Most people wouldn’t notice. But I do.
I’ve been watching her for ten weeks now. Somewhere between week three and week six, paying attention to Taylor stopped being something I had to do and just became second nature.
Music starts blasting from every corner of the party space. Another crew member pops a confetti cannon for absolutely no reason at all, sending a fresh storm of glitter into the air.
Cameras swarm the stage, red lights blinking to life as operators jockey for the best angle. Producers shout over the noise while former contestants spill onto the platform like they’ve been waiting behind a gate at a horse race.
RaeAnn barrels straight toward Diane with both arms open. “You did it!” she shouts, nearly tackling her off balance.
Kara appears a second later, wrapping Taylor in a tight hug like she can hold the pieces of her best friend together by sheer force alone. Her mom joins them, squeezing both of them close.
I can’t hear what they’re saying from here, but Taylor’s shoulders drop. She shakes as she cries.
After a minute, she untangles herself from their embrace, brushing her fingers beneath her eyes before smoothing back her hair and stepping forward to congratulate Diane.
“Congratulations,” she says warmly, wrapping Diane in a quick hug.
Diane pulls back, still clutching the trophy. “Are you kidding? That cake of yours was incredible,” she says, shaking her head. “Seriously, Taylor. Keep pushing. You’re really something special.”
Taylor sniffs, a little caught off guard by the compliment.
“Thanks,” she says softly.
Then Diane turns to me, grin widening. “I knew it was gonna come down to us, kid.”
“Yeah?” I let out a short laugh.
She nods, lifting the trophy. It glints in the light. I wonder where someone is supposed to keep something like that.
“First day in the house. Remember? You walked out on the patio, and I taught you how to introduce yourself. I knew then that you were gonna be my biggest competition. Could just tell.”
“That’s not how I remember it.”
“Oh, please.” She waves a hand. “You and me. I called it then—even if I didn’t say it out loud.”
I chuckle, shaking her hand before pulling her into a hug. “You baked the hell out of that cake. You deserve this win.”
“Damn right I did.”
The crowd swells around us again, voices overlapping from every direction. It’s chaos.
Joe wrangles the three of us into a photo as another production assistant hands us each a glass of champagne. We smile and clink glasses on cue, flashing through a series of shots. Halfway through the mock photoshoot, my hand settles at the small of Taylor’s back, keeping her pulled into my side.
When we’re finally released, Julian pushes his way through the crowd. He exhales when he reaches me, giving me a firm handshake and clapping me on the back. “Sorry you didn’t win.But, hey… at least it’s over. We didn’t need you to win—we just needed you to be likable. And I think you did that.”
“We’ll see. Depends on the edit.” I smirk, my thoughts slipping back to my confrontation with Hal and the production team.
“Have some faith, asshole.” He punches my arm. “At least we’re getting the green light on the restaurant when we get back.”
Those words land heavy in my chest.When we get back.
Tomorrow, the production vans will pull up for the last time. We’ll pack our suitcases, hand in our mic packs, and scatter back across the country like this strange little summer never happened.
No more crowded kitchen counters at midnight. No more whispered strategy sessions over leftover pastries. No more Taylor humming under her breath while she measures flour. Something twists in my chest. I scan the crowd until I find her.
Beautiful hazel eyes, and those bouncing curls.
Taylor meets my gaze from across the stage. She tips her head toward the edge of the lawn, mouthing, “Escape?”
