A/N: I find it super funny and amazing how my readers reply to the messages that other readers write on my message board like when there are questions and stuff like that. Thank you for having my back and helping me out whenever I'm off burying my face in textbooks and school ;u; hehe. Here's a chapter for you.

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

"How did you get here?" Miss Rachel appeared genuinely puzzled, or upset for the matter, that she were. The furrow of her brows made her seem like an entirely different person.

I must have stared blankly at her for a couple of seconds because she proceeded to wave a hand in front of my eyes and repeat her question. S-still, it didn't change the fact that I had completely no idea what to say in return.

"Um. How? Just—my brother...? Drove us here. In a van," I gestured to a random passing van to illustrate my point. "Y-you know, drive. We drove here. I mean my brother drove, not me but yes that's how we got here."

I was laughing awkwardly, crossing my fingers behind my back and praying that my hopefully friendly disposition was good enough to fill in the gaps in my confidence. Which was kinda always the case for conversations with strangers.

"No," Miss Rachel frowned harder and looked at me strangely. N-no? What did that mean? ;-;

"No?"

"No, I meant how you managed to receive an invitation without making a name for yourself," she specified, stepping a little closer and lowering her voice. "Was it the organizer? One of the critics you paid? Or did you happen to know one of the specially invited guests?"

"Um..." Oh. She was looking down on me. "I'm not sure what you mean by that, but I was invited by the Baker's Times. Just, the editorial team making the picks," I smiled.

Miss Rachel appeared genuinely surprised. "Really? Wow...I'd assumed otherwise. Everyone else here are big names. Don't you feel at all intimidated?"

"Ah, of course I do," I admitted frankly. After all, there was no reason to lie. "I always feel intimidated being compared to others. It's a scary thing, being put against one another. Standards differ from people to people, not being able to meet every single one of them is what I fear the most."

"But at the same time, it's almost inevitable that I run into people that I cannot please," I went on, seeing that Miss Rachel was staring at me and did not seem as though she wanted to add anything. "So...yeah. I do feel intimidated. What about you, Miss Rachel?" O-oh! I just realized that we were having a proper conversation. Yippee!

"Well," Miss Rachel made a fairly strange sound that was like a cross between snorting and laughing. "I can't relate, really. We'd speak on different levels, on such a topic. It wouldn't be fair to ask for my opinion on this because naturally, we'd give differing answers."

I was about to awkwardly respond by saying that I didn't mind hearing a different answer at all (it was kind of the point anyway) when I spotted Mr. Dempsey at the entrance, waving me over with a very stern expression that reminded me of a discipline master.

"Oh, um. I think—someone's looking for me. So sorry. Let's...let's talk some other time, Miss Rachel! And maybe then, you can tell me more about yourself," I turned to wave before retreating back into the dome, making my way towards Mr. Dempsey.

She watched me go with a frown, and it made me wonder if she disliked the idea of me leaving that much.

"What are you doing, standing outside chatting away as if you've got all the time in the world?" Mr. Dempsey chided the moment I was within earshot.

"Hehe," I laughed sheepishly, peering over his shoulder. "I was merely out for five minutes, Mr. Dempsey. I didn't know you'd miss me so quickly."

The critic rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that sort of nonsense. Monsieur Moreau is at your table right this instant!" Oh nu not the French pastry chef ;-; now I'm scared.

"You cannot possibly let your chief baker handle this alone—good heavens! He might have tons of questions. You best be going over now," Mr Dempsey propelled me in the general direction of my table and I hurried off at once.

*

It didn't take long for me to arrive at the display thanks to the flustered panic I was, brisk walking and weaving through the crowd to the best of my abilities. Monsieur Moreau was the only guest standing at our table, in the middle of tasting our strawberry shortcake when he spotted me coming from afar and nodded.

"Monsieur Honeycutt. Nice to meet you," he extended a hand without changing his expression very much. "My name is Clement Moreau, owner of the Clementine House."

I responded in turn, introducing myself and apologizing for the tardiness. "Is there anything you would like to know about the cake?"

He paused, spooning another portion of the shortcake into his mouth. "I've heard about your shortcake from Ryo. He came to me after trying your shortcake and said it was the best thing he's had in months, so I decided to try your last," Monsieur Moreau explained and I was honoured and embarrassed all at once. Was he referring to Mr. Yamazaki when he said Ryo? I didn't know they were so close.

