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The rhythmic chopping of Drew’s knife against the cutting board usually quieted the chaos in his mind, but today it only sharpened it. He couldn’t stop replaying Kelsi’s smile from the reinvention challenge—how the corners of her lips curved as she’d beamed at him. The warmth it stirred in his chest was both thrilling and unsettling. With it came a gnawing anxiety that twisted tighter each time he let his mind wander back to her.
“Chef Carlson?”
Drew’s focus snapped back, his knife stilling. Emma, one of the younger contestants, stood before him, wringing her hands. “I was wondering if you could taste my sauce. Something’s off, but I can’t figure out what.”
He wiped his hands, nodded, and took the spoon she offered. As he tasted the sauce, his mind slipped again—back to Kelsi’s dish, the way she’d taken his suggestion and turned it into something extraordinary, like she was capable of elevating everything she touched. He couldn’t remember the last time a simple flavor combination had made him feel something.
“Chef?”
Emma’s uncertain voice pulled him back, and Drew set the spoon down, his brows furrowing. “It needs acid,” he said, his tone gruffer than he meant it to be. “Add a splash of vinegar or some citrus. And don’t be afraid to trust your instincts.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “Thank you, Chef!” she said quickly, and hurried back to her station.
Drew watched her go, frowning at his own words. Trust your instincts. When had he become the kind of chef who gave pep talks? The kind who encouraged risk rather than demanding perfection? He wasn’t supposed to be soft like this. He was supposed to be a force in the kitchen, a mentor only in the strictest sense.
When did that change? The answer flickered in his mind, clear as day. Kelsi. She’d somehow softened his edges without him realizing it, and now everything—his approach to food, to teaching—was changing.
“Well, well.” A familiar voice drawled from behind him, laced with amusement. “Drew Carlson, giving out cooking tips? What’s next, a TED talk on self-improvement?”
Drew turned to see Amelia Chen, her sharp eyes watching him like a hawk. She leaned against the counter, her smirk practically daring him to respond. His defenses rose instinctively.
“Amelia.” He kept his voice neutral. “Didn’t expect you to still be here.”
She shrugged, tilting her head. “You learn a lot about people when they think the cameras are off. You’re... different lately, Drew. Softer.”
Drew’s stomach tightened. She had noticed something. “Different how?”
Amelia’s smirk widened. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the way a certain pink-haired influencer has you playing the role of mentor instead of hard-ass judge. You’ve gotten quite cozy, haven’t you?”
His jaw clenched. “There’s nothing going on between Kelsi and me,” he said firmly, though the words felt hollow. Even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t entirely true.
Amelia pushed off the counter, stepping closer. “Sure. But the way you look at her... Drew, you’re a chef, not an actor. You’re terrible at hiding things. And trust me, people love to tear down those at the top. A judge getting involved with a contestant? That’s a headline waiting to happen.”
Drew’s heart kicked into overdrive. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” Amelia’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Consider this a friendly warning. The culinary world can be cruel. If anyone gets wind of this, you could lose everything.”
“Amelia, please,” Drew’s voice dropped, desperation creeping in. “Don’t do this.”
She raised an eyebrow, her expression softening just slightly. “Relax, Drew. I’m not going to run an exposé. Not yet. But consider this a wake-up call. You’re playing with fire, and you both need to be more careful.”
With that, she sauntered off, leaving Drew rooted to the spot, his mind reeling. She’d seen through him. Through the stoic chef persona he’d worn like armor for years. He’d spent so long cultivating his reputation, and now... Kelsi had upended everything.
His grip tightened on the counter, his breath coming in shallow bursts. How did I let this happen? But even as fear clawed at him, he couldn’t bring himself to regret the way Kelsi made him feel. She’d reignited something inside him. She made him want to be better, not just as a chef, but as a man.
“Drew?”
Her voice was soft, concerned. Drew looked up to find Kelsi standing in front of him, flour dusting her cheek and a crease of worry between her brows. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
For a split second, he considered telling her everything—about Amelia’s warning, his fear for their careers, the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. But the words lodged in his throat. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing the flour from her cheek, the touch lingering longer than it should have.
“I’m fine,” he said quietly, managing a small smile. “Just... thinking about the next challenge.”
Kelsi’s gaze searched his face, her eyes softening. “Are you sure? You can talk to me, you know. About anything.”
Drew hesitated, her words tugging at something deep inside him. Tell her, his mind urged. But the kitchen was too open, too full of eyes. “Not here,” he murmured. “Maybe later.”
Understanding flickered in her eyes, and she glanced around the bustling kitchen before nodding. “How about dinner at my place tonight? We can talk then.”
Drew’s heart eased, the knot in his chest loosening at the thought. “That sounds perfect,” he said, his voice low, but warmer now.
As Kelsi moved back to her station, Drew let out a slow breath. The panic from his conversation with Amelia still lingered, but there was something else, too—something lighter. He’d spent years hiding behind his stoic exterior, afraid of letting anyone in. But Kelsi... Kelsi made him feel alive again.
His movements felt smoother, more deliberate as he turned back to his prep. Let people talk. Let them judge. He wasn’t going to let fear dictate his life anymore. He was done hiding, done denying himself the joy of this connection.
