Chapter 13
I don’t remember most of the drive back to the house in LA as much as I remember the moment it ended.
The headlights cut across the driveway just after midnight on Friday, my hands aching from gripping the wheel for three straight hours after a full shift at my day job.
This week has been one of the hardest of my life.
Trying to focus on client calls at work while my head was back here in the house with the other contestants was next-level taxing. But I did it, and I’m back.
I kill the engine and sit there for a second longer than necessary, forehead resting against the steering wheel, telling myself I at least made it. That I didn’t fall asleep at the wheel and die in a fiery highway explosion, and that counts for something.
Easing open the front door as quiet as I can, I slide into the dark foyer and slip off my shoes in an effort to make as little noise as possible.
The door clicks shut, and I gently pad through the living room toward the stairs.
In my exhaustion, a silent laugh surfaces because it feels like I’m fifteen again and sneaking back into the house after curfew.
Someone clears their throat.
I jolt, heart lurching, and look up to find Alex on the couch, legs stretched out, a book open in his hands.
He looks up at me with tired eyes, but there’s something else there too.
Relief maybe? I don’t know, that doesn’t make sense.
Any social awareness or EQ I may have had seeped out of my body hours ago.
“Oh,” I whisper-laugh, pressing a hand to my chest, because apparently that’s all the vocabulary can handle right now.
“You made it.”
He doesn’t look up from his book when he speaks, but there’s something about the way he says it that jumps out at me. But, again, too tired to figure out why.
I smile, clumsy and half-asleep on my feet.
“Yeah. Long week.”
He nods like he understands more than I said, though it’s doubtful since I’m sure he spent all week lounging or relaxing in whatever way someone as rigid as he is does.
“Get some sleep,” he says, keeping his voice low.
I don’t even make it through a full reply. I just hum in agreement and shuffle toward the stairs.
Lila and Chloe are both asleep when I slip into the room, collapsing into bed still wearing my hoodie. I don’t so much fall asleep as I succumb to unconsciousness.
The next day passes in flashes, which is problematic since I’m quite literally baking for my life.
The signature goes fine, I guess.
About as good as it could have gone, considering I didn’t get to practice as much as I wanted to throughout the week. My bake wasn’t great, but it wasn’t a disaster either, so I’ll take it. The judges said my flavors are there, but my execution is still struggling.
The technical, however, is a completely different story.
I place near the bottom—second from last—and, at this point, it just feels like insult to injury. One week back home, trying to manage this new schedule, and everything is already falling apart.
I knew this was going to be rough. I just didn’t expect it to be this rough this fast. Internally, the walls are closing in because I know I’m blowing my only chance at making my dream come true, but I’m apparently helpless to do anything about it.
Somewhere far away, Magnolia says something encouraging. Garrett, on the other hand, does not. As we are leaving the tent, Lila gives me a once-over, followed by an eyeroll.
I’ve never had an enemy before; it looks like this show is bringing all the new experiences my way, whether I want it to or not.
Normally, I’d care about someone not liking me.
I’d at least feel some type of way about it.
But right now, all I can think about is coffee and a nap.
?????????
Waking up the next day feels like coming out of a fog. I stretch my arms above my head and blink against the light filtering through the windows. My body is still heavy with sleep but my mind is a little clearer than when I went to bed last night.
Yesterday’s disappointment threatens to resurface, but if I’ve learned anything in my life, it’s that if I let negative thoughts linger too long, they’ll turn into something much harder to shake.
So I roll out of bed, take a deep breath, and decide whatever challenge the judges have planned, I’ll meet it head-on.
Tired or not.
Just as we’re walking down the lawn to the tent, my phone vibrates in my back pocket. I slip it out and glance down to see a text from Kara.
KARE-BEAR:
break a leg! or whatever
the baking equivalent to
that phrase is ?? ??
What would that be—break an egg?
The pun makes me laugh. I chew my lower lip as I tap out a quick reply, then look up and slow to a stop just inside the entrance.
Something is immediately off.
There are only four stations set up inside the tent. Not eight like you’d expect, considering we have eight contestants at this point in the competition. Not even six with some kind of trick lighting or TV magic.
Four.
What the crap is going on?
Confused whispers ripple through our group.
