“It looked good going in,” I say, though unease pricks at the base of my spine. “Strong structure. Good surface tension. If it springs the way I think it will, it should be really beautiful.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
I let out a small breath, half laugh and half sigh. “Then it’ll be perfect for Magnolia’s croutons.”
“You’re calmer than you were earlier.” Joe smiles at me. His friendly demeanor has returned, and the back-and-forth threatens to give me whiplash. I thought Joe was my friend, but right now, I don’t trust him.
A brief silence stretches as Cameron checks his watch again and gives a small nod. Joe straightens in response. “Okay. Last one. You said Alex calms you down and helps your focus. What do you think you do for him?”
What do I do for him… how should I know?
“I don’t know,” I admit, suddenly self-conscious. “Maybe I remind him that he doesn’t have to be so serious all the time.”
“Interesting.” Joe’s smile sharpens just a fraction, and he stands. “Alright. That’s perfect. Thank you, Taylor.”
I push to my feet, adjusting my apron and pulling my hair back into a ponytail. “Can I head back now?”
“Of course,” he says, stepping aside with an easy gesture. “You’ve still got plenty of time.”
Plenty of time.
Dread pools low in my stomach. Call it intuition, but something inside me knows something bad just happened, even if I can’t quite explain why.
I step inside the tent and the air immediately feels wrong. It’s heavy and thick with tension. What did I miss?
Nobody meets my gaze as I walk down the main aisle to my station. Instinctively, I check my oven. There’s still a few minutes before I have to open it up. Hopefully, I’ll see a perfectly formed ear along my score line—the judges will love that.
I smile to myself as I drop onto my stool.
Looking over at Alex’s station, I realize he’s nowhere to be found. He probably stepped out to eat something or run to the bathroom. When I uncover my boule and he still hasn’t returned, I step over to his station to do the same for his loaf. His ear has that perfect curl I can never achieve, but instead of silently hating him, I feel a surge of pride on his behalf. It’s a perfect loaf.
He’s still missing from the tent when my final buzzer goes off. I pull both loaves out and set them on their cooling racks.
I slide the extra scrunchy off my wrist and wrangle my unruly ponytail into a messy bun. It’s too hot and sticky to have my hair down anymore. The cameras are off now, so it doesn’t matter what I look like.
Fanning myself with the bottom of my apron, I step into the comparatively cool air outside the tent. RaeAnn rushes to me, wide-eyed and frantic.
When she reaches me, she clutches my wrists in her trembling hands. I search her face, hoping she can clue me in on what’s going on. She’s vibrating with nerves.
“Oh my God, Taylor, you’re not going to believe what happened—”
CHAPTER 18: ALEX
“Go. I’ve got it.” The words slip past my lips before I’ve even decided to say them. When she reaches out and squeezes my hand, my heart lurches in my chest at the contact.
Fuck, I’m so far gone for this girl already.
Joe notices. His eyes flick between Taylor and me, and a flash of jealousy crosses his face. I smirk in response, but it fades just as quickly when he presses his palm firmly against her back, guiding her away from me.
My back molars grind together. It takes everything in me to stay seated at my station when what I want is to pry each of his fingers off what’s mine. The thought of him touching her like that makes something dark and territorial flare in my chest. I don’t want anyone’s hands on her.
Except for mine.
I crank my head side to side, cracking my neck and rolling my shoulders to release some tension. Taylor took my advice and ran with it. From what I could see across the aisle, her boule looked promising. I hope so, anyway, because I don’t want to imagine what this competition would be like without her.
Pacing the length of my station, I clench my hands into fists, glancing over at Taylor’s station again and again. It’s only been a handful of minutes, but the urge to check is already needling under my skin. When I can’t resist any longer, I cross the aisle, keeping my distance so it can’t be misconstrued as tampering.
400°F?
