[Chip]

I'd always believed in the near impossibility of ever seeing my husband worked up about any form of baking since our first encounter back in high school as home economics station partners. However, basket in hand and Mr. Yamazaki's announcement of the final theme still fresh in my head, I found myself watching an all-knowing, seemingly experienced baker in the form of my husband picking out the basic ingredients for our decided recipe.

The moment we were instructed by Monsieur Moreau to create in an hour and a half a store specialty with a twist and sent us to brainstorm, Xander and I had turned to each other with the strangest stare.

"So..."

I'd dropped my pen and Xander had picked it up. "You're the guy from this morning."

"Yes," was all I had managed to say whilst trying my best to restrain the laughter that threatened to escape in bursts. "So. Today's theme is baked goodies. Do you have any ideas?"

"I'm not good at these kinds of stuff," Xander had leaned against the counter with the very smirk I could remember from that time. He, too, had a playful lilt in his voice, pretending to gesture towards the baking tools.

"How about some cupcakes?"

"I don't really like those." It was then that he'd laughed and the two of us, unable to resist, broke the façade and collapsed into a mushy pile of cheesy smiles and nose-nuzzling. It wasn't his first time handling the recipe and given how he actually seemed to know what he was doing, fetching the correct ingredients once we were given permission to enter the pantry, I couldn't say that I wasn't a proud husband.

With Mr. Yamazaki back on the panel, Shin had been tasked with stock duties in the pantry, where he, too, watched in awe as Xander continued to fill his basket with the necessary ingredients without my instructions. Amazed Japanese boi had paid us a visit the night before again to apologize about yesterday's mistake and share about his father's expectations, unexpectedly opening up about his family situation and his dreams of attending culinary school. That night, Xander had been attentive and nice beyond my expectations, which although might had something to do with his fill of fish and chips and additional cuddling after the panic episode, remained a drastic feat.

I could already hear the gears turning in Shin's head: maybe he's not going to give us extra rounds during gym class any longer. Maybe he's turned over a new leaf! Well, well, Shin my boi... I'm sorry to say but that's probably not going to happen ;u;

While Xander busied himself with his hunt for fundamentals, I was back at the inspiration table filled with rare and exotic ingredients, ones that we have familiarised ourselves with over the past couple of days. Tweaking recipes or giving one a new angle wasn't especially difficult when the recipe itself had been given by the organizers but when it came down to changing something we'd been so used to doing or one that we'd perfected over the years, the hurdle was high.

I was reaching for a can of chilled coconut milk, hoping to substitute the usual whole milk we used instead back in the bakery for a more fragrant and addictive scent when I noticed that Miss Rachel, too, had just left with a can in her basket. O-oh. Looks like we're going head-to-head with the ingredients then.

"Anything else you need, Angel?" Xander popped by to say, his basket already full. I gave the contents a quick scan and confirmed that everything on my mental list had been checkced before picking out two cans of coconut milk.

"I need a bottle of rum! Something rich—preferably with notes of vanilla. But it has to be rich enough for the flavour to come through, so. It doesn't have to be too sweet. Something bitter might be good as well," I thought this through whilst trying to remember where the fruit section was and grabbing a bottle of coconut water at the same time. "I'll be getting the raspberries."

Xander was on it with a nod, which made me laugh a little at how serious he was looking and how more than five years ago, I couldn't possibly have imagined such a sight or have the privilege of witnessing it, ever. How cute, hehe.

By the time we'd arrived back at our station (after waving at Giselle while passing the guests' seating area), the clock had started ticking. While preparation time would take about ten to fifteen minutes depending on who I was working with back at the bakery, I predicted slight delays since this would include improvising the recipe as we went, so in terms of time constraint, we weren't off to a good start.

"We need about an hour for the dough to rise so it's best if we hurry," I poked the buttons on my husband's tummy (which are his abs, by the way), activating the 'speed x2' function. For some reason, he really likes it when I do—which I've figured out over time and used it to my advantage :>

"I'm sorry Angel, speed button only works at night, in bed," Xander specified with a smirk, cracking open the bottle of coconut water for me while I took the moment to register what he'd said and then blush furiously. "Husband's not good enough to speed up baking."

