The Bake-Off (32 page)

But this morning, everything had changed. And while facing a lobby full of strangers had been bad, she knew that facing Cam would be a thousand times worse.

As the elevator trundled up toward the penthouse, her apprehension mounted. Every time the digital display ticked up another floor, she reached toward the keypad, desperate to disembark.

But she rode all the way to the top of the South Tower, and she didn't allow herself a moment's hesitation before knocking at the penthouse.

When Cam opened the door, his body was impeccably attired in his usual suit and tie, but his face looked haggard. One hand held a glass full of ice cubes and Scotch.

“Let me guess,” he drawled, leaning against the doorframe. “You're here to seduce me.”

“No.” She gazed up him. “I'm here to explain.”

He continued to block the doorway and made no move to invite her in. “Why didn't you tell me you were here for Delicious Duet?”

“I'd never been in a baking competition before, and I don't like to fail at things. I don't like to be judged.”

“The list of things that you don't like just keeps getting longer.” He refused to make eye contact. “Out of idle curiosity, is there anything you
do
like?”

She kept her chin up, undeterred. “I like you. But the more I liked you, the less I wanted you to know about me. I kept thinking that I'd just spend fifteen more minutes with you, and that would be enough.”

He rubbed his jawline. “Fifteen minutes. Wow.”

“But fifteen minutes was never enough.”

The ice cubes clinked as he raised the tumbler to his lips and drained the remaining Scotch. “Here's what I can't figure out: Why did you let me burn the grilled cheese last night? Just so you could feel smug and superior about my incompetence?”

“Of course not. I can't make grilled cheese, either. The truth is, I'm a terrible cook.” She sighed and gave a quick rundown of the situation with Grammy Syl, the szarlotka recipe, and the brooch in the Las Vegas pawnshop. “And now she's sick, and I really, really want to get it back for her. She doesn't know I lost it. She gave it to me when I was younger, before we knew how my life was going to turn out. I know that's no excuse, but it's my only explanation.” She waited for him to respond, and when he didn't, she said, “Anyway, Amy's waiting downstairs in a cab. I promised her I'd be right back, and I don't want her to have to walk the gauntlet down there, so I have to leave.”

“Then leave.” He started to shut the door. “That's what you excel at.”

She closed her eyes. “Cam, I'm sorry.”

“I assume you've heard the gossip about the judge who got blackmailed last year? My brother was that judge. That's why I got named to the panel this year. I was supposed to redeem the family name.”

“Oh no.” She winced. “Is the fallout going to be really bad?”

He didn't answer her question, instead posing one of his own: “Why did you come up here to tell me all this?”

“Because I still want more than fifteen minutes with you.”

“Touching.” He threw her a sardonic smile. “But I'll have to think that over and get back to you.”

Linnie finally understood how it felt to be on the receiving end of such cold, detached deliberation.

 

“
H
ow'd it go?” Amy demanded as soon as Linnie ducked back into the cab.

“Could've gone worse.” She slithered down in her seat until her knees were jammed up against the divider and her head was hidden from view. “He could have actually stabbed me in the eye with a candy thermometer.”

“Well, I'm proud of you. That took guts.” Amy unzipped the inside pocket of her purse and pulled out a bag of peanut M&M's. “You deserve a special surprise.”

“Special surprise?” Linnie tore open the bag and tossed a few candies into her mouth.

“Yeah. I keep an emergency stash of candy at all times. Just in case I'm stuck in line at the post office or something with the kids and I need to break out the heavy artillery. Extra-good behavior merits an extra-special surprise. And PS, I like the red ones.”

“They all taste exactly the same,” Linnie said as the cab pulled out into the street.

“Not true. The red ones have a little extra something.” Amy cupped her palm, and Linnie picked out a few reds. “Thanks. Whew, what a morning. You know, not to get all schmaltzy, but I would hang out with you even if you weren't my sister.”

