Hilary Fields - Bliss

“I have no intention of commenting on my girlfriend’s personal business. No man of any worth whatsoever would do so—not in private and sure as hell not in public.” His tone was so clipped, so fiercely leashed, that all the women held their breath, wondering when he’d lose it. “You want a statement? Print this, Ms. Pyle: It takes a man of extremely questionable character to say something of this nature in a public forum. Anything that comes out of Mr. Austin’s mouth is to be examined very closely as to motive. If he slanders Miss Wilde—”

“Libels,” muttered Marnie.

“If he speaks ill of her,” Asher said quellingly, “it’s due to some sick ‘shortcoming’ of his own. And while I won’t discuss the intimacy I am honored to share with Miss Wilde, there is one thing I will say—and say without hesitation. This woman I love is the finest pastry chef this city has ever seen—and there is no doubt in my mind that she can outbake Blake Austin any day of the week.”

Pauline stood up and cheered. “You tell ’er, hot stuff!”

The Back Room Babes clapped and whistled, stomping their feet.

“Ooh, hey!” cried Syna, shushing them with an impatient gesture. “That’s totally what we should do! Have a bake-off! We’ll teach that scuzz Blake a lesson and prove Sera’s the better chef!”

“Hells yeah, girl!” Aruni squealed, grabbing Friedrich’s arm hard in her excitement. She beamed at Sera. “You could so take that dude down in the kitchen! We’ll show everyone he’s full of shit and prove your baked goods are out-of-this-world orgasmic!”

Friedrich did not seem to mind Aruni’s viselike grasp, though he blushed at the word “orgasmic.”

The BRBs started throwing out ideas for how Sera could show up Chef Austin. Pauline and Hortencia got in a squabble about who got to be Sera’s trainer for the big showdown. But Sera couldn’t think about bake-offs or getting back at her ex-boyfriend. She was still reeling from what Asher had said—in front of all her favorite people and the press.

This woman I love.

Did he even realize he’d said the words? She dared a glance up at her newly designated boyfriend. He had eyes only for her, ignoring the fluttering BRBs and the avidly observing reporter. His gaze held everything she loved best about Asher: honesty, tenderness, and a wide-open window to his truly spectacular soul. And what she saw when she peered inside made her catch her breath.

Yup, he realized.

Sera’s eyes welled. She couldn’t look away, only blink rapidly as Asher returned to her side, kneeling at the foot of her chair. “I love you, Serafina Wilde,” he said. His eyes were molten gold with emotion. “I am very angry with you right now for not telling me about this business with Blake Austin, but I do love you, and I want to help you face whatever comes. Please don’t keep something like this from me again. Promise me, Bliss.”

Sera snarfed back a sob. She couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to cradle his face with both hands. “I promise. And, Asher…” She smiled tremulously. “I love you, too.”

When he captured her lips with his, it felt like fate.

When she turned back to the BRBs, she found her fate had already been sealed.

* * *

“Ladies, I can definitely make this happen.” Bobbie, looking self-satisfied, was patting her already perfectly curled bangs into place.

“How?” Hortencia wanted to know. “Austin’s not likely to accept Sera’s gauntlet just because she throws it down. What’s in it for him, besides total humiliation?”

“Don’t be a downer, Horsey,” Pauline scolded. “That’s where Ms. Pyle comes in.”

As one, the women turned to stare at the reporter, who wore a wary but intrigued expression. Conflict was her stock-in-trade, after all, and a feud between foodies was sure to spur circulation. As a springboard into investigative journalism, this wasn’t exactly the sort of story that got one nominated for the Pulitzer, but anything that increased her readership was a plus. Marnie cleared her throat. “What do you have in mind?”

“We want you to print a challenge to Chef Austin!” Aruni chirped, bouncing over to join the ladies with a sassy backward glance at the flustered Friedrich. “Right, ladies?” She checked with her sisters, who nodded confirmation, then plunked hands on hips and gave the reporter a gamine grin. “You send that windbag a straight-up dare to meet Serafina in the kitchen and she’ll prove once and for all who’s the best.”

“Where would you have this showdown?” Marnie wanted to know. “And when?” She was scribbling notes on her pad.

