming and wailing at what had just occurred. Heathcliff York was slumped over the table, bleeding from a bullet wound in the back of the head. This was the second time in the last several days that someone had died right in front of her.
She was beginning to think it wasn't a mere coincidence. She had been leaning down to check her cellphone in her purse the moment that it had happened. She couldn't help thinking that the bullet was intended for her.
She hurried to Grayson in the midst of the chaos, and he gathered her in his arms, ducking behind his counter. They hadn't made any commitment as boyfriend and girlfriend, but the affection and closeness they felt for each other was obvious to them both.
“What's happening?” she wailed, unable to comprehend what she had seen right in front of her.
“Someone killed Heathcliff York,” he whispered, holding her close.
The police arrived moments later and began questioning the crowd. But by then, the killer could have easily slipped out any of the exits in the chaos. Donika scanned the crowd. She had seen the strange men and dark suits hanging around the building. She kept telling herself they were just bodyguards or security for the production company. Not that they’d helped any when it counted.
Someone had made it in through the metal detectors with a weapon, and she doubted that they would have any problem getting out. The police questioned her and Grayson and she explained what had happened.
“I was leaning down to pick up my cellphone when the shot whizzed past me and hit Heathcliff York right in the back of the head. You don't think this has anything to do with me. Do you?”
“Why would it?”
“I'm being sued by my boss in New York. He's a powerful man.”
“I doubt it had anything to do with you, ma'am. You're just traumatized from the experience. If I were you, I would go home and try to relax.”
“We can leave now?” Grayson asked the officer.
“You're free to go.”
Grayson took Donika's hand and slipped through the back of the event center and out into the parking lot.
“I can't believe this is happening.”
“Neither can I.”
“What do you think is going to happen with the show?” she asked.
“I don't know. I'm sure they will tell us. The death of one of the judges is tragic, but you know what they say about news and entertainment.”
“What's that?” she asked.
“The show must go on. Besides, there’s too much money behind this show to cancel it.”
“I suppose you're right,” she said, climbing into the passenger seat of his truck.
She didn't even know what was happening as he drove away from the event center with her in his car. She watched the traumatized audience leaving the building. It was bumper-to-bumper traffic until they made it out onto the main road.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“I'm going to take you somewhere to relax,” he said.
“Where exactly is that?”
“My boat, and then there's a little cabin out on the lake that I have a key for. I thought we might have a picnic there after the show today. That is, if you're in the mood to go out there.”
“Well, I don't want to go home right now. Seeing a judge shot in the head is one thing, but then listening to my family and the guests at the inn gossip about it is quite another.”
“You've got a point there.”
“I'll just grab the picnic basket,” he said as they parked in front of his house.
Inside, Donika looked around his house. It was a modest but comfortable and tidy place. He grabbed a picnic basket from the fridge and a thermos from the counter in the kitchen.
“This way,” he said, motioning to the back door.
They made their way down to the dock and climbed into his fishing boat. There was a cabin in the front that was heated, and they were able to stay warm as he began to navigate the boat out onto the water. It was late afternoon and the sun was still bright overhead. The beautiful day belied the tragic events that had occurred just minutes ago. She tried not to think about it, but she couldn't help it.
“I can't help thinking that the bullet was intended for me,” she said.
“You really think your boss is trying to kill you?”
“I wish I knew. I was served with the lawsuit papers yesterday afternoon. I still haven't been able to bring myself to read them. He's probably suing me for everything I'm worth.”
“If he's bothering to sue you, then why would he try to kill you?”
“Because maybe I know something.”
“What do you know?”
“That's the problem. I don't know what I know.”
“I see,” Grayson said. “That's quite a conundrum.”
“I know it sounds crazy. I’ve been having blackouts. I’ve lost time. I just feel so unsafe.”
“I will always be here to protect you. No matter what.”
They approached a small island and anchored the boat at a rustic old dock. They climbed out, holding hands. Donika held the thermos and Grayson held the picnic basket. When they made it to the cabin, he unlocked the door and she walked inside. He set the picnic basket on a rustic table and began to light a fire in the stone hearth.
