Whisk and Reward by Nancy Warren

Author:Nancy Warren [Warren, Nancy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ambleside Publishing
Published: 2022-01-18T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

The next morning, I floated to the baking tent, still lost in the dreamy quality of my date with Benedict. We’d driven back to Broomewode in the light of the near-full moon, its silvery orb flooding the Bentley with a luminous shine. He dropped me back at the inn, and we’d shared another steamy kiss. When my alarm shrieked its way through my dreams, I realized I’d only been in bed for five hours and I had to drag myself downstairs for the early shift. I baked in a daze, alone in the kitchen and going through the motions, using a little magic to summon the packets of flour and sugar to my mixer. Well, if a girl couldn’t use her powers in the kitchen, where could she?

My baking finished, I ate breakfast with Ruta and Pavel and excused myself to join the crowd I knew would be outside the baking tent for the first day of the grand finale.

I was still yawning as I climbed the hill and saw how many people were already at the tent. I shook my head, wishing I’d left earlier to secure a prime viewing position. As I got closer, the Florence versus Hamish divide was clear. On one side, Italian flags were being waved wildly in the air; on the other, the blue and white cross of the Scottish national flag. The tension was palpable, and everyone wanted their favorite to win. Oh, dear. I was going to have to position myself very carefully so as not to give away my true allegiances.

I felt nervous for the bakers. Each week, the challenges grew in difficulty and the pressure fired up. The final episode of the show drew the most home viewers, and Hamish and Florence would be watched by millions worldwide, strangers who had high expectations for their performances, who’d be disappointed if either baker made a foolish mistake. The media, too, were watching, ready to spread the news, ready to highlight the win. It could be cruel out there, and I was worried for both my friends—even Florence. I didn’t wish harm on her, even though she was getting on my last nerve with all her boasting and her overtures towards Benedict. But, safe in the knowledge that Benedict had eyes for no one but me, I could be generous. I thought about Benedict again, warmth flooding my sleepy body.

I gazed at the vast expanse of crisp white calico erected across the gorgeous green lawns of the estate. It looked extra bright this morning, as if Broomewode knew that this was its last opportunity to shine. Since the competition wouldn’t air for a while yet, there’d been no on-air discussion of the earl’s death, though it had appeared in the national media. Benedict had said nice things about his father and thanked all the well-wishers. The countess, predictably, had rushed to assure everyone that “the show would go on.”

She might be a countess, but it was Benedict who had all the class in that family.

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