Chapter 26
Our beloved production crew must have worked all night to accomplish the mind-blowingly patriotic overhaul of the America’s Next Great Baker lawn while we were gone.
That’s literally the only explanation.
When we left last night, they had set up tables, chairs, and decorations that felt more like a barbecue than anything else.
But this is next-level.
Every table on the lawn is decorated with red, white, and blue flower centerpieces, each topped with tiny Uncle Sam hats and massive confetti balloons tethered by shiny metallic weights with tassels that shimmer in the breeze.
Jumbo chess and Jenga games have been set up for guests, along with cornhole, ladder ball, and a bubble station. Bright red and blue bounce houses—and even an obstacle course with a water slide—sit at the far end of the lawn.
“Can you believe they did all this?” I turn, breathlessly taking it all in. It immediately takes me back to time spent at Cambria’s summer festival. Mom and Gran would take me and my brother every year before money got too tight and relationships too complicated.
“It’s the finale,” Diane answers simply. “Looks like they take the idea of ‘go big or go home’ seriously.”
Alex leans closer to me as we walk toward the tent.
“Bet I can beat you at the obstacle course later.” He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes glinting with challenge.
“Hmmm… What do I get when I win?” I hum, playfully tapping a finger against my lips in thought.
Alex dips his head, lips brushing my ear. “I have a couple of ideas.”
He nuzzles briefly into my hair before we separate for our stations. When he pulls back, that lopsided smirk is waiting for me.
His expression suggests those ideas are definitely not obstacle-course related. Immediately, heat kisses my cheeks, and I press my cool hands against them as I slide into my apron.
Garrett and Magnolia step to the front of the tent while Theo and Judy fall into place beside them.
All four are dressed in crisp, pristine tuxedos.
Garrett dons deep blue, Magnolia elegant white, Judy sparkles in red, and Theo is impossible to miss in a sequined U.S.
flag pattern. Beyond the open tent flaps, the lawn buzzes with conversation as guests settle into their seats, the soft clink of glasses and distant laughter drifting in on the breeze.
Garrett surveys the three of us, his expression measured but unmistakably proud. His intense brown eyes almost twinkle as they catch the light.
“Ten weeks ago, ten bakers walked into this tent hoping for the chance to prove themselves.”
Magnolia presses a hand to her chest, her smile warm but serious. “Week after week, you’ve pushed your creativity, your technique, and your resilience further than we could have imagined.”
Theo glances between our stations, giving a small approving nod. “Now only three remain.”
Judy gestures toward the lawn outside, where family members, friends, and former contestants watch eagerly from the decorated tables.
“And tonight, one of you will be crowned the winner of Season One of America’s Next Great Baker!”
A ripple of applause engulfs us from beyond the tent.
Garrett steps forward again, demanding to be heard.
“For your final challenge, you’ll complete the ultimate showstopper cake that you started yesterday.”
Magnolia nods toward the clock mounted at the front of the tent. “You have six hours.”
Theo lifts his eyebrows, glancing at Judy.
She grins.
“And for the final time this season…”
They both raise their hands.
“Ready…”
A beat.
“Set…”
This pause stretches longer than the last.
Theo leans forward while the entire tent holds its breath and drops his voice to a near whisper.
“…Bake.”
Instantly, the tent erupts into motion as the final bake begins, and my heart slams against my ribs.
Bowls and utensils clatter against the countertops. Mixers roar to life. Oven doors slam open and shut as the three of us launch into the final challenge all at once. My heartbeat thrums frantically in my ears.
Six hours to create the most important cake of our lives.
Might as well be six minutes when all is said and done.
My lungs constrict as I grab the first mixing bowl and start measuring ingredients, my hands just a little too shaky.
Breathe.
I’ve practiced this recipe dozens of times. I know every step like the back of my hand. Memorized every potential moment where something could go wrong. And because I know what could go wrong, I just need to make sure it doesn’t.
Which means I need to block out the nagging thoughts at the back of my mind that keep reminding me exactly how much there is to lose.
Across the tent, Alex moves with the kind of calm precision that we’ve all come to expect of him. Flour dusts the front of his apron as he works quickly through his batter, barely glancing down at the recipe card beside him.
It’s exactly what I expected to see from him, but jealousy still floods through me. What I wouldn’t give to be that sure of myself right now.
