He presses a kiss to the tip of my nose, then dresses himself.
“Stay with me tonight, yeah?” His voice is warm and unguarded. This intimate version of him settles deep in my chest, right between my ribs.
I nod.
We slide into bed, and he immediately pulls me into him. One strong arm wraps around my waist, drawing me back against him with a quiet hum.
Everything smells like him. The pillows. The blanket. Me. And it’s quickly becoming a scent I don’t think I could live without.
My eyes drift closed, rehashing everything that’s happened today.
But Alex turned it into something else entirely—standing up for me, saving my bake, and showing me a side of himself I didn’t know existed.
I’m asleep before I even realize I’m falling.
CHAPTER 20: ALEX
The tent feels smaller today.
It’s the same white canopy. Same polished benches. Same too-bright lights reflecting off gleaming countertops. But the air is heavier than it should be, like static before a storm that hasn’t decided whether it’s going to break.
Or maybe that’s just me, still ruminating on my confrontation with Hal and the production team yesterday.
I roll my shoulders once, flexing my fingers against the edge of the counter. Dough rests beneath a linen cloth in front of me, proofing quietly, indifferent to everything else happening around it.
Bread doesn’t care about narrative arcs.
But cameras do.
“Alex.”
I don’t need to look up to know who it is. Theo’s voice has that taunting lilt to it, like he already knows how this conversation is going to go.
When I finally lift my gaze, both hosts are already closing in on my station. They wear matching smiles—small, calculated, and entirely too pleased with themselves.
“Just the man we were hoping to catch,” Judy singsongs. “You really stirred things up yesterday. Anything to say for yourself?”
I scoff, barely resisting the urge to roll my eyes.
My movements are neutral, controlled in a way that doesn’t betray anything, as I wipe my hands on the towel tucked into my apron.
I don’t owe them an explanation. And I’m definitely not going to give them something they can twist later.
“I stood up for something,” I say evenly. “For someone that matters.”
They tilt their heads in unison, a practiced, almost rehearsed reaction. A pause stretches between us, the intentional kind that lives for editing rooms.
“Would you do it again?” Theo asks.
My first instinct is simple: tell them to go straight to hell.
My second is far more strategic. Deflect. Smile. Give them something clean they can package into a soundbite. I guess all the PR training wasn’t a complete waste of time.
Instead, Taylor flashes in my periphery.
Flour covers her station like it spontaneously exploded, her hair slightly undone, cheeks flushed. She’s laughing with RaeAnn, completely unaware of how quickly I’d escalate if anything threatened her again. Of how far I’d go.
A smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it.
