Chapter Twenty-Seven
A nd the winner this week, who blew us away with his brioche and stunned us with his cinnamon swirl, whose braided bread was nothing short of brilliant—as I’m sure will come as no surprise—it’s Mac!”
There was a polite round of applause and a few slaps on the back—but everyone had known Mac was going to take it after finishing first in the Skills Challenge and earning a “flawless” from Alexander Clay and an “I could just eat that all day” from Judge Joanie in the elimination round.
Magda tried to be happy for him, but she stood at the other end of the row of bakers—gripping Leah’s hand tightly in hers. They all knew what was coming, and she just wanted to slow time, to drag this out so it didn’t happen, or go back in time to change things, to add a few more minutes in the oven.
There was no coming back from raw dough inside your bread braid.
Don’t cry. Just don’t cry. Magda stared straight ahead, struggling for composure.
“And this is the hard part. It really does get harder every week,” Jeffrey Flanders said with fake emotion, as if he had actually gotten to know any of the contestants. “And this week is the hardest yet. We are really going to miss this baker, who was always such a bright light in the kitchen, who gave us incredible quality week after week, and we’re so shocked to see leaving us…”
Dontcrydontcrydontcry.
“We will genuinely miss you… I’m so sorry.” Jeffrey Flanders took a deep breath, really milking it, until Magda wanted to throw something at his face.
She’d wanted to delay the inevitable, but this felt like torture.
Flanders nodded once, pityingly. “I’m afraid it’s Leah who will be leaving the kitchen.”
Magda sniffed. Leah nodded, her face a mask of resignation. That raw dough. As soon as Alexander Clay had cut into her braid and tsk ed, they’d known the only thing that would save her would be someone else messing up even worse. And the rest of them had muddled through.
As the judges murmured their sympathies, Magda turned to hug Leah with tears in her eyes.
“Oh God, Mags, don’t cry!” Leah said, her own eyes growing wet.
Eunice rushed over to join their hug, and Abby was there, patting Leah on the back, and then everyone was there, circling her with sympathy. They all wanted to win, but because they achieved baking brilliance, not because someone else fell apart. Even Tim came over and seemed vaguely sympathetic—though Magda had her doubts about his sincerity.
“You better win,” Leah said to Magda and Eunice, gripping each of them by the arm as the judges walked over to add their mumbles of sympathy.
Normally they would all be funneled back to the Proving Room, where Leah would be whisked away for her final interview and the rest of them would be quickly cycled through the confessionals to talk about the results, since they’d already discussed the bakes in detail while the judges were deliberating. But today, the producers instructed Leah to head back to the proving room and asked the rest of them to resume their marks.
The cameras watched them all wave to Leah as she made her noble, slightly tearful departure—probably just another shot Stephen wanted for this episode—but then instead of releasing them, Jeffrey Flanders struck his “And now there’s a twist!” pose.
“I know you all must be exhausted after the longest Bread Week bake in Cake-Off history,” he intoned dramatically, “but we have a little business to take care of before you can go collapse.”
Collapse sounded about right. Magda’s shoulders ached from kneading, and the marathon bread challenge had completely wiped her out.
“Now, some of you may have looked around and noticed that there are only six of you left…”
Oh no.
Magda’s heart suddenly started pounding harder at those words, her exhaustion swallowed by a surge of nerves. She’d forgotten. Or assumed they wouldn’t be doing it this year with all the Archrival gimmicks, but she should have known better.
Six bakers…
“And that means it’s time for the infamous Chocolate Shop Challenge!”
Beside her, Eunice made a sound that resembled a whimper.
“As always,” Flanders powered on, “you will be divided into teams of three, and each team member will be responsible for three batches of twenty-four identical chocolates. These chocolates will be displayed in your ‘shop,’ and each team member must also contribute to the showpiece—which must feature three different types of chocolate, and whether it is a cake, a sculpture, or, as we saw one year, a chocolate waterfall, every bit of your showpiece must be edible. The winning team will be safe, and someone on the losing team will be going home.”
