"I could yell 'Fire'," he whispered hopefully. "I could create a panic that would empty the hall. And then I'd destroy my cake."
"Don't be foolish. And stop whispering."
The young post-honeymooning husband: "You're going to win, dear; I can feel it in my bones."
"Oh, Greg, please don't try to fool me. I've resigned myself to losing."
"You won't lose."
"I'm afraid. Put your arm around me, Greg. Hold me tight. Will you still love me if I lose?"
"Mmmm." He kissed her shoulder. "You know, I didn't fall in love with you for your cooking, sweetheart. You don't have to bake any cakes for me. You're good enough to eat yourself."
"He's right," thought Ronar, as he stared at her. "The man's right. Not in the way he means, but he's right." And suddenly, for one second of decision, Ronar's entire past seemed to flash through his mind.
The young bride never knew why she won first prize.