“I got in.” Robin took up Grandpa’s hands and danced him around the kitchen.
He laughed, then pulled her to a stop. “Got in what? Or where?”
“Distinctive Bakes!” Joy burbled up in Robin. Did the kitchen always have this glow?
“Slow down,” her grandma said. “What’s Distinctive Bakes?”
“That photographer I told you about entered me into a bake-off competition sponsored byLa Patisserie, the magazine. Their annual Distinctive Bakes America competition is in New York City in two weeks. I won a spot.” Robin turned her phone around to show her grandparents. “I’m going to New York.” She squealed and did jazz hands. “Can you believe it?”
Her grandparents exchanged a look.
Uh-oh.
Her heart dropped at least three feet. “I mean, if you can spare me here.” Her grandparents needed her. They’d only just gotten home. Of course she couldn’t run off to New York. “Never mind. You just got home. I’ll tell them I can’t come.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course you have to do it.” Her grandma put a hand out for the phone. “This looks amazing. We’re home now. We’ll bake the bread. We believe in your talent.” She held the phone so Grandpa Jim could see the screen more closely.
“Your grandma is right,” he said. “Besides, we’ve run this bakery for almost fifty years without you. I think we can manage to keep it going while you are in New York.”
Robin clasped her hands to her chest. “Thank you! I’m so thrilled!” Maybe if she won some prize money, she could figure out a way to bake cakes right here in Deep Haven. Imagine how Sammy’s face would look if she said she would stay. She retrieved her phone from Grandma Elaine and read through the details again. “This says I need to bring an assistant. Grandma, would you want to come?”
“I’m honored that you would ask me, honey. But we just got home.” Her grandma glanced at Grandpa Jim, and Robin read her concern for him in the look. “Is there someone else you can call?”
There was only one other person she’d want working alongside her.
She dialed his number. “Sammy, how would you like to go to New York?”
* * *
Deep Haven seemed very far away.
Sammy stood in the ballroom at the Marriott in downtown New York City. The space had been transformed into a baking paradise. Ten workstations, staggered throughout the room, contained an oven, fridge, and stainless steel work countertops. At each station, an apron-clad pair of bakers rummaged through their ingredients, readying their space for the competition. Near the front of the room was the judging area. Several long, empty tables waited for the day’s offerings. Three judges would decide the fate of the teams. There was a second round of competitions for junior bakers the next day.
The warmth of the room belied the Saturday morning March chill of the air just out the window.
In their station, he and Robin laid out their own ingredients. Thank goodness their setup was similar to the one at Fox Bakery with the fridge to the left, workbench in the center, oven on the right, and a wash station kitty-corner to that. When his nerves came knocking, muscle memory could take over.
“Do you need me to go over the plan again?” Robin asked. He longed to stroke the auburn curl that had escaped the scarf she’d tied over her hair, but stopped himself.
He held up his laminated 3x5 cards. “I think this detailed agenda is all I need.” He’d practically memorized the step-by-step instructions. Pretending it was a football play had gone a long way. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” He flipped through the cards again, the final card a copy of the rules of the competition. Each team had to present their cakes before a panel of three judges. They would be ranked based on taste and difficulty. Besides fame, the top three teams would be featured inLa Patisserieand given a cash prize.
He glanced at the clock. T-minus twenty minutes until they officially began. He tucked the 3x5 cards into the back pocket of his jeans, keeping them close by for reference.
He hadn’t slept well the night before, this time an unfamiliar bed keeping him awake instead of the customary nightmares. They’d flown in from Minnesota the previous afternoon, him dragging his luggage and a bag filled with Robin’s supplies. He shook his head, tried to wrap his mind around the fact that, yes, Robin had asked him to be her baking assistant and, yes, they were in New York, New York.
He’d been in some big cities when was in the Army, but never New York. He hoped they’d get a chance to see some sights after the competition. Maybe even a carriage ride through Central Park.
Robin paced the seven steps their workstation occupied. The tile was going to be permanently dented if she didn’t stop. Not that he could blame her—he was about to start pacing too. He put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her progress.
“Robin. Look at me.” He waited for her to meet his eyes. “You’re gonna do great. Let’s breathe.” He took a deep breath in and waited for her to mimic him, then blew it out slowly. They repeated the procedure. The panicked look receded from her eyes.
“Thanks. I needed that.” Robin tucked her hands into the pocket on the front of her rust-colored apron. “Maybe I’m putting too much pressure on myself for this thing. But winning this contest would be huge for my career. I know winning isn’t everything, but I can’t help but feel that this is my one chance to do something meaningful.”
“I get that.” He tugged her hands out of her pocket and held them between his, rubbing them to warm them. “You’ve practiced so hard, and now it’s go time. It’s normal to have a few nerves. But this contest doesn’t define you. It can’t change how amazing you already are.”
“Why do I feel like I’m the only one who doesn’t belong here?” Robin gripped his hands tight. “I keep thinking someone is going to call me out for being a fraud.”
Wow, the crack that Victor had made in her armor ran deeper than he thought. Or maybe Victor had just confirmed all Robin’s lies. In that moment, he knew he would do whatever it took to help her believe in herself.
