Chapter 9
If I thought the tent was loud with frantic bakers and whirring appliances, I was wildly unprepared for the volume of our shared house at night. Music blasts from the open-concept space below, the bass vibrating through the floor beneath my feet.
The suitcase I tossed haphazardly next to my bed sits half-unpacked when my roommate, Lila, sets up a ring light in the middle of our shared bedroom.
“You don’t mind, do you?” she asks, already clipping her phone into place.
I smile her way. “Not at all. You record a lot, and I love that for you. Do you have a big following?”
“You could say that,” she says brightly, flashing a smile at her screen. “Hey guys! Day one in the Bake-Off house and I’m already obsessed.”
She pans the phone around the room, narrating everything.
The exposed beams. The trio of beds, where hers is aesthetically staged with decorative pillows she must have brought from home, a notebook, and a rainbow of pens.
Then there’s me, sitting cross-legged on my mattress with my hair in a messy knot and a bag of pretzels open beside me.
“This is Taylor,” she says, plopping down on my bed beside me. “She’s literally sunshine in human form.”
I laugh, giving the camera a small wave. “I don’t know about that, but hi, everyone. Holy crap, Lila, there are already over a thousand people in this live!”
Lila beams, her eyes sparkling. “I know, and we are just getting started! But seriously, guys… this girl right here is constantly smiling. When I walked past her this afternoon, when all hell was breaking loose in the kitchen, she was just humming to herself in her own little world. How cute is that?”
“I didn’t even realize I was doing that,” I admit, glancing away from the camera, suddenly a little embarrassed.
“Exactly. That’s why it’s adorable. And we all love you.”
Our third roommate—Chloe, quiet and observant, already curled up with a book—snorts without looking up.
“It’s going to be a long few weeks,” she mutters, earning a scowl from Lila.
“You can always go home, Chloe. Nobody’s forcing you to be here.
Sign the withdrawal form and trudge back to San Francisco.
Don’t forget to take your bad attitude with you.
We don’t need that kind of negativity in our lives, am I right, lovelies?
” She wiggles her eyebrows at her now five-thousand viewers.
Who is this girl, and what does she do that this many people pay attention to her?
Chloe rolls her eyes and shifts on her bed until her back is to us. Lila returns to her own bed, still chatting away about the first day of baking.
Moments later, there’s a knock on the door. Someone from below yells that drinks are happening downstairs right now and that if we don’t come immediately, Ace is going to drink all the good stuff.
“That man does not need encouragement,” Chloe mutters, closing her book.
Lila quickly says goodbye and ends her livestream before bounding over to my bed, grabbing my wrist, and dragging me out of the room.
Downstairs, the entire vibe of the house has shifted from calculated competition to electric camaraderie.
Everyone’s clustered around the kitchen island or sprawled across the furniture, red cups and wine glasses already in circulation.
I bite my lip as I take it all in. I feel like I’ve been dropped into a house party scene from an early 2000’s teen movie, and I love it.
Ace is exactly where you’d expect him to be; in the center of it all, leaning against the counter, sleeves rolled up, mixing drinks for everyone.
“I’m just saying,” he announces to no one in particular, “these shows are elite because you get to bake and meet fun, beautiful women. It’s like… orchestrated flirting.”
“Orchestrated flirting isn’t a thing,” RaeAnn says, sipping her wine.
Ace grins at her. “Everything’s a thing if you believe in it hard enough.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, too.
Even Mr. Grump is mingling with the group.
Our eyes meet across the room, and I beam his way with a quick thumbs-up.
His icy gaze stays locked on mine as he tips his red Solo cup back and drains it.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and shiver dances up my spine under the weight of his attention.
The man is terrifying in a beautiful way, and even though he’s done very little to encourage me, I find myself drawn to him.
I can’t seem to stay away.
“Taylor!” RaeAnn drawls, already tipsy, wrapping her arms around my waist in a tight squeeze. “I’m so happy you’re here. Let’s get another drink.”
“Maybe you should pace yourself, Rae. We have a showstopper tomorrow, remember?”
The effort is futile—the chance for good decisions is already so far behind us it’s basically a speck in the rearview.
“Come on, Taylor! Live a little, one of us is going home tomorrow!” Jasper cups his hand around his mouth as he calls out to me across the room.
“Yeah, Taylor, live a little,” Alex smirks as he approaches, a new drink in hand, echoing my own words from this morning back at me. “It’s not too late for you to try it, too.”
His expression is a mix of challenge and something I can’t place. But the challenge is the only part I need to see.
Oh, it is on. It’s on like Donkey Kong.
Giving the large, sarcastic grouch towering in front of me my sweetest smile, I snatch the cup from his hand and chug the drink.
Alex’s eyes go wide.
And oh my God, it burns the entire way down. I sputter, doubling forward as I try to catch my breath.
“Holy cannoli,” I wheeze. “What was in that? Lighter fluid?”
That’s when it happens. A full, deep, rumbling sound explodes out of Alex. It’s rich and melodic and hits me somewhere low in the belly. My eyes snap up just as he drags a hand over his face, trying to ride out the laugh.
