Cinnamon and Spice Conundrum (Cinnamon Rolls and Pumpkin Spice)

Chapter 21

Ryan/Jack

We retrieve the gaudy Pinecone Toss trophy—three giant pinecones glued together and spray-painted a metallic gold—and the other emcee trappings. Sadie changes into a blue jean skirt, matching denim shirt, and knee-high brown boots for the ceremony. She looks spectacular, and I wish I could hide her away so none of the virile men on the Chuckers or Crusaders try to hit on her.

Why can’t Dilbert fill in for Agnes?

When we get to the toss venue, Sadie dons the crown—a cheap-looking tiara from a dollar store—and bright pink sash adorned with glitter letters that spell out Pinecone Princess. We both wince when we read the message.

“Do I look ridiculous?” Sadie says. “Maybe I should ditch the sash?” she adds, looking down dubiously at her chest.

“Um, well, the sash is a little over the top,” I agree. “But if seventy-year-old Agnes can pull it off, you can certainly pull it off.”

She giggles. “If I ever have to wear this thing again, I’m going to scrape off the glitter.”

“What’s the fun in that?” I tease.

H-o-n-k!

A loud air horn signals the start of the competition, making everyone jump. Sadie jogs over to a makeshift stage and hops on top of the small raised platform. She takes her crown off and bows like royalty while the crowd hoots and hollers. She grabs the microphone with a flourish and shouts, “Let The Pinecone Toss games begin!”

There’s a mad scramble as teams assume their positions at either end of the toss zone. A few teams are co-ed, but most athletes are brawny Paul Bunyon look-alikes, wearing bulky flannel shirts and blue jeans, along with thick gloves, chest protectors, and helmets. A stack of giant pinecones sits beside each team.

Up to this point, I thought the game was to toss giant pinecones as far as possible, like a javelin throw in track and field events. However, Sadie explained that contestants toss pinecones back and forth to one of their teammates, much like a water balloon toss. Each member of the 4-person team is required to get a turn tossing to another teammate. Whichever team has the most successful tosses without dropping or breaking a cone moves on to the next round. That explains all the protective gear.

A judge blows a whistle, and the tossing begins. I misjudged this event, because there’s a lot of skill involved. Catching a prickly pinecone, even wearing gloves, is tricky. They appear to be difficult to toss consistently, wobbling or tumbling in the air like a dead duck. The catchers scramble up and down the tossing zone, often with the cones bouncing off their hand or chest. It’s kind of like a baseball toss game, but with a very poor aerodynamic object acting as the baseball.

The large, boisterous crowd laughs at the action. I’ve got to admit, the game is pretty fun to watch, and I quickly get into cheering and encouraging the teams.

“Go Chuckers!”

“You’ve got this, Crusaders!”

“Ooh! That’s gotta hurt!” a man yells when a pinecone hits a catcher square in the face, bouncing off his nose. A medical team rushes to the downed player, tapes his nose, and signals for play to resume.

As the game continues, the crowd starts murmuring excitedly about a team that’s new to the competition. The Mighty Piney Pitchers advance from the first round to the second, taking out the Tossing Titans. The team consists of four women, and from what I gather, an all-female team has never won this competition. They really stand out with their pink flannel shirts and shiny gold helmets .

During the second round, I take my eyes off the competition and scan the crowd. People of all ages are in attendance. Parents with small children on their shoulders. Teenagers hanging out together. Even a few attendees that look like they’re on a date, holding hands or embracing. My eyes stop when they land on a familiar figure.

Victoria White, looking every inch the snooty diva in designer denim and thousand-dollar boots, stands just a few feet down from me. I had the displeasure of taking her to the Diabetes Foundation Gala one time. Longest evening of my life.

Will she recognize me?

Panic sets in as I slouch down, trying to hide behind the man standing next to me. I try to give off a fuddy-duddy vibe and hope the cardigan and glasses are a sufficient disguise. Before I can sneak off, she turns her head, laughing at something the woman beside her said. Her brows crease as she stares intently at me, while I hold my breath and turn my head, praying she doesn’t recognize me. After a few seconds, I adjust my baseball cap lower on my forehead and quickly slink off, moving through the crowd as stealthily as possible. When I reach the end of the row, I crane my head around a rotund man, trying to catch another glimpse of Victoria, but she’s disappeared. My shoulders sag in relief, but I better not mingle in these crowds anymore. No need to tempt fate.

Motioning to Dilbert, I whisper, “Can you video the trophy presentation for Agnes?”

He gives me a concerned look. “Are you not feeling well?”

“I think I ate one too many corn dogs,” I reply, knowing this explanation will cut off any additional questions.

Wrinkling his nose, Dilbert points towards the rear of the park. “Restrooms are over there.”

I nod and flee in the direction of the restrooms, then hide out behind the hot cider stand until the competition concludes. Mrs. Finniwood, a nonagenarian by her own admission, gladly provides a folding chair and plenty of conversation between the slow straggle of customers. She assures me that business will pick up once the competition is finished. I learn several fascinating historical facts about the town, including that her grandfather, Odius Conifer, was a founding member. His name was an inspiration for the town’s moniker.

H-o-n-k!

