Chapter Thirteen
On Saturday, Tyler brought Stacey a cup of coffee in bed. “With a spoonful of sugar,” he said with a smile. “I’ll see you at the Bake-Off.”
“OK. Call me if you need anything,” she said.
The final Bake-Off was being held at the Graff Hotel, in the glittery ballroom with its amazing chandeliers. The whole thing was starting with a luxurious formal cream tea, with biscuits and sandwiches; Stacey had bought her ticket early on, plus one for her aunt Joanie as a treat, and had arranged to meet Joanie there along with her friends from school and Tyler’s gym.
Since its restoration, the Graff was even more splendid than it had been in its heyday; the grand lobby had rich paneled wood, marble floors and gleaming light fixtures. And the local media was out in full force, covering one of the glitziest events since the Valentine’s Ball.
Stacey was chatting with her friends when Tara nudged her. “Your aunt Joanie’s here.”
Stacey looked round, ready to wave and smile—and stopped dead in surprise.
Next to Joanie were the last two people she’d expected to see: Mary and Charles Allman.
Her parents.
“I… Excuse m-me a second,” she said to Tara, and walked over to greet Joanie and her parents.
“Stacey. You look very nice,” her father said, looking approvingly at the dress Stacey had bought for the occasion.
“Thank you. W-what are you doing here?” Stacey asked.
“Joanie met us from the train in Bozeman. She bought us a ticket to the event,” Mary said.
Joanie added, “We’ve had a long overdue conversation and Charles has something to say to you—don’t you, Charles?” She was smiling, but there was a definite hint of the strict schoolmistress Joanie had once been.
Charles looked at Stacey, took a deep breath, and announced, “I’ve thought about what you said and you were right.”
Had she actually heard that right? Her father was admitting that he was wrong?
And then he shocked her even more by saying, “I’m sorry.”
She’d never, ever heard her father apologize before. To anyone.
Joanie must really have taken him to task.
And it must’ve been difficult for him to force the words out. This was an olive branch she was going to grab with both hands. So she stepped forward and hugged him.
For a moment, Charles froze. And then he hugged her all the way back.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I am proud of you. I’ve never been good with children. The idea of doing what you do every day brings me out in hives—and even though I still think you’d have a better career in Missoula, if you want to be here then I guess I need to accept that and stop trying to manage your life.”
Part of this felt like a parallel universe, where Stacey finally had the kind of parents she’d always wanted. “Thank you,” she said, not quite believing that this was really happening.
“It’s not going to be perfect between us,” Charles warned. “I can’t change who I am—but I’ll try to be a better father to you.”
“That’s good enough for me. And I’ll meet you halfway,” Stacey said.
“Now that’s settled,” Joanie said, “I’m ready for my cream tea. Mary, shall we sit down? And Stacey can introduce us to all her friends.”
*
In one of the smaller reception rooms, the bakers were gathered together and making sure that they all looked presentable for the photographer.
“I’m really dreading this,” Tyler admitted. “I’ve baked this cake just once before.”
“Man, even I practiced baking my cake more than once,” Jake said. “You’re taking one hell of a risk.”
“I didn’t have much choice. Let’s just say it’s been a week where I needed an extra twenty-four hours in every day,” Tyler said dryly.
“I know how that feels,” Matt said.
“Did your friend manage to touch base with my contact?” Warren asked.
“Yes—and I’m pleased to say she got the job,” Tyler said.
“Good.” Warren clapped his shoulder. “I’m glad it worked out.”
“Me, too—and I owe you a lot of thanks for that,” Tyler said.
“You’d do the same for any of us,” Warren pointed out.
Jane came bustling in. “OK, bachelors, are you all ready to go? The photographer from the Chronicle’s here.”
After they’d been photographed to within an inch of their lives, Jane led them out to the ballroom where everyone had been enjoying the special cream tea.
As before, tables were set up for each bachelor, with the ingredients, equipment and the recipe sheet for their particular dish, and a table for the judges. Zac Malone was the last to arrive, while the photographer was taking a last few shots of each bachelor.
Jodie Monroe introduced everyone for the last time and thanked everyone for all the money they were raising toward Harry’s House.
Tyler looked round the room for Stacey’s table. He could see her aunt sitting next to her, and another older woman who looked enough like Joanie to be her sister, plus an old man. Then he did a double take. Had Stacey’s parents actually turned up? He was prepared to drop everything he was doing and tell her father to back off if Stacey looked the slightest bit worried, but to his surprise she looked relaxed.
So had they made up their argument?
He hoped so, because he knew the row had hurt her deeply. But at the same time he also knew she’d needed to make a stand and let her father know that things between them had to change.
Jake nudged him. “Do you want to borrow some eggs now, or have you mastered juggling?”
Tyler laughed. “No, with this one you’d better hope I get the hand mixer on the right speed or you’re going to be wearing sugar.”
But to his relief he managed not to mess it up. As per Stacey’s instructions, he kept the hand mixer on until the butter and sugar looked pale and fluffy; then he added the eggs without dropping them and got a whoop from the combined elementary school and Carter’s Gym table, along with a thumbs-up from Jake.
He grated his fingers along with the orange rind, but he’d just have to live with that.
Carefully he folded in the flour and then added the milk, grateful that Stacey had added a handwritten note: one tablespoon at a time, and check the dropping consistency from the spoon before you add more milk.
