Beyond Love - Chapter 33: Chapter 33

It didn't take Shea very long to narrow in on my main concern, stopping the cart to turn around and wave the anxiety off my face.
"Look, there wasn't any coordination whatsoever, so it's not like we didn't expect this," she lowered her voice and nudged my feet to move. "Strawberry shortcake's bound to be more than one bakery's specialty—but who gives a damn when we've got the best."
I laughed nervously. "Uhhuh, maybe that's what all of them are thinking too."
We wheeled the slices of shortcake over towards a fancy table with our bakery's name labelled by an acrylic card display with several assistants hurrying to catch up from behind. By the time all four carts arrived at our station, Shea and I had already started on the arrangements, mostly according to the mock-up that I had drawn the night before.
"More shortcake?"
I looked up to see a passing guest shake his head as he walked away, probably upset by the clashes of best-sellers. Meaning that they'd lose out on variety.
Mr. Dempsey must have it hard, then. It's almost impossible to prevent a repeat of best-selling pastries since only customers could determine the actual product from sales and all participants are likely to bring their best and nothing else. Choosing to bring along their second best just because another patisserie shared the same best-selling item would only put them at a disadvantage.
"Is that strawberry shortcake?" I heard someone whisper from behind yet again and had turned away from my arrangement to see who it was.
A pastry chef with a nametag fastened to her apron was looking at our display with a curious eye. Her tag read: Cuppie's Cupcakes.
"Um, yes...they are."
"I love strawberry shortcake!" She piped, adjusting the huge pair of glasses that was sliding off the bridge of her nose. They reminded me of my own glasses. "I'm kinda lucky that two other bakeries are doing strawberry shortcakes too. That just means I get to eat more of them," she laughed, eyeing our cakes with a grin.
"R-really? But...so you're having shortcake too? But—isn't it bad that we clash?" I asked anxiously, peering over at the table of the pastry shop that she worked for. Or...was she the owner?
"I guess it might be, if you put it that way. But you know," the pastry chef looked towards the very first table of the row, which also displayed three whole strawberry shortcakes. "I like that I get the chance to taste strawberry shortcakes and learn something about them that I might not know yet, or be inspired by what they have. After all, isn't perfection a process and not an end in itself?"
She gazed up at me (just a little, we were both generally short) with a gleam in her eyes and I laughed.
"That's a good way to look at it," I sighed, admitting quietly. "Um, sorry about that. I-I was just a little nervous about everything. It's my first time here, you see...and I don't have a clue as to why I was invited at all."
"It's my first time too!" She gasped, lowering her voice. "Can we be friends? Do you know anyone else here? Do you think I'm asking too many questions? Gosh, I'm so scared."
Mood. I nodded in understanding, finishing up the last of our arrangements so that Shea and the other event assistants could wheel the carts aside.
"Of course! I...I'd love to have friends," I ended up saying. Wow Chip, that is some high-levelled social aptness you're exhibiting right there mmhm. That's why you don't have any friends in the first place, h-ha!
"I-I mean, um. I'd love to be your friend. Or have friends here, I mean. Because I barely know anyone here too."
Miss-nice-pasty-chef giggled. "Aw, you're so sweet. I go by Cuppie! I bake mostly cakes or cupcakes. And macarons. Stuff like that! You?"
"Chip Honeycutt-Jaxon," I had pulled through decently-well to arrive at the stage of self-introductions before scaring human beings away. "I really like baking hot cross buns and all sorts of cupcakes. A-and anything with strawberries, actually."
Cuppie's lips formed into an 'o', somehow impressed. "You like strawberries? Me too! Ah, but it's such a coincidence that all three of us have strawberry shortcakes as best-sellers, though. I heard ARCD's a first-timer too!"
"ARCD...?" The name sounded strangely familiar, though it was just the acronym that I'd heard.
"Gosh, I'm really bad with names but its something like Angel something Cupcakes—or was it cakes—for Devils. I can only remember the angel and devil thing 'cuz the rest of it just slipped me, so," she laughed sheepishly, pointing towards the very first display. "Anyway, that's the one. The chef's the owner herself, and she was the only one who brought in whole cakes instead of samples."
Ah...the new bakery café down the street. No wonder it sounded familiar.
Nevertheless, I was getting jittery with nerves just by knowing that the owner of ARCD, a popular city brand was here as well. I could only pray that they were living under a pebble and hadn't heard about the online competition and conflict, or that they were kind enough to close one eye.