Magda tried not to look terrified. Every Cake-Off fan knew this challenge. Almost every season it sent a frontrunner home. The temperatures in the kitchen were always too warm for chocolate work, and someone’s showpiece inevitably melted.
“Now,” Jeffrey Flanders announced, cheerfully oblivious to the terror he was inspiring—or, more likely, enjoying it—“since this challenge takes a bit of planning, you’ll divvy up into your teams tonight and have the weekend to practice. Mac, since you won the last challenge, you’ll be one team captain and you’ll have first pick, and Abby, as second place during Bread Week, you will be the other. Abby and Mac, if you’d like to join me.”
Before Mac and Abby could move, someone shouted for everyone to hold and Jeffrey was coached through reshooting his lines since Stephen hadn’t been satisfied with the way he introduced the team captains.
The minutes stretched on as Flanders did take after take, and Magda had more and more time to worry about who her team would be.
Tim had been bragging about his chocolate work from day one, and wowing the judges whenever he added sculpted or molded pieces to his bakes. He was the obvious first choice. Zain had gone to Belgium to take a special class on chocolate, specifically in preparation for this week—but Magda wasn’t sure Mac knew that. Had he heard when Zain told Leah in an obvious bid to impress her? Eunice had said she was most scared of Chocolate Week… but Mac hadn’t been there, had he?
All the various combinations of teams rattled around in her head. If she ended up on a team with Abby and Eunice and they lost, would Magda still make it through? Eunice had been inconsistent, but the judges loved her, and Abby had been near the top the entire time.
Finally, it was the moment of truth. Mac and Abby were standing on either side of Jeffrey Flanders, who turned slightly toward Mac. “As the winner of Bread Week and team captain, who would you like to pick as your first teammate?”
Mac didn’t hesitate. “Magda.”
Her jaw fell. She was at best third-pick material when it came to chocolate, but Mac looked utterly calm as he announced his choice. Abby picked Tim, no surprise. And then Mac announced his next pick.
“Eunice.”
Sugar. They were going to lose. Abby had the two best chocolate workers on her team, and she was a beast herself. Magda knew she should be panicking, but there was another feeling swirling in with the panic, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was she… was she happy he’d chosen her?
Standing next to two chocolate experts, he’d chosen her first . It just didn’t compute.
She just hoped she didn’t let him down, because if they weren’t able to defeat the juggernaut of chocolate genius that was the other team, someone was going home.
“Okay, the first thing you remember baking. Go.”
Magda looked up from the raspberry truffle she was drizzling with ruby chocolate, searching her memory at Eunice’s question. It was a game they’d been playing all afternoon as they worked their way through the second of their two five-hour practice sessions in the inn kitchen. One of them would toss out a question, and the other two had to answer as quickly as possible, without thinking about it.
They’d already been through which “one” are you (Mac: “The handsome one, obviously”; Eunice: “The nervous one, also obviously”; and Magda: “Oh God, I’m the one who cries, aren’t I?”), favorite thing to bake (Mac: cinnamon bread; Eunice: fruit tarts; and Magda: vanilla cakes), who would you most like to see eliminated next (everyone: Tim), and who would you most like to see win if you can’t (over which Mac and Magda had both hesitated far too long before each saying “Eunice”; and Eunice had answered: “Magda. Sorry, Mac.”)
“Snickerdoodle cookies with my gran,” Mac said at Magda’s side. He was close to Magda, so close their arms kept brushing—but it was a small kitchen. It didn’t mean anything.
“Magda?”
“Angel food cake with my aunt. And yours?”
“Chocolate chip cookies. So basic.”
“All right, what will you do with the money if you win?” Magda asked, starting to move her finished chocolates to the display they’d created. The first time they’d made the chocolate centerpiece it had… not gone well. But today it actually looked good—and like it might stay upright.
