And somehow, it works.
“Bakers,” Theo calls, “you have eight hours. Your time starts… NOW!”
The tent erupts into motion once again.
I move automatically, gathering my ingredients and setting my station up for success, but my thoughts keep snagging on the instructions. Three tiers. Three profiles. Something unexpected.
I force myself to pivot from my original idea, letting my thoughts wander into unfamiliar territory. There’s no hidingwhen it comes to a showstopper, and I refuse to disappoint the judges again.
A trio of citrus. Spice. Dark, milk, and white chocolate. It’s a riskier balance than I’d usually attempt, but still grounded enough to feel intentional. I start pulling ingredients, measuring by weight instead of feel, but allowing myself to adjust where I normally wouldn’t.
Halfway through creaming butter, I smell it.
Something bitter and unmistakable.Burnt sugar.
I look back just in time to see the first curl of smoke rising from Taylor’s station. Her eyes are wide, spatula frozen midair, like she isn’t sure what she’s seeing.
I shouldn’t step in.
That’s the unspoken rule in a game like this. You don’t help or interfere. You focus on your own bench and let everyone else succeed or fail on their own merit. Anything else could get misconstrued on camera.
And the cameras are absolutely on us.
If I help her and she recovers, it doesn’t benefit me in any way. If she doesn’t, it could look like I distracted her. Either way, there’s risk.
I’ve won competitions by being disciplined enough to ignore moments like this. By minding my own business, letting mistakes happen because they weren’t mine to fix.
But the smoke is thickening, and I know that smell all too well. I know exactly how fast sugar crosses the line from golden to ruined.
She’s seconds away from scorching the entire batch.
I swear under my breath and move closer, keeping my voice low. “Taylor.”
She jumps, startled, but her eyes meet mine.
“Kill the heat,” I say quietly. “Now. Pour that top half into a bowl and stir it off the burner.”
She blinks once, then lunges for the dial, dragging the pot away just in time. The smell fades immediately—it just might be salvageable.
“Oh! Oh my god.” She laughs, breath uneven, one hand pressed to her chest. “I wasthis closeto committing a sugar hate crime.”
I nod. “You caught it early.”
“No… you caught it early.”
Taylor takes a deep breath and drags a hand through her hair to steady herself. The way she’s looking at me right now is as if she’s seeing me for the first time. “Thank you. Seriously. I don’t have time to remake the candy shell for my jumbo cherry.”
A jumbo cherry? What thehellis this girl making?
I shrug, already stepping back, but the look on her face holds me captive. A jumbled mix of confusion and appreciation. I caught her off guard. And fuck, flustered looks good on her.
“No problem.”
But she’s still staring at me, studying me. Then she squints, leaning over her station to get a little closer.
“Wait.” Her mouth tilts. “Was that… another smile?”
I stop. It takes me a second to realize she’s right. My lips are turned up in the corners. I didn’t even feel it happen. I run a hand over my mouth, thumb brushing beneath my lower lip.