I snatched the bottle out of his hands. "Th-th-then he better get good at baking!" Measuring out the flour with the digital scale that Xander had brought out, I instructed him to start heating the coconut milk in a saucepan.

He'd laughed then, the kind of laugh that did things to my heart every time without fail, and Chef Randy, who'd joined us as a participant today and occupied the station behind, did too.

*

I was kneading the dough on a floured surface and adding a tablespoon of coconut oil during intervals of five to six kneads when a curse broke through the sound of whirring ovens and electric mixers. Xander, who had been preparing the rum-soaked raspberries for the next step, turned to me with a raised brow.

The sound had come from Miss Rachel's station at the fifteen-minute mark, turning heads for a briefly before others quickly got back to working on their own batters and icings. From afar, neither Xander nor myself could make out what had happened up front but her assistant, whose name started with 'J' but I couldn't quite remember what it was, had went up to Mr. Yamazaki and whispered something in his ear.

This had caught the attention of several pastry chefs up front, and the owner of Andy's (or his daughter, specifically), did not hesitate to call her out in a strange manner. "That's not very fair, Jennifer. You know it isn't."

At this, everyone in the hall craned their necks to catch a glimpse of what was going on up front, curious. Xander on the other hand, seemed disinterested and had returned to extracting the raspberries from the rum bath.

"It's just one ingredient," Miss Rachel's assistant was insistent, turning around to address the participant who'd spoken up against... um, whatever it was that she wished to do. "I'll be back from the pantry in less than a minute."

Mr. Yamazaki appeared to be discussing things with his team while Chef Randy behind us, baking up a storm, sighed.

Xander was laughing; the kind of laugh that meant 'serves you right.' I poked him in the side and he stopped. "At least we know karma exists."

"I can't believe what happened to us on the first day actually happened to her on the last," I said, finishing up the last couple of kneads before adding chopped raspberries to the dough. "And she was definitely aiming for that title, so... this would ruin her perfect record."

I looked up just in time to witness Mr. Yamazaki shaking his head at Jennifer and Monsieur Moreau seemingly explaining the situation to her. They must have declined her additional access, then. At this, Miss Rachel's assistant seemed fairly desperate. She returned to their station and reported the response she'd received from the organizers. Naturally, Miss Rachel did not seem too happy.

"Do I chop these up?"

Xander's voice had brought my attention back to where it was supposed to be, which wasn't nice on my part since we didn't exactly have the luxury of time.

"O-oh! Yes. Yes please. Um and then turn off that oven—no, the other one. We'll put the dough in that so that it'll rise faster."

Almost there. I looked up to see if Giselle was watching us from afar only to spot Shin in the seat beside her, waving upon meeting my gaze. I smiled and waved back with floury hands, w-which wasn't the best idea.

At the corner of my eye however, I couldn't help but notice Miss Rachel herself going down the row of stations, stopping by to speak to the other participants who were busy themselves. She continued down the row with a smile and the slightest hint of worry in her eyes, seemingly asking or requesting for something to which everyone else shook their heads in response.

"Hi. Sorry to bother... you, by any chance, have an... of... would really... appreciate..."

I was able to pick up a couple of words when she stopped by the station before ours, going straight to the pastry chef and politely asking for an ingredient which name I did not catch. Unfortunately, the ingredient seemed to be either rare or for specific use, otherwise, it would be strange for everyone not to have it.

Either way, I was waiting for her to pop by and ask Xander and me whatever she'd asked everyone else when, before I knew it, she'd skipped our station and I was listening to her speak to Chef Randy instead. Were we that unfriendly? ;-; I thought we'd sorted things out yesterday!

