“Round Two goes to Sunny.”
For half a second, I didn’t move.
Then the kids cheered, Mandy clapped, and Joelle squeezed my shoulder.
I smiled. Not for the camera first. Not for Caprice. Not for the sponsor.
For me.
I hadn’t won because my food was adorable. I hadn’t won because my brand colors popped or because my face did something useful on camera.
I’d made a damn good hot dog.
And Flint knew it.
Mandy steered the kids toward the path, calling for water bottles and a hand-washing stop before anyone touched the van seats. Their voices faded toward the access road, bright and sticky and safely away from the cook stations.
By the time Flint crossed the clearing with one of my finished bison dogs in his hand, only crew noise remained around us.
A bite was missing.
He stopped in front of me. “You won that clean.”
My throat tightened.
“Say it again,” I said.
His brows drew together. “You won that clean.”
“No, slower. I want Ed to get it for historical accuracy.”
Ed lifted his camera without enthusiasm. “I’m getting it.”
Flint looked down at the hot dog in his hand, then back at me. “You made outdoor food people can eat with one hand. You kept the flavors clear. Slaw didn’t drown the dog. Cheese made sense.”
I stared at him.
“What?” he asked.
“I’m waiting for the insult.”
“There’s no insult.”
“You’re sure? Not even a note about leaves in cream?”
“There’s no cream and no leaves.”
“It’s unsettling when you’re reasonable.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
He took another bite, like proving my food deserved the attention was simply the next practical task.
I shouldn’t have liked that as much as I did.
Caprice strode over, already checking tomorrow’s call sheet. “Excellent. The score is tied one-one. Tomorrow evening, we finish this. Sunny, I need a victory wrap line. Flint, please clear the foreground so Ed can see our winner.”
I leaned around Flint and smiled sweetly at Caprice. “Did you hear that? I won this round.”
