The thought sparks something in me—low, buzzing speculation. Who trained where? Who’s worked professionally? Who’s pretending? Between the timing “mix-up” and Joe prodding me about Alex, I’m starting to wonder if this show is less about baking than I thought.
I shrug it off, grasping for neutrality. “Does it matter?”
Their attention turns to me, confusion etching across their faces.
“We’re all here to bake,” I say, flicking my eyes to the nearest camera, hoping to end the conversation on a positive note. “Everyone’s got a story.”
Later, upstairs, I curl into bed with a slight buzz in my head and the thought that I need to be on my game tomorrow to make up for my performance this morning. My technical was decent, but I don’t feel safe in this competition. Tomorrow will come fast. Another bake. Another chance.
As I drift off, I picture piercing blue eyes and a dazzling smile. I wonder, briefly, if Alex ever hums to himself when he’s alone.
CHAPTER 10: ALEX
“Welcome back to day two of your first week here atAmerica’s Next Great Baker!” Judy beams into the camera, slinging an arm around Theo’s shoulders and pulling him in close.
“Big day,” Theo says. “High stakes.”
“High stress,” Judy adds.
“High chance I say something I’m not allowed to say on national television.” He wiggles in Judy’s tight grip.
Judy smiles at the camera. “And, that’s why I’m holding him, folks.”
They record the cold open three times. It shouldn’t be that hard, but Theo has a talent for overestimating how funny he is.
Production shuffled our station locations. I’m no longer in the front row but the second, and Taylor is right behind me. Her excited, frenzied presence buzzes at my back. I clench my jaw against the contagious energy, refusing to admit I kind of like it.
“Your first showstopper challenge is a cake—any cake, so long as it has three tiers,” Judy explains, hands clasped in front of her in a polite gesture. “With three distinct flavor profiles.”
Magnolia hums approvingly. Garrett slides his gaze over each of us, alert, listening.
“Unity without sameness,” Magnolia elaborates. “Each tier should stand on its own, but the cake must still feel cohesive. We want something that stands out.”
“Exactly, Mags.” Garrett agrees. “A showstopper should make us stop in our tracks and take notice. So, make us notice.”
In other words: don’t be boring. Don’t play it safe.
But I’ve built my entire career on safe.
Safe is how you get a perfect crumb. Safe is how you avoid surprises. Safe is how my parents talk about success, earned one careful step at a time. Safe is how I learned everything in thekitchen. You master the rules first, then maybe, someday, bend them ever so slightly.
I picture two different cakes immediately. Elegant lines, flawless execution. Predictable flavors. Cakes that would impress back home, but would be a disappointment at that judging table. Cakes no one would remember.
My jaw tightens. I flip my notebook closed before I can sketch them, like the ideas might poison the page if I give them ink. This is exactly what Magnolia meant yesterday. This is what Garrett called out.
I didn’t come here to prove I can do what I’ve already done a hundred times before.
Pressing my lips together, I close my eyes for a beat, frustrated with myself.Why the fuck do I default to boring?
I didn’t come here to be safe. I came here to make people remember me.
After gathering my composure, I glance over my shoulder
at Taylor, who is already vibrating at a frequency that could shatter glass.
She’s pacing in a loose little circle, hands fluttering as she talks to herself, eyes bright as her ideas come together. She’s chaos incarnate. Whimsical. Untethered. Free.
The opposite of me in every possible way.