"Hi Chef Randy. Sorry to bother, but do you, by any chance, have an extra can of coconut milk? There was an accident and an entire vial of vanilla extract had leaked into our whipped coconut cream mixture. All I have to do is redo that, but I only have a single can, you see, so I—" Oh.

"Oh dear. Coconut milk huh," Chef Randy was gentle and kind in her response. "I'm sorry to hear that. It's a very specific ingredient... if it's the ordinary whipped cream, then I might have some left below the counter."

I turned to Xander right then, peering up at him before resting my gaze on the stray, unused can of coconut milk on the counter top beside his cutting board. The most unexpected thing happened: he reached for it and handed it to me without saying a word.

My eyes went round and wide. "A-are you okay?"

"What else am I supposed to say?" He laughed, rolling his eyes. "Go. Give it to her."

"My husband is a developed character??" I teased whilst poking his abs again, laughing incredulously. "You've changed your mind?"

"No, of course not," Xander's eyes didn't stray from the cutting board, oddly focused on chopping up raspberries. "I just know what you're going to say. 'If we don't give this to her, then we'd just be exactly who she was to us.' Something along those lines. And would you even listen to me if I told you not to go around being a saint to people who don't appreciate you? No."

I pouted, punching his arm. "Hmph. I'm letting you off the hook this time for passing the coconut milk."

"Told you I can read your mind," he teased in return, leaning down to plant a kiss on my forehead.

*

It wasn't long before I'd left Xander to knead the raspberries into the dough that I was finally able to muster enough courage to bring the coconut milk to Miss Rachel who'd only just returned to her station after personally going up to everyone and asking for an additional can.

Naturally, I didn't want to make a big fuss out of it since, well, it would be embarrassing for both Miss Rachel and myself because one; she had skipped my station, and two; I did not like being the center of attention. So the solution was to simply slip her the ingredient as quietly as possible, perhaps just casually leaving it beside the wash basin or um, at the corner of the countertop. I decided to go with the latter, since it involved less walking and less conspicuous movement. Unfortunately for me, well, Miss Rachel and her assistant were discussing last-minute improvisations at the corner of their station I was heading to.

Nu! Now I'm going to have to cross to the other side of the hall so that I could get to the other corner of their station but but but that's more walking and more conspicuous movement! Here I was, moping over failed plans.

"What are you doing?"

Miss Rachel had turned around to spot me in awkward deliberation, holding a can of coconut milk and half-hiding behind a pillar. Throwing all reason and plans out of the window, I shoved the can into her arms and fled the crime scene, returning to the comfort of my husband's arms.

Xander had laughed. "Took you so much to give that to her and look at her face. Squinting turtle."

I rolled my eyes, gathering the ingredients for the icing and glaze. "There's nothing wrong with being a little surprised. I mean, she must have thought we read her mind or something, hehe."

"Knowing her, she's probably thinking what the fuck is wrong with you, you see," my husband shrugged. "Because she can't comprehend anything in the realm outside of I'm-nice-because-God-tells-me-to-be." I hummed in disagreement, still trying to figure out the ratios and flavour profiles of the double icing I'd planned to make.

"Okay, Xandie. I'm trusting you to set a good rum, milk, and powdered sugar ratio for the icing," I instructed whilst covering the bowl of dough in plastic wrap. "I'll do the raspberry milk. Oh, and let me test it after you're done."

"Let you test it?" My husband did not look too happy about my decision. "And what am I supposed to do when you get all sleepy and cling on to me like you always do when you're drunk?"

"I-it's just one drop of the mixture. Just a tiny drop! I'm not that weak," was me trying to be credible when I really wasn't. Either way, Xander eventually gave in and started undoing the cork, scanning my scribbles of measurements whilst doing so.

"I still don't really get the idea of having two different icings. So you're serving them separately? Half the buns get rum while the others get raspberry?"

