RHETT
As the shuttle bus hums along down the road toward the assisted living home, I'm holding a giant bowl of cookies in my lap. They're a mixture of Savannah's chocolate chip cookies and my chocolate hazelnut cookies that I finally settled on after a while. The mingling scents are oddly comforting, giving me a little bit of a distraction from the competition. Looking out my window, my thoughts drift not to the competition, which is usually the thing at the forefront of my mind, but to the banter that I had with Savannah in the kitchen.
There's just something about her persistent optimism that's less grating when you work alongside her rather than against her. Maybe it's her competence showing through, or maybe it's just the fact that she's familiar to me, having known her from school. Either way, I find myself begrudgingly starting to respect her a bit more, even if I'm not ready to admit anything beyond that or call it a friendship.
The bus takes a corner, and the cookies shift slightly in their container. I adjust my hold, my thoughts temporarily focused on the task ahead. We will be delivering a bit of joy, which is an aspect of the competition that feels slightly refreshing. It makes me think of my grandmother, who was in assisted living in her later years. I hated that she was there, but at the time, I was in school and couldn't do much about it. My mother and father were way too busy to care for her, and instead of hiring someone with the vast amounts of money they have, they chose to put her in a nice, assisted living home, out of sight, out of mind for a lot of that time. It made me sad.
As I think about that, I overhear a snippet of conversation from where Connor sits two rows ahead. His voice is laced with sneer, and it cuts through the hum of the bus engine.
"You know, if Savannah thinks playing the sweet and simple baker will get her the win, then she's dumber than I thought. This isn't some charity bake sale." He's talking to Lainey, who is sitting next to him, and he's doing very little to keep his voice quiet. He's obviously trying to rattle Savannah while also playing up to the camera recording him. This guy wants to be “reality TV famous.” I do not. I want to win the money and move on with my life.
My grip on the bowl tightens, and a hot flash of anger suddenly surges through me. It's one thing to compete, but it's another to belittle someone's efforts and intentions, especially someone who seems as genuine as Savannah. I hadn't realized until now just how low Connor could stoop or how much his words about Savannah would bother me.
Savannah is sitting just behind him and just in front of me. She shifts quietly. I can see her silhouette stiffening as she looks out the window. Are her eyes watering? She doesn't respond, or maybe she didn't hear. It doesn't matter. The fact that Connor would say such a thing so publicly suddenly stirs something protective in me. I've always been competitive. I've always believed in playing hard but fair, but Connor is underhanded. It's not just poor sportsmanship. It's downright disgraceful.
The bus pulls into the assisted living home's parking lot and I set the bowl aside to prepare to get off. The simple task of delivering these cookies has taken on a new weight. Today isn't just about bringing joy through baking but also about showing who we are, not just as bakers but as people.
Whatever my feelings about Savannah, she doesn't deserve Connor's words, and though I'm not about to start singing her praises, I do find myself hoping that she'll prove him wrong somehow in a spectacular way. Today, I'm just here to help deliver cookies. I'm not here to stand up for somebody else in the competition.
As I walk to the front to step off the bus, I notice that Connor is taking a moment to get out of his seat. I might have let my shoulder bump him rather hard, causing him to drop his container onto the floor. His cookies didn't scatter, but I sure hope his confidence did.
* * *
SAVANNAH
As we walk through the doors of the assisted living center, a wave of warmth greets us, not just from the people who work there but from the bright smiles of the residents lined up in the lobby.
Their excitement is palpable. Their eyes light up as we enter with our large containers of cookies. They seem so genuinely happy to see us. It makes me slightly sad because I wonder how many of these people never get visitors. How many of their families have just dropped them off here and barely come to see them? I'm sure there are some good families that are coming constantly to check on their relatives, but everyone knows that some of these people probably never get a visitor at all. I take it as a great responsibility today to make sure that I interact with as many of them as possible and bring positivity and light into their lives today.
The sweet aroma of the cookies probably precedes us, weaving its way through the room and drawing out some eager glances from some of the residents.
