All’s Fair In Love and Cupcakes Page 6

  If she actually moved to New York.

  He pointed Tyler toward the water table, grateful for the temporary distraction. “Good job today, man. I see improvement.” Thank goodness. Maybe things were finally better at home and his focus had cleared a little. He wouldn’t ask right now, in case it hadn’t. No need to remind the kid of his struggles.

  “Thanks, Coach.” Tyler’s face lit up as he shucked his helmet and grabbed a paper cup. Compliments meant so much to the boy. Lucas hated he couldn’t do more for him. But he’d be okay while he was in LA. Unnerving sometimes how much people depended on him. Tyler, his entire team, Kat . . .

  A sliver of doubt cast a long shadow. They might be able to do without him for a week, but what would they do if he ever really failed? If he called the wrong play?

  He adjusted his ball cap. No, Kat’s insecurities were rubbing off. He was strong and capable. He could carry it all, just like he’d always done. As a fourth grader, mowing lawns to help his single mom make rent. As a tenth grader, scaring off the sharks who circled his mother like she was easy prey.

  As a college student, laying a rose on her casket.

  He knew what it was to be alone, to have to be strong whether or not you felt the strength. He’d figured that out by the grace of God and the influence of a couple of godly men over the years who stepped up at church to help him navigate a fatherless existence.

  And just like those men had filled the gaps for him, somehow he’d help Tyler get through this rough season and prepare for college and help Kat win this competition and gain what she needed. He’d step in for those who lacked, substitute for those who couldn’t give. Protect. Assist. Provide.

  It was what he’d always done, and what he did best.

  If he didn’t, who would?

  His cell vibrated in his pocket. Probably Darren, since he forgot to text him back about grabbing a pizza before he left for LA. He cast a quick glance at the display screen. Nope. It was the realtor who was helping him acquire his land. His heart pounded in anticipation as he jabbed the Accept button. Maybe they’d accepted the offer. “This is Lucas.”

  “Lucas, it’s Tony.”

  His grim tone doused Lucas’s hopes, and he gripped the phone tighter. “What’s up, man?”

  “Bad news. They countered your offer again, and I hear through the grapevine there’s now another bidder who isn’t playing around.”

  That was bad news—actually, a lot of bad news for one day. He rubbed his hand down his jaw, mind racing with figures. He could counter back. Again. But not with a lot. Would it be enough to stave off the second bidder? “Go up another five grand.”

  Papers rustled. “Are you sure?”

  Sure? About finally having his own permanent spot in Bayou Bend, about a house and land and the restoration of his childhood spent penny-pinching to afford a two-bedroom rental with no central heating and air?

  Sure about a future with Kat?

  He tightened his grip on his cell. “Sign the dotted line, man. Whatever it takes.”

  New York would just have to stay where it was.

  Kat debated sitting on her suitcase to zip it, but then she’d only wrinkle the new tops Rachel had talked her into getting, and the little black dress that had taken Rachel, the sales clerk, and an unbiased third-party customer to convince her to buy.

  Her credit card hadn’t seen so much action since before her student loans had been paid off.

  “We’re going for a week, Kat. Not for a month.” Lucas shoveled another handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Come on, you’re supposed to be taking notes.” He gestured to the TV, where they’d been watching reruns of Cupcake Combat, trying to read between the airwaves to glean as much as they could about what happened behind the scenes.

  So far, all they’d concluded was the host desperately needed different hair product.

  Kat looked up from where she knelt beside her suitcase on the living room floor and squinted at the TV as another contestant panicked over the rapidly ticking clock. “I’m watching and packing.” And trying not to freak out over the fact that in a few days, that would be her on camera scrambling around like a headless chicken. Would she bark orders at Lucas like that one girl had done to her mother? Would she nearly run into another contestant with a hot tray on the way back to her station from the industrial ovens?

  Would her cupcakes make that one judge’s lip curl in distaste like that last baker’s?

