Chapter 170: As the Official Ambassador

NORA’S POV

A collective gasp swept through the audience.

Up in the front row, Bear pushed his chair back angrily. It rattled hard against the brass railing, his face dark with rage. Priya grabbed his arm right away and whispered to him with a calm, dangerous smile.

Next to me, Knox didn’t move. He pressed his hand against my lower back and rubbed slow circles to comfort me.

Mom stood with her chin lifted, refusing to let Vanessa see even a flicker of hurt.

Chef Evelyn stared at Vanessa Orwell with cold, angry eyes.

Without a word, Chef Evelyn reached out and took the wireless microphone right out of Vanessa’s hand.

"As chair of this judging panel, I want to clarify a basic truth for our guest sponsor," Chef Evelyn spoke into the microphone. "Calling naturally leavened, stone-deck sourdough ’peasant food’ shows a lack of culinary education. Bread has sustained humanity and baking traditions for thousands of years. It is the purest test of a baker’s skill."

Several food critics in the front row broke into spontaneous applause.

Vanessa’s face turned bright red with anger. "Chef Evelyn, as the official ambassador..."

"As the ambassador, your duty is to represent the resort, not settle personal grievances," Chef Evelyn interrupted smoothly. "Under the official Olympic scoring regulations adopted by the Tri-County committee, any score deviating by more than three standard deviations from the master consensus is classified as a rogue outlier. Miss Orwell’s four is officially struck from the record."

Vanessa gasped, clutching her digital tablet against her ribs. "You cannot simply discard my score! My family’s foundation funded this entire showcase!"

Chef Evelyn looked at her coldly.

"Your foundation funded the prize purse, Miss Orwell," Chef Evelyn said firmly. "You did not purchase the integrity of this panel. Step back."

Vanessa froze. Her lips parted in shock as two camera lenses zoomed directly onto her humiliated face. With her silver heels clicking on the polished floor, she retreated to the edge of the stage, crossing her arms in silence

"Thank you, judges," Mom said softly, offering a respectful nod.

The panel moved across the aisle to complete their walk-through of the remaining stations.

Stations Two and Three presented admirable holiday displays, but their bakes lacked structural ambition.

Finally, the judges reached Station One.

Chef Marcel Moreau stood tall next to his large Eiffel Tower display. His sugar artwork looked perfect and caught the lights, and his bread was neatly baked. Everything was done with classic French skill.

The judges tried his pastries and talked quietly among themselves.

"Your skills are wonderful, Chef Moreau," Chef Evelyn said as she reviewed his work. "Your pastry layers are crisp and your sugar work is impressive. However, we see this same Paris theme at almost every contest. In a showcase dedicated to the mountain harvest, perfect skill without originality leaves the palate wanting more."

Chef Moreau’s jaw tightened. He gave a polite bow, trying to hide his disappointment behind a tight smile.

After a few more minutes, the master of ceremonies took the center stage..

"Will all four finalist bakeries please step up to the main stage!" the host announced loudly.

Mom, Knox, and I walked up the wooden steps to the stage. Knox took off his apron, folded it nicely over his arm, and stood tall right behind Mom and me.

"Fourth place goes to North End Confections," the announcer declared, handing over a bronze ribbon.

"In third place, Beacon Hill Pastries!"

The crowd clapped politely as the third-place team accepted their ribbon and stepped back.

Only two teams remained standing under the blinding center spotlights: Chef Marcel Moreau representing L’Étoile, and Mom and me representing Sugar and Spice.

Mom reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as she gripped my hand. I squeezed back with everything I had.

"In second place, taking home the runner-up trophy and tenthousanddollar... Chef Marcel Moreau and L’Étoile!"

The arena erupted into applause. Chef Moreau’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief. He stood frozen for two full seconds before stiffly stepping forward to accept his silver plaque.

The host paused, letting the room build with excitement.

