Page 59 of Stupid Matchmaking Love

I straighten. Here it comes.

“Though the two of you may have started the food fight, your cookies revealed true collaboration. The sun and moon flavors—lemon and vanilla—blend perfectly, without overpowering each other, and your icing texture is incredible. You are the winners of this challenge. Congratulations.”

My stomach drops.

No. No. No!

It’s not supposed to be us! Anyone but us.

My phone doesn’t ding with a message from Glen, but nevertheless it sits heavy in my pocket, like an albatross around my neck.

I shoot Rhett a look. My eyebrows work overtime, silently saying, How could we have won?

And his brows work as well, replying, I have no idea.

As much as I would love to stop this whole shebang, openly question Mina’s sanity—or taste buds—I just keep quiet and smile.

“Rhett and Cristina will receive fifty points and go on a date to the fair. The couple that came in second is Clarice and Beau, followed by Maya and Logan, Holly and Jace, and finally, Callie and Jeff.”

What the pudding? Is this some kind of sick joke? Callie and Jeff are the most in sync. I mean, they look like they must’ve had a blast playing Hide the Sausage.

That’s it. I’ve reached the end of my rope. I raise my hand.

Mina blinks. “Yes, Cristina?”

“Are y’all sure about these ranks? I mean, did you really taste the cookies? Like, shove a huge chunk in your mouths?”

She laughs. “I assure you, we tasted them all, and those are the rankings. Again, congratulations. We’ll see everyone in a few days for the next challenge.”

And then we’re dismissed. Just like that. Just told we had winning cookies and kicked to the curb.

Well, I want to taste those cookies. So I march over to our station, pick one of the extras off a plate, and nibble the edge.

The first thing I’m hit with is the smell—vanilla, which reminds me of a cold fall day spent inside with the fireplace going. Warm, socked feet.

The cookie hums with magic like it’s pleased with itself, and instead of salt, the treat is buttery and crisp—sweet but not too sweet, with a soft, chewy center.

“Oh my God,” I moan.

“What is it?” Rhett asks, coming around.

“This is delicious.”

“What?” He tastes a cookie and his eyes bulge. “That is good. I can see why we won.” When I shoot him a dark look, he quickly straightens. “But it shouldn’t be so delicious. What kind of witchcraft is this?”

He says it so melodramatically I can’t help but laugh, then quickly school my face. “How did this happen? I picked up this.” I grab the salt container and dip my finger in and taste it. “Salt. This is salt. This is what I used, right?”

“As far as I know.”

“But that’s impossible. Because that’s not what’s in our cookies. What’s in them is sugar.”

“So it appears.”

I scoff. “You don’t seem too worried about this.”

“What can we do about it now?”

There’s something a bit too laissez-faire about Rhett, like he’s not surprised by the outcome. Even though magic hums in every bite of this cookie, as if the ley-line imbued town won’t allow us to fail, my insides turn to lead, and I say, “You rigged it somehow.”