Which was a good thing, because the other team’s practice time had been before theirs, and their showpiece had looked intimidatingly amazing.
“Easy. Move the Cup to a location that isn’t too small and falling down around my ears. Eunice?”
Eunice hesitated so long that Magda glanced behind her to Eunice’s station just to make sure she was okay. Her hands had stopped moving and her expression was slightly lost.
“I don’t know,” Eunice admitted. “When I think about winning, it’s not the money… I just think of the look on my parents’ faces. Being able to say, ‘See, I am good at this. See, this is a real career. I don’t need to be an accountant.’”
“You’ve already proven that,” Magda said. “Do you know how many people apply to be on this show? And you’ve made it to the top six! We all have.”
It was wild to think of it. To realize they’d come all this way.
But there was no time for dwelling.
Half an hour later, they all stared at their chocolate display. It looked good. It tasted good.
“Now if we can just do it half an hour faster tomorrow, we’ll be in great shape,” Mac said, snagging one of Eunice’s chocolates and popping it into his mouth.
The producers had left them alone—they didn’t film the practice sessions—but Eunice put as many of the chocolates as she could fit on a tray and carried them out to give to the crew while Mac and Magda began to clean up. Edible bribery was never a bad idea around here.
Magda tried not to be too hyperaware of his arms as they brushed past each other, gathering up all the dirty pans and bowls. It was domestic, and sort of nice, moving around each other in the inn’s kitchen—even if she was disconcertingly aware of him.
Until his arm brushed hers and a bowl of chocolate mirror glaze slipped from her fingers to splatter all over the floor. “Oh, crumb!”
She glanced over to find Mac’s eyes glinting at hers with entirely too much humor.
“What?”
“ Crumb? Do you ever swear?”
She flushed. “I don’t have a problem with swearing. I just—my aunt Lena, the one who taught me to bake? She would always say crumb and biscuits and sugar instead of swearing, and I guess it rubbed off.”
“So when I call you cupcake, you think I’m swearing at you?”
She narrowed her eyes. “When you call me cupcake, I think you’re doing it because you know it drives me crazy.”
“Would you prefer sugar? Honey? Mon petite croquembouche?”
“ No. Do not call me a croquembouche.”
“As you wish, my little baumkuchen.”
Magda groaned. “That sounds so dirty.”
“Does it?” he asked, his eyes glinting wickedly.
Thankfully she was saved from answering by Eunice returning.
“Oh no! What happened?” she exclaimed, seeing the chocolate glaze all over the floor.
“It was nothing,” Magda said. “I was just clumsy. You don’t have to help clean up—you did more than your share yesterday.”
“No, of course I’ll help.”
“Did the crew get enough chocolate?” Mac asked, a note in his voice that Magda couldn’t quite identify.
“They did,” Eunice confirmed. “But apparently there’s a school group staying at the hotel down the street where the crew sleeps, and one of the PAs said they’d take anything we have left over. But I can take them after we clean up—”
“No, go ahead,” Mac urged. “We’ve got this.”
Did he want to be alone with her again? Magda held her breath, focusing on mopping up the spilled chocolate until Eunice was gone again with another tray of chocolates.
“I was sorry to hear about your aunt Lena,” Mac said from the massive sink, where he was piling bowls.
“It was ages ago,” Magda reminded him.
“Yeah, but I know how much she meant to you.” They were both silent for a moment, but it was an easy silence. A together silence. “You never gave your answer,” he said finally, when she stood from cleaning the floor and began on the counters. His hands were deep in a sink full of suds.
“What answer?”
“What you would do with the money if you won.”
“I don’t know. I kind of want to open another location. Like Eunice, I’m not sure I really thought about it.”
“Something to prove to your parents?”
“No. Just… something to prove to myself, I guess.” A few weeks ago, she would have thought she had something to prove to him, but that had never been true. In some messed-up way, it was almost as though she’d thought if she won Cake-Off , it would prove that she was lovable—even if he hadn’t loved her. “I always admired that you never… You didn’t care what anyone thought.”
