CHAPTER 25: ALEX
When I step up onto the freshly mowed grass leading to the tent, the details of production are in full swing. Patriotic bunting flutter from the fences with string lights crisscrossing overhead, and long banquet tables are lined with chairs for family and friends.
A small platform stage waits at the far end, cameras set and cables snaking across the lawn, a silent reminder of tomorrow’s finale ceremony. The aroma of cut grass tangles with the smell of the tent as it’s being steamed to perfection.
The air hums with the low buzz of generators and the distant voices of crew members moving props and equipment.
Garrett is already there, surveying the space with that calm, measured expression of his. Magnolia stands nearby, arms crossed, eyes scanning the horizon where the decorations catch the early light. Theo and Judy step onto the platform, arms linked, smiling wide.
“Finale day,” Garrett says directly into the camera, but there’s a weight to it that makes me pause.
“Three bakers left.” Magnolia lets a small smile tug at her lips.
Theo waves a hand toward the lawn, voice rising so it carries across the quiet morning. “By tomorrow evening, this space will be full of friends, family, and all of our previous contestants.”
“That’s right, Theo.” Judy beams. “And one of our final three will be dubbedAmerica’s Next Great Baker!”
I nod, taking it all in, committing the moment to memory as they finish their promo shot. The calm before the storm—the moment before all hell breaks loose.
Right before we enter the tent, my hand shoots out, catching Taylor by the wrist and pulling her toward me. She turns, aquestion forming on her lips, but before she can say anything, I brush my mouth against hers.
“Good luck,” I whisper with a wink.
Her cheeks turn the most delicious shade of pink.
I saunter into the tent first, allowing the cameras to get my entrance shot and move to my station. Taylor follows immediately behind, eyes wide with nerves and excitement.
Diane is already at her station, quietly unfolding her sketchpad before tying her apron tight around her waist. She notices my gaze, squints playfully, and points two fingers from her eyes to me in the universal “I’m watching you”move. Then her eyes crinkle at the edges, and she winks.
Fucking Diane.
I shake my head, chuckling to myself.
The final challenge is here and it’s go time.
Taylor gives my hand a quick squeeze as she passes, then she’s gone. Off to her own station while we wait for the judges and hosts to do the official introduction to the challenge.
“For your final challenge, you’ll create the ultimate showstopper cake,” Garrett explains, the authority in his voice carrying above the buzz of the tent.
“A centerpiece worthy of a national celebration,” Magnolia adds, hands clasped in front of her and eyes soft but serious.
Judy gestures toward the tent opening. “Tomorrow, this lawn will be filled with guests. Friends, family, viewers, and previous contestants will all be here to cheer you on!”
“But don’t get too hung up on that, bakers. Because this is the finale, and the stakes have never been higher.” Theo chimes in, tone dry as ever.
“You have two days to create a cake that represents everything you’ve learned in this competition,” Garrett concludes.
Magnolia extends her hands, palms facing up, as she elaborates on Garrett’s instructions. “Your cake needs to show us who you are as a baker. Let us see your creativity. Your technical mastery. Nothing less than your absolute best will do.”
“Over the next two days, you can use your time however you see fit,” Judy explains. “So, plan out how to best bring your ideas to life. Handle any prep, decorations, or long-setting items today, because tomorrow, you will bake in the tent for the final time.”
I pull out my sketchbook, the pencil in my hand hovering over the clean page. I think of every lesson Garrett and Magnolia have given me. Of what I’ve learned from Taylor about tapping back into the joy of baking.
Without thinking, the design starts to flow out of me, the pencil moving in quick bursts. I make little notes in the margins: ‘multiple tier heights’, ‘stability rods?’, ‘flavors that contrast but complement’.
Garrett steps toward me, crouching to get a better look at my draft. He stands there wordlessly, watching me work, as if he’s weighing his words carefully.
The show’s toughest critic clears his throat.