Another blast from the air horn signals the end of the competition and the start of the award ceremony. I peep around the edge of the hot cider tent to watch Sadie stride confidently to the stage. She takes my breath away, and several loud catcalls come from the crowd. Off to the side of the stage, Dilbert holds up his cell phone, capturing a video as requested.

“Thank you all for coming! Did you enjoy The Pinecone Toss?”

More whistles, along with enthusiastic clapping and loud cheering greet her words. Exclamations of “who won?” ring across the masses. Others shout:

“What about those Mighty Piney Pitchers?” “Woo Hoo!” “Girl power!”

Sadie grins, then holds her hand up to silence the crowd. “Without further ado, will the Mighty Piney Pitchers please come to the stage to collect your trophy?”

The crowd reacts to the announcement with another loud ovation and several ear-splitting whistles. The four women run to the stage, surrounding Sadie as they fist pump and jump up and down.

“I’m proud to present this lovely winner’s trophy to our first ever all-female winning team!” Sadie shouts, handing the trophy and gift certificate to the winners. Several of the male competitors reluctantly clap as they stand off to the edge of the stage.

“The Chuckers will be back next year,” I hear a male voice yell.

“Chuckers! Chuckers! Chuckers!” The chant starts small, then spreads over the crowd .

“Pitchers! Pitchers! Pitchers!” echoes right back, confronting the original chant.

Sadie holds up her hand. “Let’s let the Pitchers bask in their first-time victory.” That quiets the crowd although a few disgruntled losers boo under their breath. “All the delicious food stands are open for business,” she adds, gesturing her hand towards the gaggle of tents selling everything from fried pickles to corn dogs to kettle corn. I duck back behind the hot cider tent, making sure I’m out of sight.

Once the crowd disperses and Sadie walks off stage, I wave to her from behind the cider stand.

“Why are you hiding over here?” Sadie asks.

“Oh, the push of the crowd kind of got to me,” I say.

A concerned look crosses her pretty face. “Are you claustrophobic?”

No, I just don’t want Victoria White to recognize me.

“I’m not a big fan of crowds.”

She nods, accepting my explanation. I take her hand, quickly guiding her towards the parking lot.

“Don’t you want a corn dog?” she asks with a wistful look as we stride past the food tents.

“How about we heat up the stroganoff sauce and I cook up a new pot of noodles?” I suggest, not wanting to risk having my identity outed.

“Okay.”

Tugging her close, I say, “You were a terrific emcee.”

“But let’s hope Agnes is back on her feet next year.”

I don’t comment because I’m probably not going to be here next year. I shove aside the depressing thought that I’ll have to return to my real life sometime soon.

The next day, I make sure my outfit is even more fuddy-duddy looking on the off chance that Victoria White comes into the café. These close calls make me want to hide out at the cabin, but how would I explain that?

Sadie wrinkles her nose as I stroll through the back door slightly after six. She’s rolling out dough, but she pauses. “Jack, why don’t you ditch the cardigan today? The temperatures are supposed to be in the seventies.”

Chuckling to myself at her polite way of asking me to scrap my sweater, I reply, “Naw, I’m good.” I wore the ugliest of my brown cardigan collection, along with an ancient safari hat I found in Sadie’s grandad’s closet. The floppy brim droops down over my forehead, almost resting on the top of my black plastic frames, concealing my hair and a lot of my face. I look like a nerdy version of the guy who played Crocodile Dundee. I thought that finding this hat was a nice bit of irony since Sadie thinks Mr. Turnbill is on safari.

“I doubt you need that atrocious hat! Is it one of Grandad’s?”

“I thought it would give me a little more local flavor, so the festival goers think I’m a Pinecone Pines native.”

She grunts, then returns to rolling out dough. I can’t wait until the festival is over and I won’t have to worry about being recognized, but I just can’t risk it.

“What kind of muffins are we making this morning?” I ask in an overly chipper voice. I want to pull her in for a kiss, but I get the definite vibe that she’s annoyed about my outfit and my refusal to change it.

“Let’s bake those pumpkin spice ones again. The recipe is over there.” She juts her chin towards the island.

After carefully measuring the ingredients, I start mixing them together and say, “Any update on Agnes? Did Dilbert post the video of the Pinecone Toss trophy ceremony yet? ”

She slaps her forehead and moans. “I forgot about the video! Believe me, I don’t relish watching myself wearing that tiara and ridiculous sash.”

Laughing, I say, “You were a terrific Pinecone Princess. The best I’ve ever seen.”

She tosses a handful of flour at me, some of which lands on the front of my cardigan. “There! Now you have to remove that ugly sweater.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, her eyes go wide, and she bites her lip.

Looking down at my chest with a pout, I say, “Are these sweaters really that bad?”

Our eyes lock and her lips twitch, then we both break out in loud guffaws.

“Jack, you look like a nerdy grandpa in them,” she says between hoots.

Placing my hand dramatically over my heart, I mimic plunging a knife into my chest. “Ouch! That stings!”

“You’re the one who asked. I’m just being honest.”

I grunt. “Maybe I’ll surprise you one day and come in looking like a million bucks,” I joke. All of my real-life Ryan outfits look like a million bucks.

“I look forward to the day.”

If only I was brave enough to reveal my true self to her. I’ll do it after the festival, I tell myself. Wear my real clothes and tell her that I’m really Ryan Turnbill.

Will she ever talk to me again? What will she think of the real me?