"And now, with a near-perfect final score of ninety-eight point six out of one hundred... the Grand Champions of the Tri-County Artisan Baking Showcase and winners of the fifty-thousand-dollar grand prize..."

The announcer pointed his hand straight at our station.

"...SUGAR AND SPICE BAKERY!"

Twin cannons on either side of the stage blasted with a loud THUMP, shooting thousands of gold and silver foil ribbons into the air.

Mom gasped, both hands flying to her mouth as tears spilled down her cheeks. "We did it," she whispered, her voice shaking with emotion. "Nora... we did it."

"We won, Mom!" I cried out, throwing my arms around her neck.

We held each other tight in the center of the stage, crying tears of overwhelming relief. Thirty years of early mornings, my dad’s legacy, the unpaid bills, the threat of foreclosure... all of it vanished under the falling gold confetti.

Up in the gallery, Bear roared like a grizzly bear, waving his giant sign over his head and lifting Priya right out of her chair in a bear hug.

Strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind.

Before I could turn around, Knox lifted me clean off the stage floor, spinning me around in a circle as the crowd cheered.

"You did it, Bookworm," Knox said softly with pride.

He set my feet back onto the wooden stage. With dozens of television cameras flashing and hundreds of spectators watching, Knox framed my face with his large hands and pulled me into a breathless kiss.

His mouth was warm and full of happiness. I gripped his broad shoulders, kissing him back with every ounce of joy in my heart, not caring about the cameras and the crowd

When he finally let me breathe, his eyes were full of love

"I’m so damn proud of you," Knox whispered against my lips.

The resort director and Chef Evelyn stepped forward, presenting Mom and me with an enormous, oversized fifty-thousand-dollar check and a heavy crystal championship trophy shaped like a sheaf of wheat.

Mom held one side of the giant check, and I held the other. Knox stood proudly right beside us, his arm resting protectively around my waist as the photographers crowded the foot of the stages, taking pictures.

Across the room, Vanessa Orwell quietly left through the side doors, completely ignored by everyone.

I looked down at the gold lettering on the crystal trophy, then turned to look at Knox. "Thank you," I mouthed.

Knox leaned down, his lips brushing my ear as the applause swelled. "Don’t thank me, Bennett. You earned every single cent." His mouth curved into that slow, crooked smirk. "Besides... you still have to figure out how you’re spending Thanksgiving with me."

A flutter kicked in my chest, but before I could answer, Bear’s booming voice roared from the stage steps.

"Make room for the champions!"

Bear and Priya shoved their way through the knot of photographers. Bear hoisted the cardboard sign high in the air with one hand and threw his massive arm around Knox’s neck, nearly knocking him off balance.

"Fifty grand!" he bellowed, grinning ear to ear. "I’m ordering the biggest ribeye on the mountain to celebrate, and Sheridan is paying!"

"In your dreams, Bear," Knox chuckled, shaking him off.

Priya stepped up beside me, her eyes gleaming with pride. She looked at me for two seconds with a big smile before pulling me into a hug. "I told you you’ve got this. So always listen to me."

I choked out a laugh through my tears and hugged Priya even tighter. "Thanks for always believing in me, Priya. I love you."

"You don’t have a choice now, do you?" she replied with a smirk as we pulled back.

"Let me take a picture of the two of you," Priya said, reaching for Knox.

Knox pulled out his phone and handed it over without hesitation. He pulled me into a warm side hug, his arm wrapping securely around my shoulders while I held the crystal trophy against my waist. We both smiled as Priya angled the phone and snapped the photo.

"Absolute perfection," Priya declared, handing the phone back to him.

Knox held the screen between us so we could look at the picture. We looked radiant together... my cheeks were flushed with tears and joy, and Knox was smiling down at me with pure, open pride.

Right as we looked at our smiling faces, the screen flickered.

A preview banner dropped down across the top of the photo, displaying a single incoming message from Garrison Sheridan.

Garrison Sheridan: My office. Tomorrow, eight o’clock sharp. We need to discuss Thanksgiving and your future.