"Taste is exquisite, no surprises," he nodded, and I thanked him at once. "Just as Ryo said. I can see why he likes it—it's very...mmm, his style? What do you call it." The pastry chef laughed.

"I think I know what you mean," I said in return, considering Mr. Yamazaki's respect for simplicity and balance. "Is that how he bakes too?"

"Euh...yes and no. His decoration is very delicate, like yours—but more. And that is the point I'm getting at, Monsieur Honeycutt," he set down the plate and dessert spoon. "You have good balance. Good taste. But you know, dessert is also food for the eyes."

"Many people eat, first, with their eyes. Not just dessert you see. All food. While taste is the most important, it doesn't mean that you can afford to lack presentation, Monsieur." The pastry chef explained, stepping closer towards the display. "Presentation is important. Why is dessert so expensive? So luxurious and exquisite? That is because they are different from the general. You cannot put out a cake with no design, no decoration—why? Because it does not look appetising."

"Presentation must make people want to eat it. Of course, it cannot be overdone. Overdo it, and no one will want to eat it," he finally laughed, returning to his plate and finishing up the rest of his strawberry shortcake. "I understand. Ryo said that you cannot compromise on decoration for the balance of the shortcake, yes. That is true. But perhaps more finesse. More surprise. Add a bit of vanilla powder on top of the cake. Light sprinkle. Your thin slices of strawberry can be flowers? Or hearts? Euh...up to you. Your style," Monsieur Moreau's eyes twinkled, and I was at once put in a difficult spot. I hadn't thought of it in that way, and now that he'd explained it so...it was hard not to notice how plain my slices of cakes looked. But then how should I create something pleasing for the eye without compromising the balance of the cake? That was the question.

"Thank you so much for your advice, Monsieur Moreau," I gave Shea a look so that she got the cue to bow her head as well. "I really am thankful that you brought this up so that I could improve."

"No problem, Monsieur Honeycutt. It is my pleasure," the pastry chef nodded. "And you are so cute! Haha, it is people like you that we need in this boring industry."

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

"Guests! May I have your attention please?" Someone was speaking through the mic on stage with Mr. Yamazaki beside him. "Chef Yamazaki has something to announce before the closing of the event."

There was an instant hush from the crowd before polite applause filled the pavilion. Mr. Yamazaki waited for it to end before speaking.

"I hope you all enjoyed the taste session and found it fun, interesting—learnt something from it," he began rather stiffly, seemingly nervous. It was cute. "I learnt many things myself. And because I enjoyed it so much, I am looking forward to more. In April, I intend to conduct a Bake-sharing session to pass down the best recipes from today, as part of the event's initiative."

Another round of applause filled the room and a single glance around was enough to witness anxious faces waiting to be called.

"The good news is: everyone here is invited. That includes all invited guests and participants of today's event."

There were sighs of relief and yet another round of applause, louder this time. Shea and I exchanged a look of 'phew' and 'thank the gods of rolling pins' before turning back to the speaker.

"It is a very open event, but I request for guests who wish to attend to send in details for registration so that we can...un..." his gaze lowered to something in his left hand. Oh, cue cards. "Keep track! Yes, keep track of the number."

"We—Baker's Times, the organizing team, and the rest of my fellow panellists—hope that this follow-up event will not only spread the love for baking but also allow participants to bond over desserts and pastries by creating new recipes together, trying new techniques, and mastering old ones. That said, please feel free to bring with you a friend or family member. They do not need to have any understanding of technique or recipe. First-timers are also okay! 全然大丈夫です！" He laughed adorably, and everyone was pleasantly surprised by the extended invitation.

Shea was already nudging me in the side and it didn't take me much to guess what she was getting at.

"I am sure they will love baking once they try it," Mr. Yamazaki continued enthusiastically. His feelings were contagious. "Let us all spread the love for baking! Thank you." More applause.

I could easily tell that everyone was glad and relieved that the event had not ended abruptly. There was something about interacting with the guests—both the specially invited pastry chefs and everyone else—that made the day so fulfilling.

"Oh, I get it."

I turned to my sister who'd spoken. "Hm?"

"So that's what they were talking about when they said they'd pick out the featured bakery of the year 'at the next one'," she frowned in thought. "Like, I heard them saying. While you were outside sexting your husband. Naughty naughty."

!!!

"I-I-I was not—that did not happen, Shea!" I folded my arms. "And w-what's this about the featured bakery? I thought they did that through a collation of reviews. At least that's what they did last year..."

