My jaw tightens, and I steal a glance at Diane to see if she caught his comment. This asshole couldn’t be subtle if his life depended on it.
“But this isn’t a kitchen,” Brandon continues. “It’s a show. They don’t want to know you can execute. They want to know what you’d bake if you didn’t have someone in the back of your head telling you what to do and how to do it.”
Diane hums thoughtfully, tilting her head as she rolls that over in her mind. Julian takes a slow bite of his sandwich, watching me carefully. I scoff.
Brandon meets my eyes, unblinking. “You didn’t bake like someone who loves it. You baked like someone backed you into a corner and forced you to do it.”
The words hit their mark a little too close to home.
I swallow. “You think I don’t love this? That food—incrediblefood—isn’t my entire life?”
“I think,” Brandon starts, voice dripping with that same unearned confidence he carries every time he speaks. He lowers it, just enough so only I can hear. “You’re used to your name carrying weight. Here, it doesn’t.”
Fuck him.
I push my chair back just enough to breathe. He’s not smirking. He’s not gloating. He’s telling the truth.
And somehow, that’s worse.
?????????
“Bakers, welcome back to the kitchen!” Theo’s voice cuts through the tent. “This afternoon is your first technical bake of the season.”
He gestures as he speaks, calm and practiced. “You’ll be given a set of general instructions. No measurements, no temperatures, no times. You have to recreate the dessert as closely as possible.”
“This challenge was set by none other than Garrett Sloan himself,” Judy adds, smiling. “Garrett has asked that you bake twelve identical religieuses. Anything you’d like to add to inspire our bakers?”
Religieuses?
This one’s mine.
Classic choux with a smooth pastry cream, shiny chocolate ganache, and light, fluffy whipped cream—I’m home.
Garrett’s eyes narrow as he crosses his arms. “Religieuses have a very specific structure. If you don’t achieve the proper balance, they won’t hold.”
“Don’t give them too much there, Sloan,” Theo jokes dryly. “Since this is a blind challenge, we are going to ask our wonderful judges to evacuate the premises.”
Theo and Judy gesture toward the door of the tent in perfect unison. The judges give quick waves before exiting.
“Now that they’re gone,” Judy says with a wide smile, “bakers, you officially have ninety minutes to give your best at the first technical challenge. Theo, darling, would you care to do the honors?”
“Bakers, on your mark… get set… BAKE!”
Paper rustles as everyone scrambles to read the very sparse recipe we were given.
I glance at the card but don’t need to read the whole thing to know where to start. Every line is exactly what I’ve trained for. I’ve done this a hundred times in kitchens that actually matter.
The others are already whispering to one another and flipping the card like it’s a puzzle. It’s cute that they’re trying to help each other—right up until the dough splits or the cream curdles. That’s when they’ll panic.
I roll my shoulders, scoop up my ingredients, and start measuring like a man who knows exactly how this ends. This challenge is all about control and precision.
If anyone’s going to flinch under pressure, it won’t be me. I pipe the first puff with smooth confidence, technique second nature.
I pipe the next puff and glance up, just for a second.
Chloe’s pacing, muttering to herself as she figures out the choux. She’s overcomplicating everything with a spatula gripped in one hand, eyes darting like she’s lost the recipe in the clouds.
Diane is calm, hands steady, lips moving as she quietly recites measurements to herself. She’s a respectful mix of focus and determination.