“This place is really cute,” she said, looking out the window.
There was a big overstuffed couch that had seen better days, but it was covered in several throw blankets that were clean and brand-new.
“I share this fishing cabin with a couple of my buddies. I thought it was a good place for us to get away and spend some time together.”
Grayson built the fire, and a moment later, it was roaring in the hearth. Donika stood in front of it and the fire warmed her cold hands and thighs.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“I was hungry until... But I suppose I could eat.”
They sat at the table in front of a window that looked out on the lake and ate turkey sandwiches with crunchy lettuce and potato chips. The thermos contained hot chocolate. That warmed her stomach and hands. After she ate, she felt a lot better.
“Do you want to take a walk around the island?” he asked.
“That would be lovely.”
They left the cabin after Grayson put a few more logs on the fire and walked hand-in-hand around the little island in the middle of the lake.
“Well, I know nobody could find me out here,” she said, looking out at the shore. They were in the center of the lake and the shore was far away.
“You are safe here with me,” Grayson said as they walked back into the cabin.
The sky was beginning to darken as late afternoon turned into evening. They walked into the cabin and sat in front of the crackling fire. Grayson poured her another cup of hot chocolate and they sat close together as she rested against his chest. He put his arm around her and held her close, kissing the top of her head.
“You make me feel safe,” she said.
“I’m glad,” he whispered.
He leaned in and claimed her mouth. His whiskers tickled her lips as his tongue tasted her. She groaned at the sensation of his tongue sliding between her lips. Grayson's kiss lit a fire inside her that couldn't be quenched. After everything she'd been through, all the stress and anxiety she felt, his kiss was like a beacon in the darkness. She leaned into him, opening to his desire.
He cupped the back of her head, angling her mouth to kiss her more deeply. She moaned as the desire flowed from deep within. Soon, he had her straddling his lap, grinding against his hardness as they passionately kissed. He pulled her shirt up over her head and squeezed her breasts. His tongue continued to dance with hers. He flipped her over onto the co
uch and began to pull off her pants.
“I'm going to lick your pussy till you scream,” he growled.
“Oh,” she squeaked.
The heat of the fire kissed her naked skin as she watched the gorgeous bearded man pull her pants and panties off. She was completely naked a moment later. He yanked off his shirt and dove between her thighs. His hard, wet tongue licked up the slit between her legs. She grasped her breast and arched her back, looking at the wood beamed ceiling above. He had her knees up over his shoulders as he licked and sucked and devoured her core.
“Oh Grayson,” she whimpered.
Donika felt her orgasm overtaking her. Everything else disappeared. Her job, the lawsuit, her lack of money, even the murder in the event center. It all evaporated. The moment was pure bliss as Grayson pushed her over the edge into a mind-shattering climax. She cried out, her scream loud and full throated into the wilderness around the cabin.
He held her thighs tightly around his face as he tasted her orgasm. Her pussy clenched under his tongue. But he didn't stop. He slid his wet fingers inside her and stroked as he continued to lick her clit. She watched him as he played with her like a master at his craft. Grayson gazed up at her reverently as he licked and stroked her. She could barely stand it. His fingers slid over her g-spot and he twisted his tongue around and around on her clit. She screamed.
“Oh God! Oh God!”
She'd never felt pleasure so intense. There was nothing to even compare it to. She couldn't even fully comprehend what she was feeling. It was like her brain had disappeared and all that was left was her body, drenched in pure pleasure from Grayson's touch. He pumped into her core and sucked her bud. She exploded into another fiery orgasm. She ran her fingers through his hair and squeezed as her pussy clenched on his fingers and throbbed on his tongue. She let go of his hair and collapsed on the couch.
“No more,” she said, pushing him away. “No more. I can't take it.”
He pulled back with a chuckle and sat beside her, pulling one of the freshly laundered blankets off the back of the couch to cover her with. He gathered her against his chest and stroked her hair and cheek with the backs of his knuckles.