I laughed, rubbing my hands together like an evil strawberry. "You'll see."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

An hour and a half for creating an entirely new recipe from scratch wasn't exactly what I'd call having the luxury of time. In fact, the very next time I'd glanced at the clock, the hour and a half we had seemingly minutes ago had whittled down to three minutes, sending strawberry curses flying out of my mouth. At that point in time, we had only just brought our buns out of the oven to cool and were waiting for the perfect temperature to pipe the icing on. Already, this meant that we'd brushed on the glaze while the buns were still steaming hot and I didn't quite know what to make of that.

The fact that several participants were already starting to plate and bring their new-born creations to the table up front was enough to send jittery, restless sparks down my spine. Xander had to hold me still.

"Rachel's looking at you," he had reported like the trusty lighthouse he was. "Should I stand in front of you to block her view?"

"Oh no, that's okay," I teased and poked his abs in return. "She must have finished early, then! That's good news."

"I don't know Angel," husband frowned, eyes fixed on what I assumed was Miss Rachel's coconut pastry. "That... looks like a strawberry shortcake to me."

I blinked, tip-toeing and craning my neck to get a better view of whatever Xander was looking at. Although it wasn't necessarily the best or clearest glimpse I could catch, little information was required to identify my favourite cake, or at least the one I was most familiar with back at the bakery.

"W-well... it is one of her signature cakes," I reasoned. "Angel Rachel's Cakes for Devils, remember? I think her strawberry shortcakes are called 'Angel shortcakes'. Shea told me the last time we were invited to the afternoon tea buffet, um, thing."

Xander didn't look too convinced. I had laughed, then, baiting out his concerns since there really wasn't anything wrong with her choosing that as her specialty.

"It's not like we'd lose out with ours," I began to pipe the crosses on our buns. "In fact if that's what you think, then... you're hurting their feelings."

Husbando lowered his gaze to meet mine.

"Whose feelings?"

I pointed at our hot cross buns. "Theirs." He shot me a pointed look in return.

It wasn't long before the digital clock above beeped its one-and-a-half-hour mark, right as we finished up the crosses on the buns and arranged them neatly on a fancy tray (which was practically the only thing fancy about our work as well since, well, hot cross buns were as ordinary and commonplace as pebbles ;-;). Said fancy tray was then offered to be picked up by fancy husband, who insisted I settle with carrying dessert plates instead.

"I can't wait to get started," said Monsieur Moreau whilst patting his belly, scanning across the table from end to end. "Everything looks good." Nervous, I headed straight for our spot and set the plates down quietly, stealing glimpses of extravagant cakes and complex pastry desserts everywhere.

Chef Randy had decided to present her dish first after everyone had settled down and placed their dishes on the table. "So that I get to join you guys in eating first right after," she laughed, heading up to the platform with a platter of macarons. "Black sesame with milk cherry blossom filling. Have a taste."

Monsieur Moreau was quick to laugh and say something along the lines of Chef Randy being brave enough to step into his expertise when he stopped mid-sentence after a bite, eyes wide and brows raised so high I'd thought it impossible to fall back to its original position. "Euh, you made me speechless. How can it be?"

Chef Randy wriggled her brows before basking in the praise of her remaining panel, joining them as soon as she revealed the ingredients and steps she'd taken to achieve the particular flavour and texture of the filling. While the rest of us, including myself, must have been fully aware of the magazine's true intentions for hosting this invitational event, it wasn't as though there was a vacuum of opportunities to learn from one another and Chef Randy's lively sharing spirit was a good example. Together, the four of them started down the row with Mr. Andy and his daughter's dish, which they had nothing else but nice words to say. Then, it was Miss Rachel's.

Needless to say, I was curious beyond belief. Since she'd hardly made any changes to the exterior design of her strawberry shortcake or any visible change in ingredient, I did wonder what sort of recipe-change it was that she'd ultimately come up with.

"This is a twist on our store's bestseller—the Angel shortcake." She began by cutting into it, dividing the cake into slices of eight which really showcased how nice it looked from all angles. "So I have for you a strawberry coconut shortcake, replacing the usual whipping cream with coconut cream instead, made from coconut milk. In the middle, I've added a strawberry rose compote, apart from strawberry slices steeped in Damask rose for a subtle fragrance."

