Chapter 10
“Welcome back to day two of your first week here at America’s Next Great Baker!” Judy beams into the camera, slinging an arm around Theo’s shoulders and pulling him in close.
“Big day,” Theo says. “High stakes.”
“High stress,” Judy adds.
“High chance I say something I’m not allowed to say on national television.” He wiggles in Judy’s tight grip.
Judy smiles at the camera. “And, that’s why I’m holding him, folks.”
They record the cold open three times. It shouldn’t be that hard, but Theo has a talent for overestimating how funny he is.
Production shuffled our station locations. I’m no longer in the front row but the second, and Taylor is right behind me. Her excited, frenzied presence buzzes at my back. I clench my jaw against the contagious energy, refusing to admit I kind of like it.
“Your first showstopper challenge is a cake—any cake, so long as it has three tiers,” Judy explains, hands clasped in front of her in a polite gesture. “With three distinct flavor profiles.”
Magnolia hums approvingly. Garrett slides his gaze over each of us, alert, listening.
“Unity without sameness,” Magnolia elaborates. “Each tier should stand on its own, but the cake must still feel cohesive. We want something that stands out.”
“Exactly, Mags.” Garrett agrees. “A showstopper should make us stop in our tracks and take notice. So, make us notice.”
In other words: don’t be boring. Don’t play it safe.
But I’ve built my entire career on safe.
Safe is how you get a perfect crumb. Safe is how you avoid surprises. Safe is how my parents talk about success, earned one careful step at a time. Safe is how I learned everything in the kitchen. You master the rules first, then maybe, someday, bend them ever so slightly.
I picture two different cakes immediately. Elegant lines, flawless execution. Predictable flavors. Cakes that would impress back home, but would be a disappointment at that judging table. Cakes no one would remember.
My jaw tightens. I flip my notebook closed before I can sketch them, like the ideas might poison the page if I give them ink. This is exactly what Magnolia meant yesterday. This is what Garrett called out.
I didn’t come here to prove I can do what I’ve already done a hundred times before.
Pressing my lips together, I close my eyes for a beat, frustrated with myself. Why the fuck do I default to boring?
I didn’t come here to be safe. I came here to make people remember me.
After gathering my composure, I glance over my shoulder
at Taylor, who is already vibrating at a frequency that could shatter glass.
She’s pacing in a loose little circle, hands fluttering as she talks to herself, eyes bright as her ideas come together. She’s chaos incarnate. Whimsical. Untethered. Free.
The opposite of me in every possible way.
And somehow, it works.
“Bakers,” Theo calls, “you have eight hours. Your time starts… NOW!”
The tent erupts into motion once again.
I move automatically, gathering my ingredients and setting my station up for success, but my thoughts keep snagging on the instructions. Three tiers. Three profiles. Something unexpected.
I force myself to pivot from my original idea, letting my thoughts wander into unfamiliar territory. There’s no hiding when it comes to a showstopper, and I refuse to disappoint the judges again.
A trio of citrus. Spice. Dark, milk, and white chocolate. It’s a riskier balance than I’d usually attempt, but still grounded enough to feel intentional. I start pulling ingredients, measuring by weight instead of feel, but allowing myself to adjust where I normally wouldn’t.
Halfway through creaming butter, I smell it.
Something bitter and unmistakable. Burnt sugar.
I look back just in time to see the first curl of smoke rising from Taylor’s station. Her eyes are wide, spatula frozen midair, like she isn’t sure what she’s seeing.
I shouldn’t step in.
That’s the unspoken rule in a game like this. You don’t help or interfere. You focus on your own bench and let everyone else succeed or fail on their own merit. Anything else could get misconstrued on camera.
And the cameras are absolutely on us.
If I help her and she recovers, it doesn’t benefit me in any way. If she doesn’t, it could look like I distracted her. Either way, there’s risk.
I’ve won competitions by being disciplined enough to ignore moments like this. By minding my own business, letting mistakes happen because they weren’t mine to fix.
But the smoke is thickening, and I know that smell all too well. I know exactly how fast sugar crosses the line from golden to ruined.
She’s seconds away from scorching the entire batch.
I swear under my breath and move closer, keeping my voice low. “Taylor.”
She jumps, startled, but her eyes meet mine.
“Kill the heat,” I say quietly. “Now. Pour that top half into a bowl and stir it off the burner.”
She blinks once, then lunges for the dial, dragging the pot away just in time. The smell fades immediately—it just might be salvageable.
“Oh! Oh my god.” She laughs, breath uneven, one hand pressed to her chest. “I was this close to committing a sugar hate crime.”
I nod. “You caught it early.”
“No… you caught it early.”
Taylor takes a deep breath and drags a hand through her hair to steady herself. The way she’s looking at me right now is as if she’s seeing me for the first time. “Thank you. Seriously. I don’t have time to remake the candy shell for my jumbo cherry.”
A jumbo cherry? What the hell is this girl making?
I shrug, already stepping back, but the look on her face holds me captive. A jumbled mix of confusion and appreciation. I caught her off guard. And fuck, flustered looks good on her.
“No problem.”
But she’s still staring at me, studying me. Then she squints, leaning over her station to get a little closer.
“Wait.” Her mouth tilts. “Was that… another smile?”
I stop. It takes me a second to realize she’s right. My lips are turned up in the corners. I didn’t even feel it happen. I run a hand over my mouth, thumb brushing beneath my lower lip.
“Jesus,” she says, grinning wider now. “Okay, well, we’ll work on that. Thanks again, Grumpy.”
I should scowl. I should say something dry and walk away.
Instead, I feel the corner of my mouth twitch again.
Before she notices, I go back to minding my own business.
The hours blur together in a mirage of mixing, baking, filling, and assembling. I fight my instincts every step of the way, pushing flavors a little further than I’m comfortable with. Letting the cake be bold instead of restrained.