Either way, the term 'whole cakes' was far from an accurate description of their best-selling pastry. It was a piece of art. The extravagance and artistry of each and every swirl of icing, shaped like a rose, filled every side of the cake and on top of it—seven strawberries that were cut so delicately precise that they looked like roses.
My confidence level fell like my shoulders did but something else was reminding me that I didn't exactly know how it would taste like either. The latter part did not cheer me up in any manner.
As I was busy with my own thoughts, Shea and Cuppie had introduced themselves to each other and my sister had taken the liberty to share about the online drama between us and ARCD.
"I don't think I can force even the stiffest smile in the universe if I ever see that bitch in the face," Shea rolled her eyes and folded her arms. "I mean it's probably the people who actually like their cakes that I blame more but I mean, it's the cakes themselves too for being overly decorative with absolutely no sense of taste. What, did they forget that the five senses include taste as well? I just..."
Pulling my sister away before she could launch into more unrestrained rants at any nice stranger who would hear about her concerns, I bid farewell to Miss Cuppie and headed over to the reception area with Shea to register.
"Hi, um, we're here to register," said pebble-awkward-pebble me to the assistant at the registration counter in front of the reception area.
"May I have the name of your patisserie?"
"It's Baked Love."
She nodded, running through the list—ticking away before telling me to check the details and sign under my name. "You are the owner, sir?"
"Yes, um, that's me," I responded intelligently.
"Ah! Your nametags are with Mr. Dempsey. He's in-charge of facilitating those he's invited. Here," the assistant produced a tray of chilled chocolate eclairs. "Take some. And do feel free to speak to other chefs before the opening ceremony."
Shea and I couldn't resist chocolate eclairs. One each and we were off to the pagoda where the opening ceremony would take place, admiring the flowers and trees in the greenhouse along the way.
Just as we finished the tiny portion of dessert (and I was left desperate with more), my sister tapped me on the shoulder and glanced in a certain direction. I followed her gaze, spotting a familiar figure making his way over to us with two glasses of orange juice in hand.
"Isn't that the critic that gave you a terrible review?" She whispered-hissed and I gave her a look. She grumbled under her breath.
"Thank you for coming," Mr. Dempsey began as soon as he was within earshot. "You had a pleasant journey, I hope?"
"Terri—"
"It was great," I placed a hand on Shea's arm, cutting in with the most natural smile I could manage (I-I don't think I pulled it off). "Thank you so much for inviting us. I was really surprised! And honoured, really." My sister huffed, staying silent nevertheless.
"Hm. You're very welcome," Mr. Dempsey said rather stiffly, handing each of us a glass of orange juice. "Here. As an apology. Some things I've said may have led you to believe that I...have a certain distaste for orange juice. I want you to know that that is not the case."
I laughed, finding it increasingly easy to smile. "Then Vanilla must have taken to orange juice because of you, sir."
"Not really, no," the critic sighed shortly. "His mother used to make it for him every morning. Also, I'd like to clarify that I am not apologizing for the written review. Or the advice that I first gave you regarding profit margins. I still stand by my opinion."
He cleared his throat. "I am merely apologizing on the account of the unfortunate orange juice that happened to be the thing you were selling outside your bakery."
Shea was trying her best not to laugh (and I wasn't exactly helping). A closer look at Mr. Dempsey made him out to be something like an awkward father-figure, who didn't exactly know what to say other than work-related things.
"Don't worry about it, Mr. Dempsey," I reassured, going for a light-hearted comment. "No oranges were harmed in the making of your advice."
To my (and my sister's) surprise, the critic chuckled with a shake of his head and said nothing else about our previous encounters. "Mind you, I didn't choose you out of pity, Mr. Honeycutt. Do not make me regret extending the invitation to some mediocre-nobody."
"As absurd as it may sound," a rare smile crossed his features, "I like to be proven wrong."
Shea cracked a laugh, sounding fairly amused but quietly so, downing the rest of her freshly-squeezed orange juice.
"I, too, am hoping to prove you wrong, sir!"
The stirring of nerves and excitement did not sit very well inside and I was anxious to let it out. Although I kinda anticipate that I'd stammer more than usual as a result of all that bubbling in my chest.