I freeze as I take him in.
His smile is absolutely unreal. The lines of his face soften, his blue eyes sparkling in the light, and I immediately know I will be chasing another one of his laughs for the rest of this competition.
A slow smile spreads across my face, a giggle bubbling up as I share this brief, unexpected moment with him.
“Jesus, that was straight bourbon. And it was mine.” His voice still carries the edge of a laugh.
“Sorry, I thought you were bringing me a drink. I’ll refill it for you and find something a little less, uh… abrasive.”
He shakes his head, another quiet laugh slipping out. “Let’s do it together. Can’t risk wasting good bourbon on one of your special, grace-filled moments.”
“Shut up,” I laugh, swatting his arm, but I don’t stop him when his hand settles at the small of my back, guiding me into the kitchen.
Joe slips in through the side door and steps up beside me, lowering his voice. “We need you upstairs in the confessional.”
“Right now?” I ask, glancing around at everyone still caught up in the moment.
The easy look on Alex’s face disappears as he sizes Joe up. When Joe guides me away, I hear an exasperated, unmistakably irritated, “Of course.”
The upstairs confessional is just as warm and inviting as before. I settle onto the couch, sipping from the wineglass I brought with me.
“So.” Joe clears his throat, and I notice it’s just the two of us in the room this time.
“So?” I echo, taking another sip.
“We want to get everyone’s reaction to the other contestants. We got a few earlier, but I thought we should do yours tonight, given how the day went. Tell me about Alex. You seem to have cozied up to him pretty quickly.”
I choke a little on my wine. “Oh! Um…”
“Be honest,” he says with a smile. “There’s no right or wrong answer here. Just the truth.”
“This feels like a trap of some kind.”
Joe laughs again. “It’s curiosity. The audience is curious.”
I glance down at my wine, turning the glass slightly as I think. I doubt they want to hear about how his laugh feels like sunlight cracking through a storm. They’re asking about him as a competitor. Not that.
“Okay,” I relent, understanding what they’re looking for. “Alex is…” I trail off, searching for a truthful word that won’t sound mean later.
“Terrifying.” I land on finally.
Joe perks up. “Terrifying how?”
“He’s just… so serious. All the time. But he’s also unshakeable. I swear a bomb could go off at the station next to him, and he’d just be standing there, calmly folding egg whites into his cake batter.”
Joe snorts, motioning for me to continue.
“And he’s incredibly talented. Like, unfairly so. But he never looks like he’s having fun, you know?”
Joe tilts his head, eyes glinting. “Interesting.”
“He’s kind of like a robot in an apron,” I add, smiling into my glass as an image of Alex moving methodically around his station surface. “Which I mean affectionately, of course.”
Joe’s grin turns knowing. “That’s good TV.”
“Is it?” I ask, looking up past the camera at him.
“Oh yeah.”
When Joe escorts me back downstairs, the party has carried on without me, like it didn’t even notice I was gone. He casually refills my wine glass before grabbing a beer from the fridge, flashing me a quick wink.
“Have fun tonight. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”
I don’t notice Alex watching us. But when I say goodbye to Joe and glance his way again, his eyes flick away too fast. I sigh, deflated. Back to cold indifference, I suppose.
The night stretches on, drinks loosening tongues with every passing minute.
Chloe starts a debate with Kahlil over whether brownies should be fudgy or cakey, which gets surprisingly heated.
Ace flirts with everyone, indiscriminately, like he’s been training his whole life for this very moment.
He even flirts with Diane, who could easily be his grandma.
“I’m telling you,” Ace says, arms stretched wide across the back of the couch, “I thrive in environments with attractive women and low emotional stakes. This is way better than when I was on The Love Gauntlet.”
“Is that why you’re here, then?” Diane asks, clearly not enamored by his charm.
He winks at her anyway. “One of many reasons.”
The night begins to wind down, and I settle into an oversized chair in the corner with RaeAnn and Jasper, both of whom have had more than their fair share to drink.
“I don’t know if I should be saying anything,” RaeAnn whispers, leaning in, “but I recognize Lila. She has a massive following on social media. That’s weird, right? Not exactly a home baker at that point.”
“I mean,” Jasper murmurs, “Brandon definitely isn’t, either. Did you see his bakes? No way he learned that on his own.”
The thought sparks something in me—low, buzzing speculation. Who trained where? Who’s worked professionally? Who’s pretending? Between the timing “mix-up” and Joe prodding me about Alex, I’m starting to wonder if this show is less about baking than I thought.
I shrug it off, grasping for neutrality. “Does it matter?”
Their attention turns to me, confusion etching across their faces.
“We’re all here to bake,” I say, flicking my eyes to the nearest camera, hoping to end the conversation on a positive note. “Everyone’s got a story.”
Later, upstairs, I curl into bed with a slight buzz in my head and the thought that I need to be on my game tomorrow to make up for my performance this morning. My technical was decent, but I don’t feel safe in this competition. Tomorrow will come fast. Another bake. Another chance.
As I drift off, I picture piercing blue eyes and a dazzling smile. I wonder, briefly, if Alex ever hums to himself when he’s alone.