Linnie bit into the sweet spheres of chocolate and gave up trying to mentally prepare for a whirlwind cross-country trip with no set itinerary, no guarantees, and no baggage. The time had come to relinquish her control-freak ways and take life minute by minute. “Hey, I've been thinking. If you still want to get those matching tattoos, I'm in.”

Amy's jaw dropped. “Really?”

Linnie laughed. “No. But I had you going, didn't I?”

F
rom the outside, Longbourne Jewelry and Loan of Las Vegas looked more like a high-end luxury retailer than a pawnshop. There were no iron bars crosshatching the windows, no weeds or crumpled newsprint littering the walkway, no flickering neon sign. Instead, the storefront was tucked away in an upscale outdoor shopping plaza, with bright potted flowers flanking the doorway and a sparkling plate-glass window reflecting the late afternoon sun.

Amy could hardly wait to see what treasures lay inside. “My birthday is coming up. Do you think I could get a good deal on diamond studs or a tennis bracelet?”

Linnie's facial muscles started to twitch as they crossed the threshold. “Probably, but do you think you could really enjoy wearing jewelry that someone had to hock in a fit of desperation?”

“Yes,” Amy replied without a moment's hesitation. “The glitter would distract me from the guilt.”

While Linnie approached the clerk, Amy scanned the display cases. She saw Rolexes and pendants and even a jewel-studded tiara, but no brooch.

“I'm Linnie Bialek,” Linnie said to the guy behind the cash register. “I've been calling every day to check on the status of my grandmother's brooch.”

“Oh, sure. You're famous around here.” He regarded her with a mixture of awe and apprehension. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise.” Linnie opened her wallet and started thumbing through the dollar bills and taxi receipts. “We'd like to buy back the piece. I still have the original claim ticket. Hang on; I know I put it in here.”

The clerk shook his head. “Claim ticket doesn't matter. We don't hold anything once the grace period expires.”

“We don't have all the cash right now, but these should get us off to a good start.” Amy fanned out a trio of credit cards. “And I'm sure you can help us set up a payment plan for the rest. It'll mean so much to our poor grandmother, who's in the hospital. Really, I can't tell you how much we appreciate this.”

“Yeah. That's not gonna happen.”

“No, it'll be fine,” Amy assured him. “I'm talking a very short-term loan, just until I can meet with my bank and get some paperwork started. My credit's excellent—you can check.”

The clerk pushed the plastic cards back at her. “I don't know how to tell you this, but you're too late.”

“How can we be too late?” Linnie cried. “I called yesterday, and you said you still had it.”

“We did have it at that time. I'm sorry, but that's how it goes in this business.”

“So you . . . you just sold it?” Linnie said. “And nobody called me?”

Amy returned the credit cards to her handbag and kept dredging through the contents, as if she might find a time machine in there along with all the crumpled tissues and lipsticks and special surprise candy.

“No offense, but we don't have to call you for permission to sell our merchandise,” the clerk said to Linnie.

“But you knew I wanted it! That's . . . You . . . How . . . I'll . . .” Linnie sputtered and waved her hands.

Amy moved Linnie aside and took over. “Can you please tell us who the buyer is?” she asked the clerk.

He shook his head. “Our client information is confidential. The state of Nevada takes this stuff seriously.”

“I promise we're not going to do anything shady; we're just going to give the new owner a chance to make a really sweet deal.” Amy broke out her very sparkliest smile. “Pretty please?”

Another curt head shake.

So she pulled out her wallet and switched tactics. “I'll give you a twenty.”

He stared her down, impassive.

“Okay, a fifty. And I'll throw in a free teeth cleaning.”

“No.”

“Well, there has to be
something
we could do to change your mind.”

Now he looked alarmed, as though he suspected them of trying to catch him breaking the law on hidden camera. “No means no,” he said, his eyes darting around. “Don't make me call the cops.”

Linnie spun on her heel, caught Amy's hand, and marched toward the exit. “We're outta here.”