Having kept the original design of her cake (rosettes piped along the side of it and eight beautiful roses made out of strawberry slices), she was able to provide a strawberry rose on top of a generous slice of cake to each organizer. Thinking about the strawberry rose compote was enough to make my mouth water.

"I also brushed a concentrate from the steeped petals on each petal of the strawberry roses," Miss Rachel went on, handing out slices of cake on dessert plates. "Please enjoy."

The next couple of seconds featured quiet tasting and a general frustration of not being able to see the expression on their faces with their backs angled towards us. Still, the following comments did paint a sufficient picture of how the cake actually tasted.

"I am amazed at the flavour profiles you have come up with," said Mr. Huang. "A very new and original cake."

Chef Randy seemed to agree. "The coconut cream is thick and I can tell it is the highlight of your cake. The compote is well-balanced."

"Good idea to use Damask," I caught a glimpse of Monsieur Moreau turning to Shin's father to say. "It is subtle, but the fragrance is there. It does not overpower and I also notice you use strawberries that are not fully ripe for acidity and tartness. Good idea."

At a glance, it would seem as though the organizers were merely intending to dish out mountains of praise to everyone down the row but a deeper analysis of their words made out an obvious fact—that they'd given Miss Rachel higher praise than the pastry chef before her. Peering up at Xander and observing the sour look in his eyes proved that I wasn't the only one who'd noticed. Everyone else, too, seemed to have inferred similar conjectures but this wasn't the time to be harping on compliments belonging to someone else.

Before I knew it, the four pastry chefs had arrived before our spot.

"Ah, Chip!" beamed Monsieur Moreau. Uwa, I was not expecting a nice confidence boost! "What do you have for us?"

Hastily, I used a pair of tongs to transfer a bun to four respective dessert plates. "Oh! Well. They are coconut milk hot cross buns! With rum and raspberry milk icing. Yes, the darker one. I mean, the darker line's the rum and the one that's slightly pink is the raspberry."

Chef Randy picked up her bun, holding it to the light and turning it for a mid-air inspection. "Icing, huh? I've never seen a hot cross bun with different-flavored lines that meet to, well, create the cross... and the glaze?"

"The glazing is a combination of coconut water, cream and oil. Three kinds of coconut," I explained, nervous to make my request. "Oh, and. Um. If you don't mind a selfish request on my part, I would like for you to try the side with rum icing, alone, first. Then, the raspberry. And then finally, the middle part where the cross is!"

I received four curious looks in return and in the far back, Shin, standing by the door towards the ingredient pantry, added to the number. Beside me, I could tell Xander was trying hard not to fidget from restless energy. Hehe, looks like he can be nervous too. Together, we waited for a response as the organizers took their first bite of the special bun. They were quiet for a moment, chewing and identifying the flavour profiles.

"The texture," Mr. Yamazaki was the first to say. "So fluffy. It is different from all the hot cross buns I ever had. But also familiar...? I don't know why. It remind me of Hokkaido milk bread."

"Yes!" I nodded, excited. "Actually, I've developed this recipe over the years. It wasn't always the same, so. Over time, I perfected it by using the water roux method often used in Japanese and Chinese boulangerie instead of the traditional flour or paste method! It's called the tangzhong technique. That's why it is similar to the milk bread you like."

Mr. Huang appeared rather taken aback by the flavours on his taste buds. "This icing is... it' incredible. It's vanilla-infused rum, isn't it? The notes are rich but not overpowering. The bitterness is... it compliments the coconut. A good ratio. I'm assuming you used milk instead of water?"

"Yes! For both icings," I gestured to my husband to give him the well-deserved credit. "Xander was the one who set the ratio of rum to milk and sugar."