"Aw, changing the subject, aren't you," my sister nodded knowingly and I poked her arm in defence. "Well I'm not too sure myself. Didn't they hold competitions and stuff like that too? I don't really know how the process works. Maybe this sharing session thing is part of the evaluation, maybe it isn't. Who knows?"

I considered her vague statement, unsure how I would be able to confirm this with anyone since Mr. Dempsey was not the most likely person to discuss this with. Regrettably, I hadn't asked for Miss Cuppie's phone number or contact details, and I wasn't sure if I was welcomed if I were to pop by Miss Rachel's house tonight.

When the time came for the rest of us participating bakers to make our rounds testing everyone else's cakes and desserts, I couldn't seem to find Miss Cuppie or Miss Rachel anywhere around their tables. Most of the other guests had left by then and the staff were slowly clearing the chairs in the pavilion, so asking around was particularly troubling.

"Yes, Mr. Honeycutt?" Mr. Dempsey surprised me from behind and I almost squeaked. "Are you looking for something?"

"U-um, well," I began with a sheepish laugh. "I just thought I'd make some friends and uh...talk to people...?" I wasn't lying though.

The critic laughed shortly, seemingly amused. "Hm! I suppose I could advise you but that, too, wouldn't be your best option. In fact, I might be the very reason for poor Vanille's lack of friends," he sighed, smiling sadly. "He barely plays with anyone in school—or so Julie tells me."

I could empathize at once. "R-really? But he's such a sweet child! And so meticulous. I am surprised that no one has taken a liking to his sensitive nature."

"Oh, adults would, of course...but kids?" Mr. Dempsey waved the idea aside with a snort. "Kids don't really think about that. Being too meticulous can be a flaw in one's childhood! Vanille thinks too differently from the other kids and...sometimes I just wish he had someone who would accept how annoyingly intelligent he is."

;-;! Poor Vanilla...

I patted Mr. Dempsey's arm. "Don't worry. Vanille's still really young. I heard from Miss Julie about the engagement—and that the three of you will be moving to a nice little street! I'm sure he'll be able to make new friends around there," I reasoned, only realizing that I'd let slip Miss Julie's visit to the bakery by accident.

Mr. Dempsey blinked. "Engagement? H-how! How did you know about this," his eyes narrowed as though he was doing a quick analysis of my thoughts and I averted my gaze at once.

"Um! Uh...well...oh no, I think Shea's calling me over to help with the packing! I-I'll be going," I squeaked nervously, running away with my tail between my legs. O-oh wait. I don't have a tail.

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

"Xan! Giselle!" I called as soon as I came through the front door. "I'm home!"

Berry came running down the stairs first, followed by Giselle who popped her head out of the kitchen. "Chocolate Chip! Come look at the mess Xandie made." I laughed, closing the door behind me and tottering over to the kitchen.

"What's going on?"

"He tried to make a...a kee-ush," Giselle explained, pointing at the baking tray filled with a disaster of dark, crispy things that I couldn't decipher. "I tried to help."

"Hey Angel. Welcome home," my husband laughed, not bothering to hide the fact that he almost blew up our kitchen. "I made dinner."

"That's dinner?" I teased, pretending to pull a face. Either way, Xander was already an expert at reading my expressions, so. He knew I wasn't actually being mean about it.

"Absolutely," my husband produced something else from the oven that wasn't black and charred—mozzarella pizza. "A hundred percent made by yours truly."

I laughed, poking his abs. "Xan! That's the frozen pizza we bought yesterday for movie night next week. We were supposed to be saving it until then!"

"I know, I know," he caressed the back of my neck and nuzzled the top of my head. "My bad. I shouldn't have tried to make a quiche."

Oh. So that's what he was trying to make.

I laughed once more, getting out the plates to set the table. "You tried making a quiche? But that's pretty high-level."

"I am pretty high-level," my husband insisted with a smirk and I simply shook my head, watching Giselle get Berry's food from the store room at the back of the kitchen. "Anyway, how did things go today?"

"I got a whole lot of compliments!" Was the first thing I managed excitably, narrating most of the day's experiences.

I went from Mr. Dempsey to the photographers; Miss Castelli to Mr. Atkins (whom Giselle was excited to hear about); Mr. Yamazaki and Monsieur Moreau before recalling the unusual encounter.

"And Miss Rachel was there too. As one of the invited pastry chefs," I met my husband's gaze, curious to see his reaction. He looked mostly confused.

"Who?"

"Miss Rachel," I pouted. "You know, the neighbour who's always giving us cakes and coming over. Oh, now I know why she gives us cakes all the time..."