  “Packing’s done. Your suitcase is closed.” Lucas threw a kernel at her, wrenching her from her fears.

  She ducked. “Closed, but not zipped. There’s still time to switch something out.”

  “As long as you don’t add to it.” He hesitated. “I assume I’m supposed to wrestle that monster around the airport?”

  She grinned, and he changed the subject.

  “I really don’t like that one judge.” He was ignoring her suitcase now, which was fine. It gave her permission to change her mind about that dress—though Rachel would kill her. If she found out . . . no, she’d find out. Because she’d ask. Forget the show—the dress and Lucas’s opinion of it would be the first thing out of her friend’s mouth after their plane landed and they were home.

  “I’m serious.” Lucas pointed a buttery finger at the judge, the gray-suited one who always sat at the end of the panel. “Thad, or whatever his name is. He’s . . . he’s so . . .”

  She followed his gaze to the screen. “Well dressed?”

  “No, more like—”

  “Attractive?”

  Three more kernels flew her way. “No. I was going to say—”

  “Clever?”

  He glared, and she couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. It was after ten o’clock, she’d worked all day, packed all evening, and their plane left in fewer hours than she’d like to count. She’d slipped right past exhausted and was barreling headfirst toward delirious.

  She fought a yawn. “I should get to bed.” Watching Cupcake Combat hadn’t helped prepare either of them. All it had done was make her doubt which recipes to take along to study on the plane and wonder if the supply shelf of ingredients on the show was really as thorough as it appeared to be. Would they have sweet potatoes and maple syrup there for her favorite autumn buttercream? Should she smuggle some in herself? Was that even allowed?

  The information she’d received hadn’t helped much. Though maybe that was intentional, and the constantly panicked expressions on the contestants’ faces weren’t exaggerated for ratings after all.

  “You don’t want to see who wins?” Lucas stood up and brushed popcorn bits from his jeans, then knelt and began plucking them from the floor. Good man. He’d learned.

  “Let’s pretend I win.” She might.

  Maybe.

  A fresh batch of nerves seized her stomach, and she rubbed her finger over the polka-dotted pattern of her suitcase. Aunt Maggie didn’t seem to think she’d win, and her mom—well, enough about that. Her dad had seemed sincere about wishing her well, yet cautious, as if she might accidentally stroll into some sort of sin-coated avenue just because she was leaving the Bible Belt. Stella had just asked if she was getting her hair done before she went. When she’d reminded her sister this was work, not a pageant or some college party, she’d gotten a half-sigh, half-snort in response.

  Funny how it was possible to sense someone rolling their eyes from the other side of a phone line.

  She flopped open the lid of her suitcase and stared at the dress, peeking between the sleeves of a heather-gray sweater. Stella would love the new dress, which was reason enough to leave it behind.

  But what if Lucas loved it too?

  The dress stayed.

  She dropped down on her suitcase and wrenched the zipper around before she could change her mind. There. It was done.

  Lucas tossed the spilled popcorn into the trash can. “In a week or so, we just might be able to say that you won for real.” He walked over and offered his hand. “If I was a betting man, I’d put a
wager on you.”

  “What do you mean, if? I recall stories of a certain first grader making more than his fair share of jelly beans off the playground.” She welcomed his help to her feet, though she wobbled once she regained her footing. The spicy scent of his cologne sent her senses reeling, and she backed up a step. Whoa. She must be really tired. She’d smelled Lucas how many times a day over the course of their friendship?

  “I’d bet on you any day.” His voice lost the teasing tone and took a serious nosedive that sent her stomach reeling.

  “At least someone would.” She shook her head. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to send an invite to a pity party. Just . . . it’s hard to be misunderstood.” And underestimated. And undervalued.

  Unless they were right.

  Lucas stood her suitcase upright and began wheeling it toward the front door. “I really love your dad, but, Kat, your family’s crazy not to be supporting you better than this.”