RaeAnn laughs nervously as she links her arm through mine.
Theo grins at the front of the tent like a man who has been waiting all morning for this exact moment.
Judy is bouncing on her toes next to him, looking like she’s ready to burst. Cameras are already circling to catch every one of our reactions.
“Welcome to your showstopper challenge for the day,” Judy begins. “As you probably noticed, the tent doesn’t look the same as it has for the past couple of weeks.”
“That’s right, Judy. It sure doesn’t. And if any of you are also math nerds in addition to bakers, you’ll see that we have exactly half the number of stations we need. Can anyone guess what that means?” Theo asks, glancing between Judy and us, the camera trained on him.
“We thought it would be fun to do something a little different today to keep things interesting with a pair challenge!” Judy’s exclamation hits my ears, my stomach churns at her words.
“We toyed with the idea of having you draw straws to pick your partner, but that felt a little juvenile, so instead, we just chose for you.”
Brandon and Lila.
Diane and RaeAnn.
Khalil and Chloe.
Which leaves me paired with the prickliest man to ever come out of the Great White North.
Biting my lip, I chance a look his way to gauge his reaction, and my stomach goes on another tilt-a-whirl ride. Maybe anxiety and nerves are rearing their ugly heads. Or maybe it’s excitement? I’m getting to work with one of the most talented bakers in the competition.
I don’t understand my own feelings or reaction to the announcement, and I don’t have time to mull it over. I just know that when our eyes meet, he doesn’t look thrilled.
As we scramble to our new, combined stations, the hosts and judges line up across the front of the tent. I trail my fingers over the edge of the workstation, standing a respectable distance from Alex, who radiates what I can only assume is irritation over our current predicament.
He refuses to look at me.
“Now that you are all settled, last week we announced this week’s showstopper as a Southern celebration spread that includes a cake, a pie, and a cobbler.”
Magnolia’s smile is absolutely radiant as she speaks.
“You each went home and came back with a plan. Part of this pair challenge is that you have to blend both partners’ plans together. We need to see elements from each of you, no boycotting one entire idea in favor of the other. As bakers, we need to be able to pivot and adapt when necessary.”
“Oh!” Theo exclaims like he just remembered what he was about to say. “Because you will pass or fail as a team, this is going to be our only double-elimination of the series.”
“Good luck, bakers!” Judy croons. “Make us proud!”
When we’re released to start baking, my tall, brooding partner turns toward me. I mirror him, and we end up face-to-face. He inhales slowly, his pale blue shirt pulling taut as his chest expands.
“Before we jump into this, we need to take a beat and figure out how we’re going to merge our bakes together.”
“No,” I say, shuffling to the far end of our station where the ingredients are set. “We need to get moving. Time always runs out faster than it should. Pie crust is pie crust, and a cake base is a cake base. We’ll figure out the details as we go.”
A series of emotions flashes across Alex’s face in rapid succession: confusion, disbelief, calculation, and annoyance.
“Taylor, come on.”
Something in his tone snags in my brain. He’s not angry, but clipped, like this one conversation is already a setback for him. It brings me to an abrupt stop, and I turn to listen.
“I know you like to wing it, but we can’t. We can’t risk moving in different directions. Especially since it’s a double-elimination, and you—”
I take a step forward, squinting and crossing my arms, as he trails off. His eyes hold mine briefly before looking away.
“And I what?”
He leans forward, bracing his hands on the work station with another deep breath, and drops his head down between his shoulders. Is he counting to ten?
“You’ve had some really great feedback,” he starts, forcing his voice into a smooth, calming tone. It’s almost the kind you’d expect from someone that’s coaxing a scared animal out of a corner.
“But there’ve also been some really tough critiques, and I don’t think it’s fair for you to risk a swing and a miss when my fate in this competition is also tied to it. Okay?”
Even though he’s not technically wrong, the words sting as they slide under my skin. I’ve not been the greatest, but I’m also not the worst baker here. I know what I’m doing. My instincts are usually pretty good.
But, he’s right—this isn’t just about me. This paired challenge directly affects him too, so I give in without putting up any more of a fight.
“Okay,” I answer softly, uncrossing my arms. “I hear you.”
He looks up at that, surprised.