As she’d promised, they let him use the ready-made liner rather than making him line the loaf tin with baking parchment. And then it was a matter of crossing his fingers, and putting his tin into the stove.
He juiced the orange and added the sugar, and waited to check that the cake was done. When he saw the middle had sunk and the edges looked a little bit too brown, he groaned inwardly. He was going to lose serious marks on presentation, but it was too late to do anything about that. He’d just have to hope that it tasted OK. He heated the juice and sugar mixture, spooned it carefully over the cake, and that was it. Just a matter of carrying the cake back to his table, setting it on the cooling rack, and hoping that the judges liked it.
After the judges had done their inspection and tasting and filled in the score sheets, Langdon Hale took the stage to announce the scores.
“In eighth place, with orange glaze cake, is Tyler Carter with a score of 35.”
Given his total lack of practice, Tyler knew it was what he deserved. He’d let Stacey down.
“The scores from the three rounds have all been added together,” Langdon said, “and I’m pleased to say that we have a definite winner—I’d like you all to congratulate Matt West.”
The audience duly clapped and cheered.
“His prize is a free quarter-page ad in The Courier for ten weeks, his company name as a sponsor on the Chamber website for a year, his company name on the banner across Main Street for the Marietta Stroll and the Rodeo for one year, a sponsor brick outside Harry’s House, and a room named for the company,” Jane added.
“In second place is Wes St. Claire,” Langdon said.
“And his prize is the company name on the website for the Chamber, the Rodeo banner, the Montana Stroll banner, and a sponsor brick outside Harry’s House,” Jane said.
“In a tie for third place we have Zac Malone and Warren Hunt,” Langdon said.
“Third prize is the company name on the website for the Chamber, a choice of the name on either the Rodeo banner or the Montana Stroll banner, and a sponsor brick outside Harry’s House,” Jane said.
Langdon went though the list of bakers and, just as Tyler had suspected, he came last.
He said to Langdon, “As the loser, may I make a speech?”
The fire chief looked slightly surprised, but handed over the microphone.
“As the official worst Bachelor Baker,” Tyler said, “I’d like to thank my fellow bakers for being good sports—and especially for lending me eggs when I dropped them.”
The audience laughed, and he could see Stacey smiling.
“On their behalf I would also like to thank everyone who’s supported us, from coaching us through to coming along to the event and buying raffle tickets.”
There was a general murmur of approval.
“I’m glad to have been part of something so special and to help keep Harry Monroe’s name alive. He was one of Marietta’s best and I’m proud to have known him,” Tyler continued. “One thing his death has taught me is that life is very short; and one thing the Bake-Off has taught me is that sometimes you need to take a risk. It doesn’t matter that I came last in the competition, because over the course of the Bake-Off I won something really important—the heart of the sweetest woman I’ve ever met. So, Stacey Allman…” He dropped to one knee. “Would you do me the honor of being my wife?”
Charles Allman stood up and cleared his throat. “Aren’t you supposed to ask my permission before you propose to my daughter?”
“No,” Tyler said, still on one knee, “because this is the twenty-first century and women aren’t possessions—they make their own choices. Your daughter is an amazing woman and I love her very much, and I very much hope that I can welcome you to my family.”
“Then in that case,” Charles said, “I should let Stacey speak for herself.”
“Will you marry me, Stacey?” Tyler asked softly.
Please let her say yes, he begged inwardly.
Please let me not have rushed her into this.
Please let this go right.
She took a deep breath. “Y-yes.”
The rest of whatever she said was lost in a roar of approval and cheering.
Jane grabbed the microphone. “Well, I wasn’t expecting this as part of the Bake-Off, but I’m very pleased for all of you. Congratulations.”
“It’s not every day your only daughter gets engaged,” Charles said. “Welcome to the family, Tyler. And I’d like to buy everyone here a glass of champagne or whatever they’d like to drink, to toast my daughter and my new son-in-law-to-be.”
The waiters came up to take drink orders while Jane auctioned off the remaining cake. Tyler, sitting at the elementary school and Carter’s Gym table with Stacey and her family, made sure he put in a winning bid for his orange glazed cake.
“You don’t have any faith in your baking ability, Tyler?” Charles asked.
“I can do a lot of things,” Tyler said, “but baking isn’t my forte—even with help from Stacey.”
“It takes guts to get up and do that kind of thing in public, especially when you know you’re going to do badly,” Charles mused.
“I wasn’t the only one, and it’s for a good cause,” Tyler said.
“Stacey was telling me about it.” Charles looked thoughtful. “Excuse me a moment, would you?”
When he came back, Stacey asked, “Was there a problem?”
“No. I just wanted to make a semi-anonymous donation,” Charles said. “I had a word with the organizer to sort out the details of where to send the money.”
Stacey stared at her father in surprise. This wasn’t the way her father did things. He always made sure he got public acknowledgement about everything he did. Or maybe this was proof that he was trying to change.
“We’re staying at the Graff for a couple of days,” Mary said. “Maybe we can all have dinner here tonight so we can get to know Tyler better. And maybe you can both show us around the town.”
“I’d like that,” Tyler said. “Stacey?”
She nodded. “It works for me.”
“Good. Here’s to new beginnings.” He lifted his glass, and they drank a toast. “And especially here’s to Stacey,” he said, “and her spoonful of sugar.”
The End