“Use protection,” I say.
“And leave the damn bottle.”
Eli obliges, passing his brother the bottle of bourbon, and then they’re gone, tripping through the hall in the dark, giggling the whole way up the stairs. Landon uncorks the top and takes an extremely long swig before passing the bottle to me. I follow his lead and do the same, only I nearly choke at the taste.
“This is the good stuff?” I manage to ask through the burn in my throat. “It tastes like gasoline.”
“The first sip is the worst. Try another.”
I do as he suggests, wincing even harder than the first time, and choke back a cough. “That did not help atall.”
“It’s an acquired taste,” Landon says, and when Lemon’s high-pitched squeals drift down from the top of the stairs, he scowls and takes another swig from the bottle.
“Want to watch a show?” I ask him.
“No Wi-Fi,” he reminds.
“Don’t need it. I downloaded six episodes ofThe Baking Challenge. No internet required. I just need to run up and get my laptop.” I can see Landon’s about to protest, but I cut him off and get to my feet. “Just give it a chance. It’s not like you have anything better to do…unless you feel like joining them upstairs.”
He sighs, shooting a disgusted look at the other end of the couch. “Fine.”
Grabbing a flashlight to guide my way, I retrieve my laptop from my room. When I return, we sit shoulder to shoulder with the computer open on the coffee table. As the show plays, I can’t help but shoot discreet glances at Landon to check his reaction, but he gives away little, his face controlled as always.
“I swear to God, Violet, if you don’t stop looking at me, I’m shutting it off,” he says out of nowhere, turning his head to meet my eyes. Okay, so maybe I wasn’t so discreet after all.
“Do you like it so far?” I ask.
“We’re barely fifteen minutes in.”
“I know, but-”
“Shh.” He leans forward to turn up the volume, and I force myself to stay quiet.
“So, these are random people off the street?” he asks, almost ten minutes later, after they provide brief introductions for the group of contestants.
“I mean, notoff the street. They’re home-bakers. As in non-professional. Every week they have two challenges. But what sets this show apart from all the other ones is that they really focus on the process and the struggles these bakers go through.”
“The struggles,” he repeats, his dark eyes meeting mine.
“Yeah, like Delilah over kneads her dough. Mark always forgets to preheat his oven. Lena took way too long to bake and has to ice her cake when it’s still warm, which by the way, is an absolute nightmare.”
“Wait a second, you’ve seen this before?” His brow furrows like the idea of rewatching shows is confusing to him.
“Yeah, this is the original cast of season one. I’ve watched all seven seasons a bunch of times. It’s my comfort show.”
“Your comfort show,” he repeats. He has a habit of doing that.
“Yeah. It’s like the show you watch over and over again,” I explain, “especially when you’re feeling down or upset.” He stares at me like I’m crazy, butI’mnot the one without a comfort show like a normal person, now, am I? “You must have one.”
“I don’t watch shows. Definitely not reality tv.”
“This isn’treality tv,” I say, offended.
His eyebrow quirks. “Oh yeah? What would you call it then?”
“I mean, Iguessit is, but I don’t like the trashy connotation. There’s nothing trashy about fifteen passionate bakers competing in a showcase of skill, talent, and creative flair.” He doesn’t respond. Just stares at me like I’m speaking a different language he’s having difficulty translating. “So, what do you watch then? Movies?”
“The news, mostly.”