"That would be an impossibly hard feat to achieve," Mr. Dempsey teased in return before snapping back on track, as though suddenly remembering his reason for approaching us in the first place. "Right. Your bakery is one of the rare first-timers so there are certain procedures you might be unfamiliar with."
"The event begins with an opening speech, followed by the introduction of special guests—they change every time and this year's the best line-up yet—then, we start the taste-testing," he rattled fast, handing each of us a nametag with a safety pin attached.
"Other invited guests from local magazines, social media influencers and baking specialists will be invited to go around only after the special guests have started. All you have to do is stand by your table, as you are doing so now, and serve anyone who approaches. They may, of course, ask questions about the pastry so do ensure that you are prepared."
I nodded. There was a lot to digest and I was slightly anxious about forgetting a step or two after the opening speech since everyone else looked like they had been invited more than once.
Mr. Dempsey seemed to read my mind; pausing to leave a brief comment about him never having made a wrong decision his entire life.
"I'm really thankful to be part of this experience, Mr. Dempsey," I admittedly quietly. "I have so much to learn. Ah, and, um. If you don't mind me asking...why did you decide to invite us? Despite the...you know. That what we have isn't to your liking."
The established writer stopped to think, lips drawing thin as he did so.
"Well," he began, clearing his throat. "Vanille and I may have very different ways of critique. And although I adhere to a fixed rubric unlike himself, I respect his opinion and have never disagreed with him on any occasion..."
"Except this one."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
An announcement cut our conversation short. "Invited guests, please be seated within the next five minutes. The opening ceremony will begin shortly."
Mr. Dempsey excused himself in a hurry after checking his watch and we waved after him. Everyone was shuffling about in the pagoda and choosing the seats with the best view of the raised platform. Shea and I floated to the back.
"Hm, this Dempsey guy isn't so bad after all."
"He wasn't bad in the first place," I huffed. "I never said that he was! You were the one having your own opinions about him."
Shea blinked. "I was?" I facepalmed.
Plenty of empty seats were available at the back for people like me so my sister and I strategically chose to sit in the fourth row from the back to blend in as much as we could. As we were taking our seats however, I briefly spotted a familiar-looking back in a pastel pink and white uniform.
Her hair was dark and curled near the ends, making her quite the model in magazines. I was running through my memory files to recall just where I'd met her before when she turned, sideways, to speak to her assistant and it hit me.
It was Rachel—our neighbour who popped by every now and then with cakes and desserts.
Taken aback, I quickly averted my gaze just in case she'd felt eyes. Why was I even hiding, in the first place? Uwa, something's wrong with me.
Naturally, Shea noticed how fidgety I was and posed the question.
"Hey. What's up?"
"N-nothing."
"Even your readers can feel the extent of that lie, Chip," my sister snapped under her breath. "Spill it!"
I looked at her, shoOk, and tried my best to explain everything in the shortest span of time possible. "It's really...well, I think I saw my new neighbour. Rachel. She comes by often to talk to Xander, and with cakes and stuff. She's pretty nice! I um, I just didn't expect to see her here. Now that I think about it, I always did wonder how her cakes were so nicely decorated."
My sister frowned. "That's some coincidence. Point her out?" I did, and watched as Shea paled in seconds.
"She's your neighbour?" Shea hissed in disbelief. "All along? Do you know who that is—"
A shrill sound caught our attention and an assistant adjusted the microphone at once before handing it back to a lady in a floral dress. My sister sighed, dismissing our conversation which I knew she would continue later on.
"Ladies. Gentlemen. Bakers and esteemed guests," she began with a cheerful lilt. "Welcome. I am honoured to be standing here before you, giving the opening speech at our annual Baker's reception for the fifth year running."
There was a round of applause accompanied by cheers that were oddly polite and befitting of the occasion. Shea turned to me and stared. I flashed her a quick smile.
Chef Randy had a very pleasant demeanour and lovable voice. The only thing that distracted Shea and I from her speech was the waiter going around with shrimp cocktail.
"Pastries and desserts—these are different and separate from ordinary food. It is food for the eye. There is art in what we strive to make...something that sets us apart from everyday food. Everything about a dessert is delightful, every bite a luxurious treat no matter how old you are."
"That every chef here works toward a vision alike, I am both honoured and glad." Applause.
Shea and I followed suit.
"I have mentioned that it has been five years since the Baker's Times first held a humble reception in the pagoda of a local park, and I am proud to say that they have made such tremendous progress to host a tea party as grand as this one. And in commemoration of our fifth-year anniversary, we have invited special guests here, today."