  Or maybe they were normal, and she was crazy.

  He strolled back over to her, closer than before, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked up into his eyes and saw the same Lucas she’d always seen. Stoic. Dependable. Trustworthy.

  And capable of sending her hormones into a frenzy.

  “I need you to do me a favor.” He dropped his hand to his side, but held her gaze with his own. “I’m serious.”

  “What, you want me to promise to bake extra cupcakes for you after taping?” She offered a laugh she didn’t believe, partially because that was what Lucas always said before cracking a joke—and partially to break the tension between them she wasn’t even sure he felt.

  He didn’t smile. “No. I need you to give yourself a break, and really go for this.”

  Oh. He was serious.

  He took a half-step closer, and his fingers brushed the length of her arm. “Forget what your family thinks. You have to believe in yourself if you expect the judges to.”

  She nodded, rolling in her lower lip and averting her gaze to the TV to hide her reaction to his proximity. Right. The judges. Because that’s what this was about.

  “I’ll try.” She edged away, moving to the kitchen to start throwing away trash from their fast-food dinner and to take a breath that wasn’t laced with his cologne. Would things ever feel normal between them again? What if he picked up on her feelings while they were gone? It wasn’t as if Lucas was thinking about the next level—not when he’d signed her up for a show that meant potentially living half a country away for a year or longer.

  Though on second thought, he’d seemed a little surprised by the internship grand prize. Had he really not known?

  Did it matter?

  Not really. She was foolish for thinking a new dress would make an ounce of difference. Lucas saw her as a friend, nothing more. Best friend, for that matter, which was a vital status she wasn’t willing to lose. As much as her heart thudded a contradiction, she couldn’t risk anything more between them, even if he ever did show interest.

  Because if she lost Lucas, what would she have left?

  Thirty thousand feet above the ground, and all Lucas could think about was his own lack of courage.

  And it had nothing to do with flying.

  His heart was throwing out so many contradictions that he didn’t recognize truth anymore.

  He leaned his head against the back of the airplane seat, then removed his hat that got in the way and dropped it in his lap. From the aisle seat, Kat dozed, mouth slightly open and one leg curled underneath her in what had to be a surefire way of putting her foot to sleep. The slight strains of Sinatra’s “Come Fly with Me”—fitting—drifted through one of the earbuds that had fallen from her ear and dangled across her lap. She’d literally talked nonstop, as she always did when she got nervous, until she stumbled into a nap. He’d tucked her hoodie around her like a blanket before leaning against the window to try to sleep himself.

  But the thoughts wouldn’t let up. Neither would the low drone of the two businessmen sitting behind them, discussing stocks and other things that Lucas should probably know more about. Somehow, though, he doubted either of those Suits knew when to call a screen pass or a flea-flicker, so . . .

  So . . . wow. Kat’s insecurity was really rubbing off on him. Lucas pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly. He’d never been threatened by the intellectual type before—or any type, for that matter. He knew his strengths and weaknesses and played accordingly. What was wrong with him? Why the sudden need to compare?

  He cast another look at Kat, whose hair had fallen halfway over her makeup-free face as she slept, and he knew the answer deep in his gut.

  Guilt.

  He felt guilty—not for signing her up for the show, but for the train of thought careening out of control in his mind. For all his pep talks to her about believing in herself, for all his grumbling about her family’s lack of support, he didn’t want Kat to win.

  He wanted her to lose.

  Talk about a scumbag.

  Clouds obscured his view out the window, so he pulled the shade and cracked the tension out of his neck. He had to quit projecting. Trying to feel superior to some random guys behind him just to make himself feel better about his secret hopes wasn’t the answer.

  The businessmen’s conversation turned from stocks to sports. Great. One of them coached peewee hockey, and the other was a former college football sensation he would have recognized had he heard the guy’s name sooner.

  God had to be chuckling.

