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Dirty Little Midlife Debacle
A DELICIOUSLY FUNNY ROMANTIC COMEDY
CHAPTER 1
Jen
I like to win.
Mostly, when I put my mind to it, I do.
But this particular challenge…I’m not sure I can pull it off.
A big farmhouse looms in front of me, imposing with its white siding, black shutters, and gently pitched roof. It would be idyllic, if not for the army of TV-production ants carrying various pieces of equipment and thick rolls of cable currently rushing in and out of every door. To my left a huge barn yawns open, and I can see neat rows of kitchen islands lined up to face in one direction. Scattered around the vast surrounding land, nestled in copses of trees and patches of grass, are a number of guest cabins.
The Heart’s Cove Manor Retreat has been repurposed for a televised baking competition—and I let my publisher persuade me to participate.
I may have insinuated I thought I would win.
So, you know. No pressure.
“You must be Jen!” A man in his late twenties wearing a headset with the wire dangling down to a device clipped to his belt comes hurrying toward me. He’s thin, with dark navy jeans and a slim-fitting black tee. With a mess of blond curls on his head and a broad, disarming smile, the man spreads his arms. “Welcome, welcome. I’m Gus.”
“Hi, Gus,” I answer, shaking the hand he shoves toward me.
“I’ll be helping you get settled. If you need anything, let me know.” He flashes his wide smile at me again, but it doesn’t unknot any of the tension worming around my belly.
I have the sneaking suspicion I may have bitten off more than I can chew.
My eyes drift back to the barn. I wonder if Gus will let me back out of the competition, get in my car, and drive far, far away. Maybe he’d let me jump in a time machine and go back to the day I agreed to this stupid idea.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Gus beams, following my eyes to the barn. “We’ve been working for weeks to get the set prepared. I can’t wait for you to find out what the judges have planned for you. This show is going to be huge. Huge.” He spreads his arms wide as if to say, this big, then swings his gaze back to me with a decisive nod. “You’ll love it.”
“What happens to the barn once filming is over?”
“Well, that was serendipity. The managers at the manor have been wanting to offer cooking classes, and we at the show were happy to renovate the space—in exchange for a lower rate for the rooms, of course. We’ll leave the amenities when we leave.”
“Huh.”
“Enough of that, though. Follow me!”
Before I can react, Gus is halfway across the lawn, striding to the farmhouse’s front door. I grab my bag from the back seat of my car, which is parked in a gravel area at the front of the house, and hurry behind Gus.
When we reach the entrance, he glances over his shoulder. “I went to Four Cups this morning and tried one of your croissants. Divine.” He kisses his fingers. “The crew have a betting pool going, and you’re my pick to win this thing.”
“Oh, great.” I give him a weak smile. Pressure squeezes a little tighter around my chest.
Four Cups is the café that I part-own with my three closest friends. I’m in charge of all things related to baked goods and have made a bit of a name for myself in Heart’s Cove, our little Northern California town of artists and eccentrics.
I wish I was in the Four Cups kitchen right now. Being neck-deep in experimental recipes and baking chemistry would be much, much preferable, but then I wouldn’t get the chance to win the hundred-thousand-dollar prize. My brand-new recipe book wouldn’t get beamed to a whole new audience, and I’d stay stuck in the same comfort zone I’ve been in for years.
So even though all I want to do is bolt, the logical part of me tells me to stay. Staying means opportunity, and opportunity means career advancement. Haven’t I already sacrificed a lot to get here? Why stop now?
Plus…I do really like to win.
Still, I can’t quite shake the feeling that this is a mistake.
I don’t do television or public appearances, and if I’m honest, I mostly avoid social interaction—unless I’m already comfortable with whoever it is I’m supposed to be interacting with. I might as well have INTROVERT tattooed in big, black letters across my forehead.