Diane is obviously magic because she’s somehow already three steps ahead of both of us. She slides a tray of cake layers into the oven with smooth efficiency before checking the notes in her sketchpad.
My oven isn’t even up to temp yet.
The pressure closes in from every direction making my breathing clumsy and erratic. I really need to get a grip.
“Taylor! How’s it going over there?” Theo calls from somewhere near the judges’ table.
I glance up just long enough to beam a smile their way.
“Ask me again in five hours!”
They laugh in response, the sound disappearing into the noise of mixers and timers.
With three ovens blasting and cameras crowding every corner of the tent, the air turns thick and sticky with heat.
A bead of sweat slides down the back of my neck as I guide my first round of pans into the oven and set my timer.
I press my palms together, sending a silent prayer to the baking gods that the cake comes out perfectly golden and with an even rise. I don’t have time for sunken centers today.
Working with buttercream in the middle of a heatwave is an absolute nightmare. The bowl of fluffy white clouds in front of me feels wrong.
It’s too soft.
I swirl a spatula through the mixture to find it completely incapable of holding a stiff peak. Panic slams into me.
“No, no, no…” I beg, swallowing the lump in my throat.
The buttercream continues to slide down the silicone edge of the utensil, melting right before my eyes. If the frosting won’t hold structure, my entire design collapses. I stare at the bowl for half a second too long, trying to decide if I even have time to fix this.
A chilled metal bowl appears beside me, half filled with water, ice cubes bobbing on the surface. I press one finger to the outside of the bowl that’s coated in a layer of frost, watching the heat from my skin leave its mark.
“Ice bath,” Alex says, already turning back to his station.
I blink at his back as he retreats across the aisle. Emotion prickles behind my eyes. He’s showing up for me again.
“Alex—” His name is a breathless whisper.
He doesn’t look back, but I hear the smile in his voice as he calls to me over his shoulder, “Don’t make it weird.”
He’s been watching from across the tent, a quiet guardian while I fight with everything in me to make my dream come true.
I steal another look at him and smile to myself as I slide my mixing bowl into the ice bath.
The buttercream firms up almost immediately with a few good stirs.
I definitely would have figured it out on my own, but something about Alex stepping in without being asked when he thought I needed it has my insides doing somersaults.
Just because I can do it alone, doesn’t mean I have to.
At the front of the tent, Diane glances over at us briefly before returning to her own cake with the same unshakable focus she’s had all season. She doesn’t say anything, but I know she clocked it.
The hours start dissolving faster than they should.
Layer after layer of cake stacks on the counter beside me as I work through fillings, frostings, and decorations. Vanilla and sugar billow through the tent while the steady whir of mixers blends into a kind of hypnotic rhythm.
At the halfway mark, Garrett strolls down the main aisle past our stations. He studies each of us with the same unreadable expression he’s worn all season.
He pauses beside me, cocking his head as he scrutinizes my work. “What’s the structure plan here?” he asks.
“It’s going to be four tiers, supported by dowel rods in the middle so the layers don’t collapse in on one another.”
Garrett nods before speaking. “Ambitious. Best of luck.”
Best of luck? Is that good ambitious or terrible ambitious? If I wasn’t already terrified, his words sure would do the trick.
Before I can clarify his words or think about them too closely, he moves on to Diane’s station.
I don’t miss the way his eyes light up when he inspects her work.
A small crowd of cameras follows him, closing in to capture his reaction.
From where I’m standing, Diane’s cake is starting to take shape—and it’s stunning.
Like, stop and take a picture, post it on Instagram, pin it to a Pinterest board level stunning.
My stomach sinks just a little as I take it in. And for a brief, envious second, all I can think is how much I wish it were mine.
“Bakers, have one hour remaining!”
One hour—holy crap, there’s only one hour left. Where did all of my time go?
My hands move faster as I carefully stack the second tier, lining the cake up with the dowel rods beneath it. For one horrifying second, the entire structure wobbles, and my breath catches in my throat.
Don’t fall. Don’t fall. For the love of God, please don’t fall.
The big man in the sky must take pity on me because the cake settles, just barely, and I’m finally able to exhale.
When Theo announces the five minute warning, the entire tent fractures into pure chaos.