Ah! The ones that Mr. Dempsey mentioned.
A wave of murmurs swept the room and my gaze somehow (instinctively, I guess) rested on Rachel—only to realize that she was staring at me too.
I looked away at once, slightly frightened by the way her eyes were narrowed.
"Monsieur Clement Moreau." There were audible sounds of surprise and disbelief. I too, was not expecting the famous French Patisserie to attend the event, what with the attention that he had been receiving across the globe.
He was introduced shortly, accompanied by an entire list of his achievements before he nodded at the crowd and returned to his seat.
"Mr. Yamazaki Ryo—one of Asia's best pastry chefs and owner of five award-winning patisseries."
Oh. He was featured in the previous issue of Baker's Times. I didn't know he looked so tall in real life.
"Chief editor of Baker's Times, Miss Lia Castelli."
"And this year, our most revered and special guest critic, Mr. Sebastian Atkins." Almost at once, I recognized the characteristic white cane that Mr. Atkins had with him as he navigated towards the speaker, holding on to the elbow of an assistant. "Mr. Atkins is also a senior associate of the Blind Association and is the renowned author of 'Desserts for the Heart'."
Already, I was feeling emotional. It was only a couple of weeks ago that Giselle was able to regain her eyesight and simply looking at Mr. Atkins was making me nostalgic already. All of a sudden, I wished I was home.
"Without further ado, the tasting session will commence in about five minutes. I'm sure we're all dying to taste all thirteen delicacies that our chefs have prepared."
Shea and I exchanged a look. Oh no, it's starting. I'm not ready for this ;-;
"We would first like to invite all participating bakers and pastry chefs to take their places. Our special guests will begin their rounds shortly."
Pastry chefs in their respective uniforms shuffled over to their stations and waited, watching as the guests were escorted back to the reception area and given paper and clipboards. W-wait, they were going to take notes?
"That neighbour of yours you pointed out?" Shea was back to murmuring under her breath. "I'm pretty sure that's Rachel, the owner of ARCD. Like, I know you're not all for social media and stuff but that's her on Instagram, in forums, on the website—whatever you can think off. The coincidence is uncanny and I'm aborting mission."
I listened, restless by the second. The guests were starting to make their rounds and I assumed that they would be going down the row, so...alphabetically.
"It's nothing to worry about, Shea," I did my best to comfort her. "Rachel doesn't know that I own a bakery, let alone that it's her competitor or something. I-I mean, I don't know if she regards our bakery as a competitor but. Anyway, she can't possibly know in advance that I was invited either! So it's really just a...a coincidence. That's all."
Everyone was staring at the guests huddled around Rachel's display. All five of them, including the chief organizer of the event, were listening attentively to her as she introduced herself and her best-selling pastry.
"...morning! Thank you...like to introduce my best-seller, the Angel's Kiss. It's a...shortcake with..."
The greenhouse was quiet except for the whir of the air-conditioning and the clink of utensils, but Shea and I were slightly out of hearing range. I ended up hearing bits and pieces, observing that she had her guests absorbed and that they were all leaning closer and hanging on to her every word.
Miss Rachel's really talented. I could tell that she was ready to receive them even if they were a mile away.
She started slicing the cake after introducing every aspect of its intricate piping and artistry, transferring it to a ceramic plate before handing it to a guest. I noticed that there were two clever advantages to bringing along a whole cake instead of the convenient slices that most of us did.
One, that Rachel would be able to showcase the extravagance of her decorating skills (which were really top-notch); and two, that it allowed her to interact with her guests on a personal level while slicing and handing them the cakes. It was genius, the idea was.
Everyone else had individual servings and Rachel stood out immensely. A personal touch was endearing, so much so that I would have liked her at once, too. N-not that I don't! I mean, she's kind of a nice person.
And really intelligent as well, I guess. She definitely knows how to please people.
Rachel made sure that the five guests had a share of the seven rose-shaped strawberries on her cake. It was nice of her to do so.
"What? She's obviously sucking cock," hissed Shea under her breath and I whipped around to glare at my younger sister.
"Language! And don't be mean!"
"Oh come on."
Everyone else watched as the guests became increasingly enamoured by Rachel's charms. I wouldn't blame them—she had a nice smile and was very polite towards the guests.
But to set the bar this high...I guess that's what everyone else was worried about the most.