The key to Audrey’s relationship with Jennifer remotely working was that she very seldom let Jennifer leave her speechless. But this time she’d managed it.
Because for the first time since…since forever—since before she’d met Natalie, or at least since before she’d let Natalie take over her life—she feltseen. Seen better than she saw herself.
The best gift, it turned out, was one you didn’t even realise you’d been missing until you were given it.
It was almost too much. Almost too soon. Almost too good to be true. Which was probably why, when she could speak at last, Audrey went with, “I don’t think we should be making serious decisions immediately after sex.”
“Lane, when do you think I make all of my decisions?”
Privately Audrey still strongly suspected this was a terrible idea. But—and maybe it was the sex talking, or the whole wash of other feelings she was grappling with right then—she’d never wanted to act on a terrible idea more.
Sunday
For the first time since the beginning of the series, Audrey was regretting having been a contestant onBake Expectations.Because it meant that the day of the final, instead of being able to watch the whole thing with Jennifer through every camera on the set, she was contractually obliged to wait outside on the grounds with all the other eliminated contestants and a huge crowd of friends, family, and well-wishers.
“I still think you deserved to win it,” said Audrey’s mum, loyally.
Grateful, or as grateful as you can be for something so utterly divorced from reality, Audrey patted her mother gently on the shoulder. “Thanks, but you know I really didn’t.”
“I think she might be right,” agreed Audrey’s dad. “These tea cakes are better than anything our Audrey’s ever made, no offence.”
Audrey’s mum looked disapproving, and not—Audrey swiftly realised—because of her father’s paternal disloyalty. “Those aren’t tea cakes, dear, they’re muffins.”
“They’re not,” replied Audrey’s dad with a conviction bornnot so much from confidence as from a lifetime in a relationship whose love language was petty debates about nothing. “They’ve got fruit in.”
“Muffins can have fruit in,” Audrey pointed out.
Then she immediately wished she hadn’t, because her mum took that as victory. “See. And Audrey should know.She’sbeen on television.”
“I’m not saying theyaremuffins,” Audrey clarified. “Just that the fruit question isn’t necessarily determinative.”
“So what is determinative?” asked Audrey’s dad, suddenly more interested in muffin definitions than in literally any topic in the universe.
“Well they’re traditionally cooked on a griddle,” Audrey replied, hoping against hope that something—anything—would come and interrupt them, “but theycanbe cooked on a baking tray and—”
Unusually, her hope was answered. A producer in a black T-shirt tapped her on the shoulder. “We’ll be needing you in five.”
Audrey had known going in that at some point over the course of the long day’s filming, she’d be expected to give a thirty-second to-camera segment where she’d have to say who she was rooting for and to pretend she hadn’t had that exact conversation with the producer only the day before. With the producer who she would also need to pretend she wasn’t sleeping with.
It was going to be awkward. But right now it was probably less awkward than explaining the nuances of the tea cake/muffin distinction to her parents. So she made very quick, very sincere apologies to them, and dashed off to do her interview segment.
“If you could remember to answer as if you’re not answeringa question,” the producer reminded her, “and also as if you’re not doinking our boss.”
It was hard to be outraged at an essentially true accusation. “Hey, I am not—that isn’t relevant to the current situation.”
“So,” the producer began, “how did you find your time on the show, and what’s it like to be back?”
“It was so great to be here,” Audrey replied enthusiastically, “and so great to be back to celebrate the finalists.”
“Does it almost feel like you never left?” asked the producer, with a smirk.
“Honestly,” Audrey parroted, only slightly resentfully, “it feels like I never left.”
“And who are you rooting for?”
“Everybody in that ballroom is so talented,” she said, “and they all really, really deserve it. I just”—she made a gesture she hoped indicated confused excitement rather than obfuscation—“ooh, don’t make me choose.”
“She’s not told you then?” asked the producer dryly.