"She gave us—oh. Oh," Xander frowned, as though he was trying his best to recall. "You could have said 'religious preacher who often dropped by to hit on your husband'."

I blinked. "Wha! She was? I thought she just liked talking to you. A-and, well, you're a nice person to talk to, so. I wouldn't be surprised."

"Uh, Angel," Xander was laughing. "If you haven't noticed, I'm the devil at conversations when it comes to people other than you and Giselle, so no—she would not like talking to me."

I rolled my eyes, laughing all the same. "Okay, okay. Well, anyway...I saw her and we talked. Apparently, she's the owner of ARCD, you know, the new bakery across the street. The one with the nice decorations."

"You mean the one that looks like a sex shop?" My husband straightened up with a frown.

I pursed my lips. "N-no, it doesn't look like a...a...a s—a-anyway, well, apparently she's the owner! Such a coincidence, right? She's our neighbour and she owns the bakery across the street! Also, she's had lots of franchises, even in the city...she's really accomplished."

"I don't see why you aren't the same," Xander shrugged. "Everyone loves you and your pastries. I doubt anyone could stand talking to her for more than a minute without feeling creeped out."

"She's not that bad," I said in her defence, taking a bite out of my pizza slice. "Although she does come across as curious. But there's nothing wrong with asking questions, right? I-it's just questions."

"Did she say anything about the rumours? Or rude shit," Xander asked, again, without filter.

"She asked if I paid anyone to get invited." And upon seeing the expression on my husband's face, hurriedly continued. "W-well, I thought that was a little rude at first but she looked genuinely confused when I said that the bakery got invited on its own accord and no one else's. Like, she looked really surprised. Not angry or anything that, um, or that she was really trying to insult me."

Xander sighed. "Yeah? And I find that hard to believe, Angel." I nudged his feet under the table and he teased in return.

"I've got a feeling she was the one who made under the table passes at the organizers or something. It explains why she'd be confused when she heard that you didn't."

I sipped on my iced lemonade, passing Giselle a napkin to wipe her mouth. "You're underestimating her, Xan. The cakes she brought today were beautiful! Everyone said so. And the organizers were super nice! I don't think they're the sort of people who would accept those kind of transactions..."

My husband laughed, flicking my forehead. "Tsk, stop being so nice and cute."

"Hehe." We traded drinks after Giselle went for my lemonade and split the last slice of pizza. It was then that I recalled Mr. Yamazaki's invitation to the sharing session for everyone at today's event.

I told Xander about it and he seemed surprised.

"That's nice of him. Sounds like a follow-up sort of thing...didn't think they'd do that."

"It's the first time, so!" I was feeling excited about it myself. "Everyone didn't expect it either. And since they said that it was okay to bring non-bakers along...I was thinking we should go together!"

My husband stared at me for a good minute before breaking into a smirk. "So...I'm your chief baker now?"

"Of course not," I finished my bit of the pizza slice and stacked our plates atop one another. "I thought you were my personal bodyguard," I teased instead, mentally giving myself a pat on the back for le great comebacks (and for not stammering when I said it, so Xan couldn't tease me in return).

"Sure," he laughed, seemingly impressed. "Does that mean I'm on night duty too?"

I huffed, upset that I couldn't come up with something better every single time and having to give my husband the win today. Next time...next time for sure!

"Do you need a torchlight to go with that?" Giselle asked with her mouth full and the pair of siblings stood up for a coordinated five.

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

Yamazaki Shin was brooding over the range of non-existent ways he could lengthen his supposed two-thousand-five-hundred-word essay (which was currently at a grand total of twenty-three words) when his father poked his head into his room and interrupted his train of thought.

"シン、明日暇？" Shin's father had a slip of paper in between his fingers and the boy could already tell it was the name card of some bakery that had become his father's new obsession.

"また？おとといはもう食べたんでしょう。" He received the card regardless of his expression of disapproval, staring at the name of the bakery for a good, long moment before understanding why it had become his father's new obsession.

"Where did you get this?" He asked, fairly surprised as he jumped out of his seat to text Nguyen, forgetting about his incomplete essay. "I...this is my teacher—uh, substitute teacher. In school."

His father stared blankly in return, blinking twice. "シンちゃん、父さんの英語はまだbasicなので...もっとゆっくり..."

But the boy was already firing texts to his best friend and quietly rejoicing that his favourite teacher was increasingly being recognized for his skill.