I lifted my chin. “I listened yesterday.”
Flint’s gaze stayed on my face. “That matters.”
The answer landed softer than praise and harder than a dare.
I walked into my camper before my face betrayed me.
The camper looked like a cheerful crime scene involving coolers, backup aprons, recipe notes, and one emergency mascara tube Joelle had laid out on the tiny counter like a surgical instrument. My Sunday prep look waited on the bed: a teal sleeveless camp shirt tied at the waist, dark green utility shorts, a mustard-yellow apron embroidered with tiny red flames along the pocket, and white canvas sneakers with mustard laces and actual tread.
It was Sunny better and actual better.
I counted that as a miracle.
I changed fast, pinned my coppery hair into a high twist with a yellow scarf, washed my face, added mascara, and found my phone under a stack of towels.
My phone showed eleven messages from Caprice, three from Joelle, and one photo from Ed of a cable coil with the caption: I hate this snake.
I stared at the phone, then at my reflection in the tiny camper mirror.
The teal made my skin look warm. The yellow scarf was bright enough to be fun, not foolish. The sneakers were cute and useful. The apron was still me. My curves didn’t vanish because I’d chosen safety. My sparkle didn’t resign because I’d tied my hair back.
“Look at that,” I told my reflection. “A woman can have tread and personality.”
Outside, a truck door shut.
I slid my phone into my pocket, grabbed my prep notebook, and stepped back into the meadow.
The heat had already begun to rise. It wasn’t brutal yet, but it was present. It lifted the smell of dry grass and meadow dust, sharpened the pine at the tree line, and made the metal prep tables warm under my fingertips. Camera stands waited like patient insects. Ed was crouched by a cable, his ball cap low, muttering to himself.
“I heard that,” I said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were spiritually insulting the cable.”
“It knows what it did.”
Joelle handed me the call sheet. “Final round begins after lunch. Caprice wants pre-round material now, station readiness after that, sealed prompt reveal later. Nobody gets the theme early. Nobody gets the ingredient list early. Nobody gets to ask me whether I know, because I don’t.”
“I wasn’t going to ask.”
“You were going to try with cupcakes in your voice.”
“I do not have cupcakes in my voice.”
“You do when you want information.”
“Fine, I was going to have one tiny frosting inquiry.”
“You can save the frosting inquiry.”
“That is rude but efficient.”
Joelle pointed to the tables. “You can organize flexible prep. Shelf-stable, cold-safe, sweet, savory, neutral base, sauce components, garnishes, pans. No actual dish planning until the prompt drops.”
“I understand.”
“Also, Caprice said she wants color.”
