Better With You (Better Love 2)

I pull up to the bakery, park, and turn off the engine, then close my eyes and do some of Ivy’s breathing exercises. I recite the mantras we came up with last night, and I do as Jesse instructed. I manifest, even though neither he nor I have any real clue what the hell that means. I’m desperate enough at this point that I might even resort to praying.

I have to win this contest. I’m banking on it. Literally.

I made one-hundred and twenty-three bucks last night, but only forty of it went into my Crisco can. But with this prize money...

I’ve got two weeks.

Two weeks to be able to say it’s happening.

Two weeks before I can tell him, assure him, that I’m following through. That I’m not letting him down. I can’t start the ball rolling until I have the money, and I won’t have the money in time unless I win this contest.

I will win this contest.

I grab my cookies from the passenger seat and head into Bakery On Main where the contest is being held. Channel 5 News is already inside setting up cameras and lighting, and a young woman meets me at the door with a clipboard and a smile.

“Name?” she asks by way of greeting. Her pen is poised, ready to check me off her list of contestants, no doubt.

“I’m Bailey. Bailey Barnes.”

She takes a second to scan the page, scribbles something down, and then meets my eyes with a smile once more.

“Perfect! Follow me. We’ll get you all set up back here.”

She turns and weaves through the people, stepping over drop cords and smiling at everyone on the way. In the back of the room, there’s a long counter with five stations set up. Three contestants are already standing at the counter, setting their cookies on the provided display stands. On the side wall is another table, which I’m assuming is where the three judges will sit. Currently, the table is empty but for three name tags. From what I remember, one of the judges will be Suzette Carlier, the owner of Bakery On Main, but I’m not sure who the other two will be.

Bakery On Main isn’t a small space—it’s a decent-sized cafe, and students are usually in here studying or socializing any day of the week. Today, though, the store is closed to patrons, and with the camera equipment and banquet tables, it seems tiny. Closed-up. Tight.

I can’t even imagine how it will feel once the contestants’ guests arrive. There are five contestants including me, and each of us were allowed to invite up to four guests to watch the competition from inside the café. I only needed three of my guest tickets, but I have no idea how many people the other four contestants invited. I’m already feeling jumpy.

I try to ignore the ominous nerves swirling in my stomach.

Everything is going to be fine. I am prepared. I am ready. I will win.

The woman leads me to a back table and has me turn in my recipe card and sign a release form, then she hands me a nametag and tells me to take my cookies to the contestant table. I thank her, and head toward my competition.

“Hey,” I say as I set my cookies down in the fourth spot on the counter. “I’m Bailey.” I give the three strangers a small smile that probably looks more like a grimace, and they return it in kind. They each say their names, but I don’t actually retain them. I think one was Joe? Joanna? Whatever. They’re my competition. I’m not here to make buddy-buddy. I’m here to win.

I do a quick sweep of the room in search of the fifth contestant, but I don’t see anyone, so I get to work displaying my cookies. I’m placing one cookie on each of the three small plates for the judges when I hear a giggle. I look up, eager to see who my final rival will be, to find an absolutely gorgeous brunette.

She’s taller than me, with soft, subtle curves, and a lithe sort of grace. The caramel-colored highlights in her hair look like they probably cost as much as our rent payment. She’s dressed in a green blouse, sleek dark skinny jeans, and a pair of nude pumps. I bet her outfit alone could fund my mission and then some. I’d be able to get rid of my Crisco can and still have enough to get a new tattoo.

I’m surreptitiously surveying her when another body catches my attention, and when I flick my eyes to the movement, my heart jumps and I gasp.

Alex.

I can’t hold back the smile that takes over my face.

I was feeling so nervous, so damn scared, but seeing him puts me immediately at ease. And he looks good, too. Black dress slacks, grey fitted button down, and his hair is pulled back in a neat bun. Quite a sight for my tired eyes. I drink him in.

How did he know I would be here? Did he get my extra ticket from Ivy? I bet she reached out to him. She’s so fucking observant. Or it could have been Jesse. Him and his matchmaking. God, I’d be pissed at his meddling if I weren’t so damn excited. I heave a sigh of relief and wave a bit to catch Alex’s attention.

When he meets my gaze, my smile is huge, but his eyes widen in surprise.

Like he’s shocked to see me here.

I scrunch up my nose and cock my head to the side, giving a little what’s up? shrug, and I watch as his eyes jump to my cookie display, and then down to something he’s carrying.

Wait.

He’s carrying a container. Of cookies?

He looks back at me, face still in small animal stuck in headlights mode, and while I’m just as shocked to see him here, I can’t understand why he looks nervous. Scared, almost. Guilty?

No. No way.

He breaks eye contact when the same woman who greeted me at the door steps up to him, and I watch as they exchange words, and she checks something off on her clipboard. When she walks away, I wait for him to look back at me, but he doesn’t.

Okay.

Okay, so he’s a contestant.

That’s not a big deal. I didn’t really know he was into baking, but whatever. I mean, funfetti cupcakes? But I guess I know at least one of the other contestants isn’t a threat. I hope he’ll be cool with me beating him. My stomach clenches at the thought that he might hold a grudge, and I feel a brief moment of concern. But then I remind myself of my priorities, that winning this contest is essential. Plus, Alex and I have a connection, I think.

No, I’m certain.

I don’t know what it is, but we’ve got something, so I’m almost positive he won’t be angry when I beat him.

I take a breath and watch as he walks to the table with the release forms. When he’s finished there, he turns and heads in my direction, eyes glued to the container in his hands, and a prickle of ice skates down my spine. I keep my gaze on him, willing him to look at me, but he doesn’t. Not until he’s setting his container down at the station next to mine.

“Hey,” I say with a small laugh. “Sooo, this is surprising.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles nervously, busying himself with putting his cookies on his display stand, “surprising.”

He’s acting so strange. Like he doesn’t want me to be here. Is he competitive? Is that it?

“Hey, so, no hard feelings when I beat you,” I joke. I mean, I’m serious, but I say it playfully enough. “We’re still on for tonight no matter what, yeah?”

He looks up at me then, finally, and he opens his mouth to speak but doesn’t get the chance before we’re interrupted. The hottie with a body from earlier stands next to Alex and puts her hand possessively on his forearm, and my jaw clenches.

His body is rigid, her smile is blinding, and I just stand there and gape at the train wreck of an encounter that plays out in front of me.

“Riggs, you forgot your nametag,” she says, her voice sweet and lilting, and I want to vomit. Who the fuck is Riggs? Alex stares at me, eyes wide, until the woman tugs his arm to turn him in her direction.

“Here we go,” she croons, and presses the nametag to his chest, just over his right pec. Then, leaving her hand on his chest, she puts the other on his waist, and I swear I can’t breathe. “We have to make sure the judges know whose name to call when you win, right?”