“It’s Day One of the Great Carver Family Pumpkin Patch Bake-Off,” she says. “Chef Chase versus Chef Katelyn. Team Apple Pie Nachos versus Team Pumpkin Cronut. Who will win? Let’s find out!”
The comments start flying before she’s even done her intro.
#TeamCronut
#TeamNacho
Marry him, Baker!
You can cut that tension with a butter knife.
I bite back a smile and lean out the window. “For the record, nobody’s cutting anything but pie today.”
Tricia giggles and turns the camera to Chase. He’s pretending to be unbothered, sleeves rolled, forearms flexing as he mixes batter like it personally offended him.
“The secret ingredient is obviously jealousy,” I whisper loudly enough for the mic to catch.
He glances over his shoulder. “The secret ingredient is focus,Chef Baker.”
The way he sayschef—low and rough—sends a tiny shiver up my spine. Great. Fantastic.
Hopefully the internet just thinks I’m flushed from working around a stove.
The morning rush hits hard. Cronuts vanish. Nachos sell every bit as quickly.
Every time I hear the register ding I imagine Tricia’s spreadsheet tallying the score like a live-action video game.
Between frying, filling, and smiling, I sneak glances at Chase. He’s impossible not to watch. He’s calm under pressure, focused on the task.
And then sometimes, when he thinks I’m not look, he glances at me. Just once, long enough that it feels like a gentle caress.
Tricia sidles up. “People are obsessed. You’re trending in the state tag. They’re shipping you two.”
“Shipping?” Chase frowns. “What, like mailing us somewhere?”
“Like rooting for you to date,” she says, grinning. “Apparently the enemies-to-lovers energy ischef’s kiss.”
He groans. “Terrible pun.”
“Tell that to the two hundred comments that just typed it.”
By late afternoon, the camera’s back for a livestream interview.
Chase and I stand shoulder to shoulder behind the counter, trying not to look like we’re sharing oxygen. The phone is on a tripod. The comments scroll so fast they’re a blur.
Tricia reads questions from another device. “Okay—‘Who taught you to bake?’”
Chase answers first. “My grandma and mom.”
Then it’s my turn. “My grandmother wasn’t around and my mom hated carbs. So YouTube.”
Laughter floods the chat.
Chase tilts his head toward me. “That explains a lot.”
“Like what?”
“You bake like you’re performing for an audience.”