“That’s where I come in,” Bobbie said proudly. “I’m an events planner for the Santa Fe Winter Fiesta, which as you know is running all next week. I can absolutely slot in a cook-off, even last minute, and I’m sure we can sort out a venue. If you print the challenge, I’ll publicize the heck out of it all over town and let people know where to show up. It’ll be a sensation!”

“Yeah!” Syna chimed in. “Bill it as the great Cupcake Conflict or something. We can even get a production crew from Santa Fe Studios to come film it. My hubby works with a lot of those guys. Heck, the local news might even want to cover it. Or maybe it’ll get picked up by one of those reality TV cable channels!”

“Dear, I’m afraid there’s already a show like that,” Hortencia informed Syna. “Several, in fact.”

Pauline raised an eyebrow at her partner.

“What? I watch the Food Channel.”

“Hasn’t helped your cooking,” Pauline muttered.

“Anyhow,” Janice said. “Like studly said, our gal can beat the britches off that slimy scumbag when it comes to cookin’. Miz Pyle, all ya gotta do is print an item that invites people to judge for themselves who’s the better chef, promise lotsa free treats, and we’re in business. He won’t dare refuse, or he’ll look like he’s scared to face our Sera.”

Marnie coughed contemplatively. “Well, that would certainly address some of Chef Austin’s accusations, especially if Miss Wilde wins the contest. But I don’t see how it would counteract the comments about Miss Wilde’s more… personal… issues.”

The BRBs put their heads together, whispering.

Sera surfaced at last from Asher’s drugging kiss to the sound of some seriously intense muttering from her friends. From their expressions, they might have been debating anything from the right way to disable a nuclear reactor to the best brand of lube in Pauline’s back room.

“Wait, maybe we could…” murmured Syna, the gist of her suggestion inaudible to Sera.

“Nah, we’d probably get arrested if we tried that, but wouldn’t it be awesome if we could?” Aruni said sotto voce, shaking her curly head regretfully.

Bobbie touched her pearls and squinched her well-plucked brows together in consternation. “C’mon, Pauline, you’re our resident evil genius; help us out!” She gazed expectantly at their fearless leader.

But Pauline just flapped her hands at her minions. “Hush, women.” She flopped back in her armchair and gave her niece an assessing look that was nevertheless rich with pride…and respect. “I don’t know what you’re fretting about, you ninnies. You can quit your scheming. My Baby-Bliss has got this one in the bag.”

Oh, Pauline. Sera’s heart overflowed as she looked from the man she loved to the woman who had raised her to know she deserved it.

I’m damn well gonna give it my best shot.

The mixer blades beat with agonizing slowness.

Whomp.

A lifetime.

Whomp.

Two lifetimes.

Whomp.

Galaxies were born and died.

By contrast, Sera’s heart was pummeling her ribs like an overzealous karate instructor. Sweat beaded her upper lip, and she glared into the brushed aluminum bowl as if her will alone could froth the egg whites into the nice, stiff peaks she was after. But no matter how she fiddled with the switches on the stand mixer’s sides, the blades would not speed up. Her whites refused to foam. The pinch of salt she’d added did nothing to help. Or wait, had she accidentally used sugar? There was no time to start over. The meringue has to be ready in five minutes, and I still have to brown the tops! Shit, did I even set the oven?

She turned in a blind panic, flinging open the Blodgett’s gaping maw. No racks! What am I supposed to do without racks? I’ve got a hundred mini meringue pies to dish up, and no way to caramelize the crusts!

Wait… a brûlée torch! Gotta be a brûlée torch around here…

She patted her apron, she flung open cabinets. Not so much as a cardboard safety match to be found in the whole goddamn kitchen! Ever more frantic, knowing her whole career, her very happiness, depended upon success, Sera searched the space for something—anything—she could use. Her gasping breaths were the only sound, until…

Wham!

A booted foot sent the kitchen’s double doors swinging violently toward opposite walls. Into the breech stepped a figure in a billowing leather duster and a hat to match. From halfway across the steam-shrouded room, Sera could see Blake’s black eyes narrow with malice as he caught sight of her. His lip curled derisively. In slow motion, one hand rose lazily, brushed aside his heavy coat, and revealed the holster at his hip.

Heart pounding, Sera lunged for the gun belt she was somehow unsurprised to find strapped to her own side…

And came up holding a half-squashed chocolate éclair.