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 thatgoodambitious orterribleambitious? If I wasn’t already terrified, his words sure would do the trick.