  The attendant wheeled by with her cart, and Lucas shook his head at the offer of overpriced chocolate, then thought better of it and shelled out a ridiculous amount of cash to secure Kat a package for later. She loved anything she deemed “souvenir food.” Maybe she’d find a way to work it into a recipe.

  Lucas sipped on the Coke he’d brought with him from the airport and then tucked the bottle into the back of the seat in front of him. Chocolate and Coke. Pretty unstoppable combo—surely Kat could do something amazing with that on the set.

  His mood lightened. See, he could do the right thing. He was already thinking of ways to help Kat during the competition. He could be trusted to carry this burden on the sidelines and give her his best on the field. Or rather in the kitchen.

  Maybe there was hope that once they got settled in the studio and started taping, he would see it all differently. Feel differently. He had to support Kat, regardless of his personal desires for the outcome. Whether she won or lost, he had to do everything he could to be her rock.

  He couldn’t let her crumble.

  Hopefully, her cupcakes wouldn’t either. Kat never had to work under that kind of pressure before—all of her baking outside of Sweetie Pies had been in the comfort of her own kitchen, without a ticking clock and judging eyes. He had to make sure she didn’t bomb on national television, or this entire plan to bring her out of her shell and push her ability—and self-esteem—into the limelight would backfire miserably.

  Not to mention the sub-plan of winning her heart.

  Though if she won the competition, she’d be moving. And in his gut he knew that if Kat left Bayou Bend, she wouldn’t be back. She’d been dreaming of escape for far too long to ever return. That caged bird would fly.

  And he’d be left surrounded by a lot of land, too many empty rooms, and a flurry of feathers.

  He shifted in the uncomfortable seat, accidentally knocking into Kat’s arm resting on the bar between them. She turned toward him, hair still covering half her face, and licked her lips before settling back into sleep. She had to be exhausted after yesterday’s hectic pace of preparing for the trip. He should have left her house sooner, but he couldn’t shake the thought that that night was their last. Before everything changed, one way or another.

  He brushed Kat’s hair off her face and let his knuckles linger against her cheek a moment longer than necessary. Things were definitely changing, for better or for worse.

  Unfortunately, right now it didn’t seem possible t
o have one without the other.

  seven

  She really should have worn makeup.

  Kat gazed over the top of the taxi at the rows of palm trees lining the median of LAX as Lucas and the driver shoved their suitcases into the trunk. She’d seen palm trees before, of course, when on the beach in Alabama as a teenager. But this was LA. Even their palm trees had a glamorous edge to them—though the cloudy sky seemed foggier than she’d expected. She’d kept a close eye out for celebrities as they funneled through the airport, collected their baggage, and hailed a taxi outside the terminal, to no avail. But really, would she even recognize any if she saw them? That was more Stella’s thing. Besides, she didn’t really want to run into her favorite actor without makeup on.

  One thing was certain. “We are so not in Kansas anymore.”

  Lucas snorted as the driver slammed the trunk lid and went to his side of the car. “Okay, Dorothy. Time to quit drooling and get in the cab.”

  “Sure thing, Coach.” She stressed the title to remind him as she always did when he was teetering on the edge of bossy, then slid into the backseat first. She fought the urge to press her nose against the glass like a child.

  She’d woken up as soon as the plane had begun its descent, and it seemed like she hadn’t shut her mouth in wonder since. Hopefully, the awe factor of being in California would fade a little before she got on set tomorrow, or she’d make an idiot of herself. She might be small-town, but she didn’t have to act like it. At least she’d gotten a good nap on the plane, so the time difference shouldn’t be an issue later.

  Assuming she could sleep tonight at all. Her orders were to be at the studio by seven a.m., and from the parade of nerves prancing through her belly, she had a feeling counting sheep wasn’t going to cut it.

  Speaking of naps . . . She glanced sideways at Lucas’s stoic profile as he gazed, seemingly unimpressed, out his window at the traffic. He’d been grumpy ever since they landed—too bad he hadn’t snoozed like she had.