"And the raspberries inside—"

"We soaked them in rum," Xander said a little too quickly, and all I wanted to do at that moment was to get everything down on film, capturing the rare instance of his enthusiasm for baking. Rose would be so proud ;v;

"It goes well with the coconut milk," Chef Randy nodded. "The subtle coconut taste and the... the fragrance... I never thought of substituting traditional whole milk and butter with coconut." She turned to her fellow organizers, ready to taste the other half of the bun—the line of raspberry icing.

She did; and the effect was almost instant.

"I now see why your request is necessary," Mr. Huang frowned at the bun, as though it contained sparkles of magic. "It's almost as if I was biting into a completely different bun, but... but it's just a different side of the cross."

Under the table (or not so under, but at least out of sight ;-;), my husband did a victory pat on my butt. Which obviously earned him a glare from me.

"The raspberry icing is sweet and slightly acidic," Mr. Huang went on to say. "You did well to pick out a variety of raspberries—that, or you added some lemon juice? The balance is good. Sweet and tangy but neither overpowering."

Over to the side, while everyone was beginning to wonder why Monsieur Moreau had remained so quiet throughout, he was caught reaching for another bun mid-chew. He paused. "Euh. I coulhn't helh ih."

"O-oh!" I panicked. "But you've already tried it at the cross? The part where the rum and the raspberry lines sort of meet?"

"Yes, of course," he laughed after swallowing. "I feel like I want to have a big bite of all the crosses in this bun and that bun and... yes, you get the idea."

They laughed, savouring the remaining portion of the bun—it's middle, exchanging looks of awe and sweet, kind comments that I never imagined to one day hear, nodding away. Monsieur Moreau had turned to me with an additional word. "It is very hard to impress Alfred Dempsey. But I read his review about your place—he said 'if there's anything they can make right, it's hot cross buns', something along that line but euh! I now see why."

"I can vouch for that," my husband raised a hand, reaching over to steal a bun. "Been having them since..." he laughed. "Since the day we met."

"Ooh," the French pastry chef hooted as though Xander had said something scandalous, laughing and nodding his head in thanks. They were about to move on; turning to the spot next to us before Chef Randy paused and turned back, as though having an afterthought and wanting to voice it.

"But why did you decide to go with two icing flavours?" She seemed unable to rid of her confusion from before. "As far as I know, the traditional hot cross bun does not put emphasis on the cross but on the spices in the bun itself, so. I'm just curious what made you think of having the double icing as your highlight instead."

It was a good question; one that was admittedly hard to answer for it would have had to take words worthy of three whole books and a lifetime of love.

"Well, um! A-at our bakery, the cross on the buns don't exactly mean anything religious, they mean something else," I tried my best to explain. "That's why we make them all year round, and for the past sixteen years. The lines... well, they represent two existences! Who have, in meeting, changed."

I peered up and in those eyes I was so familiar with, saw a gentle hush that cloaked the land.

"The buns themselves are... representative of this. The crossing of paths.

"Had they not met, they would have remained as simple flavours. But... because they did, they... well, um.

"They became something more."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: Did anyone ever think "so why did Cuppie go for hot cross buns when she could so obviously write like, um. DONUTS or BAGELS or even banana walnut bread??" Well, here's your answer. 

From exactly two books and 51 chapters ago, in the very prologue of the first book, you've been set up for this moment :> The reason why they had to be hot cross buns; what the crosses really represent to Xander and Chip; and to the rest of the story. It's not the end just yet!! I have a chapter more to go and a final epilogue but I really hope you enjoyed the chapter and have felt for yourselves the extent to which all the characters in this book are related and linked and the unique ways in which they have, for all intents and purposes, crossed paths with one another. 

As existences, we meet others. Sometimes, they are momentary. Sometimes, they are fleeting. Sometimes, they last. 

Ironically, Chip, by giving Xander and Giselle hot cross buns (two lines that meet only once) that snowy winter night, allowed for the many opportunities for their paths to cross again. In fact, by leaving hot cross buns on the menu for the past sixteen years, Chip can be said to have waited for Xander all this time, believing that the clue will help him find his way 'back'. 

And it did.