The main floor is unsettlingly quiet compared to how loud it was in the beginning of the season. But I guess that’s what happens when half the house has already been sent home. My heart aches, remembering the devastated look on Chloe’s face when she and Khalil were announced as the casualties of the double elimination.
I turn into the kitchen and find Alex sitting on a stool at the counter with a coffee mug in hand, scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t notice me at first, and I take the opportunity to appreciate this relaxed, off-guard version of him, with tousled hair and the same hoodie on that he was wearing last night.
Alex always looks good. He’s usually very put together, dressed in business casual attire even while baking inside a canvas tent with ovens blasting in the middle of a California summer.
But phew, he looks even better dressed down, casual.
“Aw, Alex,” I say, voice chipper, reaching for his coffee mug playfully. “Super nice of you to make a cup of joe for me!”
He looks up, his sharp blue eyes softening as he takes me in. What used to be a cold, icy stare is now an inviting pool of crystalline blue.
“Take a seat, I’ll make you a cup.”
I shake my head with a soft laugh. “I was joking, I can make my own coffee.”
“I know you can,” he responds with a simple shrug of his shoulders. “But I don’t mind.”
“No, really. You’re already comfy-cozy with your own cup. Besides, it’s just a Keurig, right? I can totally handle that on my own.”
I take a step toward the coffee machine, but Alex rises, blocking my path across the kitchen.
“Taylor,” his voice is a low command. “I said, sit down.”
The authority in his voice hits low in my belly, and I have no choice but to comply. When I sink down onto the nearest stool, he quirks his eyebrow at me, then smirks over his shoulder as he turns and reaches for the Keurig.
Making out with Alex in the practice kitchen and waking up to him preparing coffee for me the next day wasn’t on my bingo card for today, but I’m totally here for it.
And it’s actually really nice being taken care of for once. I’ve been on my own for so long, struggling to make ends meet, and the guys I sporadically spend time with are definitely not the “sit down, I’ve got this” type.
Maybe that’s the difference between a guy and a man.
Minutes later, steam from a mug of hazelnut coffee that’s been swirled with the perfect amount of cream curls toward my face while Alex leans on the counter across from me with a lazy smile.
I never told him how I take my coffee—he just knows.
Butterflies ping-pong in my stomach, and I wrack my brain for something to say, because chatting over coffee is a totally normal thing people do.
“Only a few more weeks left before the finale. Are the nerves setting in for you at all yet, or do you plan on being unmovable and unshakeable for the whole season?” I ask, propping my chin in my hand.
His lips quirk. “I planned on the latter.”
“Of course you were.” I tease, rolling my eyes.
“I don’t know, Taylor. Baking doesn’t make me nervous anymore. I’ve done it for so long that it’s just second nature at this point.”
I hum in response, unsure how to answer, because I’ve been baking for a long time too, but the competition part of this whole experience is static in my veins.
He cocks his head, studying me and it’s like he can see right through my optimistic exterior.
“You don’t think you’re good enough to be here?”
The question surprises me. I straighten where I sit. Do I think I’m good enough to be here? In theory, I believe that I am. In practice, I haven’t done as well as I thought I would, and that stings.
I can’t bear to tell all of that to Alex, though, so instead I beam a smile his way and shrug dismissively before turning the question around on him.
“You’ve had a good run here. You’re freaking amazing, so you have a really good shot at winning the whole show. What are you going to do with the money if you take it all?”
I’m not sure what kind of answer I expect, but I’m hoping he gives me something whimsical. If he says he’s going to pay off student loans, I might scream.