This cake is nothing like the delicate ones I’ve mastered throughout my career. The dark chocolate is rich and bold. The bursts of citrus are punchy and bright. Cinnamon and cayenne enhance the overall profile.
This is more than a cake; it’s a declaration that I do, in fact, want to be here. I’ve left the presentation simple, hoping my flavors will stand out in protest to the judges’ critique from yesterday.
Behind me, Taylor is humming to herself again, and I can’t help but turn to watch as she builds something unhinged and perfect.
An ice cream sundae cake—no, I saw her with bananas— a banana split cake?
Her three tiers are stacked, waiting to be frosted. Chocolate, strawberry, and pineapple with a caramelized banana filling. Something I never would have thought of. She’s either an absolute genius or completely insane.
She coats the whole thing in smooth vanilla frosting, unapologetically classic, but adds a glossy fudge drip that cascades over the edge. She crowns the top with a bright red candy apple, standing in as the cherry.
It’s absolutely incredible.
She bites her lip as she studies her work, the soft curve of it disappearing from view. Heat floods my system. Her eyes flick up, and she catches me staring.
“We did it.”
I nod, swallowing hard, just as time is called.
Judging is full of polite nods and careful examination. Most of the feedback for the other contestants leans positive, neutral at worst. A pang of unfamiliar unease carves its way into my chest as I lift my cake and carry it to the judging table.
“This is very elegant. I appreciate the gold leaf accents and sugared lemons as decor. What should we expect inside?” Magnolia asks as Garrett picks up a clean knife.
“You have a trio of chocolate, each enhanced with a citrus pairing and spices. The top layer is a white-chocolate cake filled with zesty lime curd. In the middle, you’ll find a lemon cake with a milk chocolate cinnamon ganache.
And the base layer is a dark chocolate cayenne cake, paired with a blood orange filling. ”
Garrett’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s a very different approach than you took yesterday.”
“It is.” I widen my stance, clasping my hands behind my back. “I heard what you said about playing it safe. It’s been a while, but I know how to take criticism and correct it.”
Garrett nods, a flicker of respect in his expression. I force myself to remain still as they taste each layer, waiting for their verdict.
“This is lovely, Alex. Your cakes are the perfect texture, and those flavors are exceptionally balanced. I’m proud of you for getting out of your comfort zone on this one.” Magnolia forks another bite of the top tier into her mouth.
“I agree,” Garrett says, placing his fork down. “It has the same precision as before, but it’s more thoughtful. Nice pivot.”
I tilt my head in response, then move to retrieve my cake and return to my station.
Theo helps Taylor carry her bake to the front. Garrett’s eyes sparkle with amusement, and Magnolia audibly gasps in delight. As they take it in, they laugh with her. Actually laugh.
“This tastes like childhood,” Magnolia says, eyes lighting up. “Playful, but well-executed.”
“It’s a little messy, but that candy apple cherry on top is so creative. You know exactly what it is the second you look at it.” Garrett adds. “I do think your cakes needed a little longer in the oven, but they’re close to perfect. You should be proud.”
Taylor shrugs easily and thanks them, already heading back toward her station. As she passes, she offers me a small smile, tucking a curl behind her ear with a dip of her head.
I raise an eyebrow, unsettled by the look. I don’t know what it means, but another flare of heat surges in my chest anyway. My pulse betrays me. Fuck.
The production team lines us up so the judges can announce week one’s winner. We stand there for so long it’s uncomfortable, pretending not to watch each other, wondering who will be going home first. No one speaks. The tent is overflowing with residual heat and nerves.
Taylor rocks gently on her heels, hands clasped in front of her. She looks calm, but her fingers twist together, giving her away. I realize, distantly, that I don’t feel much of anything. I know that I’m not the one going home. There’s no chance of that.
But I’m also not remotely concerned with winning.
Because I’m proud of the cake I made, regardless of the outcome. Huh, that’s new.
When Star Baker is announced, it isn’t either of us. Diane takes the win with a boozy cocktail-inspired cake that took the judges’ breath away. It was impressive; she deserves it.
Brief disappointment flickers when my name isn’t called, but it fades quickly. The feedback today is significantly better than yesterday. And I’m still here.
But Ace isn’t.
When Theo says his name, the tent quiets in that heavy, inevitable way. Ace takes it with grace, smiling bright even as his shoulders slump.
“Baker fam, it’s been fun. As much as I wish I could stay here longer, especially with all you beautiful ladies, when it’s your time, it’s your time.”
“We are going to miss you, Ace!” Judy says with a sad smile. “Losing someone from the group is never easy.”
Ace smiles, then flexes both arms next to his head. Ever the showman, the house is going to be quieter without him. “Keep your heads up, guys, and have some extra fun for me. Remember, it doesn’t matter if you win or lose; it’s how you play the game. Peace!”
He flashes peace signs with both hands as he leaves.
I notice Taylor watching him go, her joy dimmed by empathy. Her eyes travel back to me, and I notice something else behind her gaze. She’s analyzing my expression for something. It’s almost like she expects me to be angry that I didn’t win.
I’m not.
While that surprises me more than anything else, she’s clearly pegged me as the type who needs to win. Who expects it, no matter what. The kind of person who treats anything less than first place as failure.
And before this challenge, she wouldn’t have been wrong.
Watching the group mingle, it dawns on me that I broke one of my own rules today. I stepped in to help when I didn’t have to. Not on only that, there was no benefit to me in doing so.
With her infectious smile still aimed in my direction, I realize something else uncomfortable and undeniable.
There’s far more to Taylor Madden than she lets on.
And I want nothing more than to find out what that is— even though experience has taught me that wanting answers like that never ends well for me.