“Defense mechanism,” he said without looking away from the dishes. “Don’t want their approval, and you won’t be disappointed if you don’t get it. I’m not sure if my therapist would be incredibly proud or incredibly horrified by that.”
“Your grandmother’s proud of you.”
“Your family is proud of you,” he reminded her.
“Yeah, I guess they are. I always felt kind of invisible before, but this is definitely changing that.”
He scoffed, still without looking at her. “You were never invisible.”
Magda let the glow of those words seep into her, holding on to them as she made the counters shine.
After a long moment, Mac said, “My gran thinks I’m afraid of commitment because I have a horror of letting people down.”
Magda snorted. “That’s ridiculous. You’re Mr. Commitment. You show up to every town event, and you’re always there for your friends—and I should know, because I haven’t been able to avoid you for the last ten years because of it.”
“You calling my gran a liar?”
“No. I’m just saying she’s wrong .”
“Impossible.”
She smiled and, finished with the counters, moved over to the sink area to help him dry—but she must have moved too quietly, because when she appeared at his side he jumped, dropping the bowl in his hands into the water. The splash hit him full in the chest—soaking his T-shirt, since he’d already removed his chocolate-smeared apron.
“Biscuits,” he grumbled—and she smiled at his choice of words, even as she winced at his sopping appearance. And tried not to notice the way his abs were defined beneath the clinging fabric. Of course the man had a six-pack.
“Sorry.” Magda tore her eyes away.
“You didn’t do anything.”
But neither of them spoke for the next few minutes as they worked side by side. Only this time, the silence didn’t feel comfortable and warm and fuzzy. It felt taut. And itchy. And like she needed to say something, anything , to alleviate it before she went up in flames.
“Do you think we’re ready?” she blurted, when she couldn’t stand it any longer.
“As ready as we’ll ever be.” He handed her the last dish, his shirt still soaking as he bent to release the water in the sink. “Try not to worry about it. Just get a good night’s sleep and do the best you can.”
It was good advice. But she did worry about it. Because if they lost… one of them would be going home. Her or Mac or Eunice and right now… right now that felt like a tragedy.
“Why did you pick me?” she asked softly.
He didn’t ask what she meant. “You’re the best,” he said back, just as quietly.
“Not at chocolate.”
He met her eyes from a distance of inches, and for a moment she thought he was going to argue or tell her to believe in herself. His dark brown eyes held hers, and then a wry smile flashed out, making his dimple pop. “I’m operating on a theory.”
“A theory?”
“That working with people I like will have better results than working with people who are convinced they’re the best.”
People I like.
He liked her. Warmth pooled low in her belly.
His dimple flashed again. “That. And I’m starting to think we bring out the best in each other.”
Her heart thudded irrationally hard. He’d picked her first because he liked her. Because they brought out the best in each other. She shouldn’t read more into that. She shouldn’t feel this fizzy delight. This was a competition, and she needed to stay focused on winning.
But she really, really liked his reasoning.
She felt herself leaning toward him, just listing gently, like a slowly collapsing éclair tower—
The kitchen door swung open again, Eunice returning, and Magda leapt away, four feet suddenly separating them. “Are you guys okay if I send the cake over to the kids, too?” Eunice called out, oblivious to whatever she might have interrupted over by the sink.
“Yeah, that’s great,” Magda answered, stupidly breathless and not looking at Mac.
She needed to get out of here. She’d told him she didn’t want any distractions, and here she was about to throw herself at him in the practice kitchen. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” she said, looking at neither of them as she grabbed her things and hustled toward the door.
“Bright and early,” Mac agreed—and if he’d felt anything in that taut, itchy moment by the sink, it didn’t show in his voice.
Maybe it was just her. Maybe she was the only one slowly losing her mind. But she fled the room before she could forget why she was really here.
Cake-Off. It was all about the Cake-Off .