“Calm down.” Amy stumbled behind her as she tried to keep up. “He's just bluffing.”

“You might be willing to take that chance, but I am not. Spending the night in a Manhattan precinct is bad enough. I am not going to a Vegas holding cell. I'll die from the filth. I'll literally, physically die.”

Amy racked her brain, refusing to give up. “What are we going to do now?”

“Hope Grammy doesn't bring up the brooch again, and if she does, change the subject.” Linnie's complexion had taken on a grayish cast from the stress and fatigue, and her oversize white shirt was stained with cinnamon and pie filling. “Come on. Let's find a cab and get you back to the airport.”

“You're not flying back to JFK with me?”

“I live here,” Linnie reminded her. “My apartment is here, my job. Why would I go back to New York?”

“Because you have no choice. You have unfinished business.”

Linnie surprised her by nodding in agreement. “When does our flight leave?”

“Not till midnight. We're on the red-eye, baby.”

“So we have a few minutes?”

“And then some. Why?”

Linnie pivoted and ducked back into the pawnshop. “Because I think I may have found the perfect peace offering for the multimillionaire baking judge who has everything.”

L
innie and Amy straggled back into the hotel lobby the next morning, jet-lagged, discouraged, and sporting pink sequined T-shirts they'd bought from the airport gift shop in a desperate bid for clean clothes: GOOD GIRLS GO TO HEAVEN, BAD GIRLS GO TO VEGAS.

While Amy searched her pockets for their room key, Linnie approached the front desk and placed a package on the counter. “I'd like to leave this for Cam McMillan, please.”

The desk clerk picked up the phone, punched a red button on the keypad, and murmured two words into the receiver: “She's here.”

Moments later, Linnie heard Cam's voice behind her. “So, you've returned to the scene of the crime.”

She turned to face him, bracing for a fresh barrage of bitter accusations. But Cam appeared to have been replaced by a cardboard cutout of a corporate drone, cool and remote in his suit and tie. She had prepared herself for conflict and drama, but she had no idea how to thaw this psychological permafrost.

Fortunately, Amy jumped in to fill the awkward pause. “Hey, thanks for being so understanding about the late checkout.”

Cam remained the picture of politeness. “It's our pleasure. I hope you enjoyed your stay.”

“Feel free to charge my credit card for the extra night. Oh, and I raided the minibar, too. I owe you guys a bottle of sparkling water and a box of truffles.”

“Consider it a gift from the hotel.” Cam glanced back at Linnie for a moment. “That's quite a fashion statement.”

“I only wear pink under duress.” She cleared her throat. “I'll get your shirt dry-cleaned and send it back.”

“That won't be necessary.” His gaze remained shuttered.

She didn't know what else to say, so she handed him the heavy oblong box, her fingers brushing against his as she did so.

Amy was practically bouncing with anticipation. “Open it!”

As Cam untied the twine and lifted off the lid, his expression softened. He stared at the contents of the box, then finally made eye contact with Linnie. “It's . . .”

“Rosewood and ebony,” Linnie supplied. “And antique. I think.” The pawnbroker had assured her that the intricately carved chessboard was a collector's set, but she hadn't really been paying attention. She'd been too busy thinking about what Cam would say when he saw it, if he would look at her the way he had when they'd first played by moonlight.

“I know you have to think things over and get back to me, but when you're ready, maybe we could have a rematch.” She flipped back her hair with a saucy little smile. “And this time, I'd even let you win.”

Amy's eyebrows shot up.

His stony facade finally cracked. “Let me win?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “As an act of contrition.”

For a moment, she thought she'd pushed too hard, risked too much. Then he handed the chess set to Amy and reached for Linnie.

“I'm all done thinking it over.” He pulled her in for a kiss. “Let's get cracking on that rematch.”

She gave herself over to the moment, returning the kiss without a shred of self-consciousness and threading her fingers through his hair. By the time they came up for air, his perfect coif was mussed and his jacket lapels were askew.