Blake gave up his Toronto-based baking business a year ago when his father was badly injured in an accident. A request to help cater a Christmas party at the prestigious Pine Ridge riding school might be the push he needs to get back into the swing of things, but a mistake from his past continues to cast a shadow over everything he does.
Michael was once an Olympic medal-winning show jumper, but a miscalculation years ago sent him into a downward spiral from which he's only now beginning to recover. When he's asked to play Santa Claus at the Pine Ridge Christmas party, Michael is firmly against the idea.
Once he meets the intriguing party caterer, he starts to rethink his opposition, but can he expect anyone to look beyond his dark past long enough to get close to him? Can he look beyond it long enough to forgive himself? And can Blake and Michael help each other finally move on from what came before?
Michael hadn't been avoiding the kitchen at Pine Ridge. Not exactly. He also hadn't been going there, not since the baker gave him a cupcake and he ran away like an idiot. That same man stood before him now, smiling, a white box in his hand and a duffel bag over his shoulder. Michael, painfully aware of the shabbiness of his outfit, wondered if he could close the door and pretend no one was home.
“Hi,” the man said. “I've got your cake.”
“Great. Thanks.” Michael held out his arms for the box. He didn't hand it over.
“Sorry.” The baker shifted. “Could I just come in for a minute? I need to finish the glaze. I wasn't sure if it would travel well.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Michael could feel the back of his neck burning as he led the baker down the hallway. Get a goddamn grip, he snapped to himself. It did no good. By the time he brought him into the flagstone-floored kitchen, Michael was certain his face was flaming red.
“Thanks.” Setting down both the box and the bag, the man unzipped the bag and brought out a smaller, insulated bag from within. From that, like a matryoshka doll, he pulled out yet another container, this one a glass bowl with a cover. “Can I use the microwave?”
“Of course.” When the man didn't immediately move towards it, Michael pointed it out, above the oven.
“I thought that was a double oven.”
“My sister thinks obvious microwaves are tacky.” At least the designer who redid her kitchen convinced her to think that.
“This is your sister's place?” The baker put the container into the microwave and shut the door. Michael nodded. “It's a beautiful house.” The man pushed the buttons. As they stood in awkward silence, Michael looked down and saw a business card taped to the top of the cardboard box. Cakes and Creations by Blake Garrison. The phone number on the card was struck through with a line of thick black marker, and another number had been written underneath, in pen.
Blake Garrison. Was that this man's name?
After what seemed like an eternity, the microwave beeped and the man -- Blake -- withdrew his container. Placing it on the counter, he opened the cardboard box. “Do you have a big plate?”
Michael went to the cupboard and retrieved one. With practised ease, Blake lifted a round, brown cake from the box and placed it in the centre of the plate. He took a long wooden spoon from his bag, stirred up whatever goopy mixture was in the glass bowl, and looked up at Michael. “Now, for the moment of truth.”
Michael wasn't sure what to expect. Whatever it was, it wasn't what he got. Beginning at the centre and working outwards, Blake poured a glaze over the cake. It was thick, black, and so shiny, the overhead lights shone brightly across it. Blake carefully turned the cake, making sure to coat all of it evenly.
Michael didn't drink or do drugs anymore. He didn't miss it, but just for a moment, he wondered what it might have been like if he'd been high as he watched this glossy glaze spread out across the cake, dripping down the sides onto the plate below.
“That looks amazing.” It sounded stupid, but Michael didn't have another word to describe it. Blake looked up at him and smiled so widely, Michael suddenly wasn't sure it was that stupid, after all.
“I was worried about it turning out. I've only done this once before. Maybe don't tell your sister that, though.”
Surprised, Michael laughed, and Blake's smile grew even wider. “We have to leave it for a few minutes,” he said, when the cake was covered. “Then I can tidy it up and put the sparkles on.”
“Sparkles?”
“They're meant to be stars. It's called a galaxy mirror glaze.” One of Blake's eyebrows went up. “Unless you think that's over the top?”
“She'll love it.” He wasn’t sure if he meant Meg or Clara. Probably both of them.
A silence. Michael tried to think of something to say. “Have you been doing this long?” Was the first thing that came to mind.
“I stopped for a while,” Blake replied. “I'm just getting back into it.” Michael didn't know what to say to that. Blake did something in his bag, then looked up. “I saw you riding the other day. You're really good.”
“I used to be okay.” It sounded like false modesty, but Michael was being honest. If he'd ever been exceptional, it was because Bella had been an exceptional horse. Michael could take very little credit for their success.
Blake seemed sceptical. “You won an Olympic medal.”
“Just silver.” Blake stared at Michael like he thought he was crazy. He wasn’t the first. Maybe it was true, but even after all this time, Michael felt more disappointment than anything when he looked at that medal. It should have been gold. He and Bella had trained for gold.
It wasn't a subject Michael liked to dwell on.
