The Sweet Spot

6

The following days were a whirlwind of preparation. I had officially entered the Willow Creek Food Fair, and now the pressure was on. The bakery smelled of vanilla, cinnamon, and lemon zest, a testament to the countless hours I'd spent perfecting my recipes for the competition. I wanted to make sure that everything I brought to the fair would be the best representation of what Sweet Dreams could offer.

But the nerves hadn't gone away. If anything, they'd doubled. Every time I opened the oven or piped icing onto a cake, I felt a wave of doubt crash over me. What if my best wasn't good enough? What if no one liked my pastries? I had never put myself out there in such a public way, and the thought of standing in front of a crowd while they judged my work was enough to make my hands shake.

Elliot had been watching me bake with wide eyes, sensing the shift in my usual routine. I'd tried my best to keep things normal for him, but between late nights and early mornings, it was impossible to hide my exhaustion. He'd been a trooper, though, spending his time drawing at the little table in the corner of the bakery or playing with his toys while I worked.

"Mommy, are you making special cupcakes for the fair?" Elliot asked one afternoon, his face smudged with flour from helping me roll out dough for cookies.

I smiled, leaning down to wipe the flour from his cheek. "Yes, sweetheart. I'm making cupcakes, cookies, and a few of my signature pastries."

He tilted his head, curious. "Are you gonna win?"

The innocence of his question made me laugh softly, though there was a pang of anxiety in my chest. I didn't want to let him down. "I hope so," I said, keeping my tone light. "But even if I don't, we'll still have fun at the fair."

Elliot grinned, clearly excited at the prospect of the event itself. "I want to ride the Ferris wheel!"

"Maybe we can do that after I'm done," I said, ruffling his hair.

As I stood back up, I glanced at the stack of order forms and bills on the counter. Winning the food fair wasn't just about pride—it could mean the difference between staying afloat or falling further behind on my payments. The prize money would cover at least a couple of months of rent, and the publicity from a win could bring in more customers.

The thought made my stomach churn again. I wasn't sure if I was more excited or terrified. Maybe both.

By the time Oliver Steele walked into the bakery later that afternoon, I was covered in flour and exhausted from a full day of baking. He strolled in like he always did, giving the place his usual once-over before his eyes landed on me.

"Busy day?" he asked, his tone carrying that hint of dry amusement I was slowly getting used to.

"You could say that," I muttered, wiping my hands on a towel. "I've been working non-stop to get ready for the food fair."

He nodded, leaning against the counter. "Good. You'll need every minute of practice."

I raised an eyebrow, not sure if I should feel insulted or motivated. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Oliver smirked. "It's not about confidence, Little Rabbit. It's about preparation. You're entering a competition, and if you want to win, you need to be ready for anything."

"I'm trying," I said, feeling the weight of his words. "I've been working on new recipes, testing out different combinations... I just don't know if it's enough."

He studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Show me what you've got."

I blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"You've been baking all day, right?" he said, crossing his arms. "Let me try something. I'll tell you if it's good enough for the fair."

I hesitated. I wasn't sure if I was ready for another round of Oliver's brutally honest critiques. But at the same time, he was a professional, and if anyone could help me fine-tune my recipes, it was him.

"Fine," I said, turning toward the trays of freshly baked goods. I selected a small assortment of cupcakes, cookies, and a lemon tart I'd been working on, placing them on a plate and sliding it across the counter to him. "Go ahead. Be honest."

Oliver picked up one of the cupcakes first, examining it like he was evaluating a priceless artifact. I held my breath as he took a bite, watching his expression carefully.

He chewed slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the flavor. Then he set the cupcake down and reached for the lemon tart, taking a bite before moving on to the cookies. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, waiting for his verdict.

After what felt like an eternity, he looked up at me. "The cupcakes are good. The icing could use a little more depth, maybe a hint of citrus or something to cut through the sweetness. The tart is solid—flavors are balanced, crust is perfect. And the cookies..." He paused, glancing at the tray. "They're fine, but they don't stand out."

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. "So... they're good?"

"They're good," Oliver said, but there was a pause before he continued, "but good isn't enough. You're not going to win the food fair with 'good.' You need something that grabs people's attention."

I frowned, feeling the familiar sting of his bluntness. "What do you suggest?"

Oliver stepped closer to the counter, leaning in as if he was about to share some kind of secret. "You've got skill. There's no question about that. But if you want to stand out, you need to take a risk. Don't play it safe. Try something unexpected, something bold."

"Bold?" I echoed, uncertain.

He nodded, his eyes gleaming with a challenge. "You've been playing it safe with these recipes. They're good, but they're predictable. You need to push the boundaries a little. Take a classic and give it a twist. Add an ingredient no one expects. Make people stop and think."

I bit my lip, thinking it over. I'd always been cautious with my baking, sticking to recipes I knew people liked. But maybe that was part of the problem. Maybe I'd been too afraid to try something different, too afraid of failing.

"Okay," I said slowly, feeling a spark of determination flare up. "I'll try something new."

Oliver gave me a small nod of approval. "Good. And remember—confidence. You've got the talent, you just need to believe in it."

It was strange, hearing him say that. For all of his gruffness, there was something almost... encouraging in his tone. It wasn't the typical over-the-top praise you might expect from a mentor. It was simple, matter-of-fact. But coming from him, it carried weight.

"Thanks," I said softly, feeling a little lighter.

"Don't thank me yet," he replied with a smirk. "You've still got to win."

With that, he turned and left the bakery, leaving me standing there, staring at the plate of half-eaten pastries. His words echoed in my mind—bold, unexpected, take a risk.

I spent the next few hours brainstorming, scribbling ideas down in my notebook, and trying to come up with something that would set me apart at the food fair. But the more I thought about it, the more excited I became. Maybe this was what I needed—something to push me out of my comfort zone and make Sweet Dreams stand out.

That night, after putting Elliot to bed, I stayed up late in the kitchen, experimenting with different flavors and combinations. I tried adding lavender to my lemon tarts, incorporating rosemary into my shortbread cookies, and even testing out a spicy chocolate cupcake that had a hint of cayenne pepper for an unexpected kick.

Some of my experiments were complete disasters, but a few showed promise. I felt that same rush of creativity I'd had when I first opened Sweet Dreams—the joy of trying new things, of pushing myself to create something special.

By the time I finally crawled into bed, my body was exhausted, but my mind was buzzing with possibilities. The food fair was only a few days away, and I had a lot of work to do, but for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was ready.

Oliver Steele had thrown down the gauntlet, and I was going to rise to the challenge.

Sweet Dreams wasn't just going to be another bakery at the food fair.

It was going to be the one that people remembered.