The fact that he’d gone after Alaric set off mental alarms.
“Did he actually start a fight?”
“No. Just lip service.”
“Jesus.” She shook her head and glanced down.
“Battle of the Sexes this Pumpkin Bake Off.” The headline jumped off the page. Underneath, the pictures of her and Alaric placed side by side stunned her.
“This year, hometown born Alaric Bulley is challenging the gender standards as he entered the running for Pumpkin Queen. Should we look out for a king? If he bakes like his mother, Joan Bulley, reigning champion, we just might. Newcomer bakery owner Rosaleen Plath is new on the scene and looked at as a favorite to win. One thing is for sure, the bake off is going to be one to watch this year.” Tossing the paper onto the table, she shook her head. “Are you kidding me?”
“Well, you got some free publicity,” he said.
“Not what I had in mind.” She glanced around, feeling as if all eyes were trained on them.
His phone jumped on the table. Picking it up, he groaned.
“What?”
“Mom just saw the paper.”
“I’m sure Kasey was all too happy to text her the minute she left.”
“I’ll talk to Kasey.”
“’Cause that’s been helpful so far.” She glanced down at her watch. “Crap. I need to get back. Finishing off her coffee, she stood. “Never a dull moment here.”
“No,” he sighed. “I’ll call you tonight.”
She nodded. “Talk to you then.”
One step forward and two steps back.
She threw herself into work to keep her mind off Kasey, her smirking Whoville-like face, and the article that tried to turn the competition into gossip fodder to sell more papers. Deep down she knew half of the traffic was lookie-loos who’d read the paper and wanted to see her in person, but their money filled her tills and she’d like to think she was one step closer to being accepted. Nothing said one of our own like being whispered about around town.
As the last hour crawled by, she turned Stella and nodded toward the front door. “Go ahead and cut out of here early.”
Her almond-shaped brown eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. You have a term paper to write, don’t you?”
She laughed. “I do.”
“Go on. It’s been dead. I can handle things for an hour.”
“Thank you, Ms. Rosaleen.”
She laughed. Oh, to be a young, college-aged procrastinator. Amused, she watched as the girl gathered her stuff and rushed off, mind already on the paper. Scribbling notes onto a sheet of loose-leaf she kept behind the counter, she worked on possible recipes for pumpkin rolls. She’d made two so far, and the third was baking. Tonight, she would sample and compare. Then she’d allow the girls to sample her two picks. Pleased with her progress, she tidied up around the store as she thought of how to put a spin on pumpkin bread and pumpkin pie without pissing off the judges. Mid-westerns liked their traditional flavors. They’d walk on the daring side but only if the payoff was worth taking a dip in the unknown waters. I could try a pumpkin spice bread. She thought of mimicking a pumpkin spice latte complete with a decadent topping. Excited, she began to assemble ingredients and prepare the bread to rise.
The oven beeped, and she rushed to the back, donning her Sailor Moon oven mitts. Removing the pumpkin roll from the tray, she allowed it to have enough time to cool to handle. Carefully peeling off the baking paper, she rolled it up in a towel, and set it aside to cool. Keeping an ear out for the bell, she began to make the frosting. The spiced pumpkin praline roll called for filling and coating. After measuring out the cream cheese, she added the other necessary ingredients and allowed the pink mixer to do its job.
The bell rang. “I’ll be right with you.”
She set the mixer on low, washed her hands, and spun on her heel. Rushing out, she came to an abrupt stop as Ryan appeared in the doorframe.
“What are you doing here? You can’t come back into this area.”
“I’m not just some customer.”