"Welcome!” A woman with silver hair and a name tag claps her hands together. Her voice is as cheerful as the colorful cardigan wrapped around her shoulders. "We have been looking forward to this all week. Our residents can't wait to get their hands on some of those sweet treats you're holding."
I step forward, balancing the bowl of cookies that I've taken from Rhett. "We are so excited to be here," I say. “And we hope the residents enjoy these as much as we enjoyed making them."
She smiles and takes the bowl of cookies from me before walking over to a table and opening them. Several other contestants take their bowls and trays of cookies and put them on the same table. They already have milk and coffee set up for anybody who wants to enjoy the cookies. And several of the residents make their way over there very quickly.
As I move among them, I watch them choose between the different types: chocolate chip, peanut butter, hazelnut, caramel, and colorful sprinkle cookies. There's just about everything you can think of.
I listen to their stories in snippets of conversation as I walk. One man, whose hands tremble slightly as he reaches for a cookie, tells me about his grandchildren and how he used to bake with them when they were little. He hasn't seen them in a while, he says. They live far away. I try not to well up with tears when I hear him and how sad he is that he hasn't seen them in so long.
Another resident is a petite little lady with sparkling blue eyes that still stand out among the well-earned wrinkles on her face. She regales me with tales of her youth in a small European village where she used to make pastries with her mother.
Each story adds a little thread to the rich tapestry of all the lives gathered in this room, and I feel immersed in sharing the cookies and these moments. I believe that good desserts can bring on good conversation. They draw people together in happiness.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Rhett watching me several times. His gaze is curious. Instead of his usual stoic demeanor, he seems a little softened by the interactions that are unfolding around him. He's not talking to anyone, of course. He’s just quietly observing.
Maybe he's going to use it in the competition somehow. Who knows what that guy is up to? Having him observe me like this is an odd but not unpleasant feeling. Perhaps he's noticing a side of me he hasn't seen before. But what do I care? Inspired by a spark of spontaneity, I approach the activities coordinator who introduced herself to me earlier.
"Do you happen to have any nail polish?" I ask her. "I thought maybe it might be fun to offer some manicures while we're here.”
Her face lights up. "Really? What a wonderful idea. The residents would love that. Let me bring you what we have."
Soon I settle at a small table with a rainbow array of nail polishes spread out before me. A line forms, mostly women, but a few men chuckle and join in the fun, requesting a clear polish or just enjoying the activity. To my surprise, Rhett approaches me with a bottle of pink polish in his hand.
"Need help?" he asks, and I can't help but laugh.
"Really? You would do this? I don't know whether to be amused or impressed."
He shrugs, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his normally straight mouth. "Why not? It might be good for my dexterity," he says, moving his fingers around.
I nod, and he walks over to a table nearby and takes a chair, pulling it up beside me to share the same small table. We handle two people at a time, and to my surprise, Rhett is pretty good at painting fingernails.
“What made you think of doing this, Sunny?”
I let him call me that at this point because it could be worse. When the guy you hated in school gives you a nickname, it could be something terrible. Sunny isn’t so bad.
“When I was in the fifth grade, I volunteered at our local nursing home. I’ll never forget the place. It was so sad and dreary and smelled of orange and lemon cleaning liquid. The people there looked left behind, you know? Like someone just dropped them off one day and never came back. Anyway, my teacher said she’d give us extra credit if we volunteered one day a week at that place. Most of the kids went once and then decided they didn’t need extra credit that bad. I ended up going three days a week. I’d eat with them, listen to their stories, and paint the ladies’ nails. I guess I’ve always been way too sensitive and empathetic.”
“I’m impressed,” he says quietly.
“Why?”
“Most kids wouldn’t give up their extra time to spend it with elderly strangers in a nursing home. I know I wouldn’t have.”
I laugh under my breath. “Well, if you knew how I was raised and what was happening at home, you would’ve wanted to escape, too,” I say the words before I can think about them. Rhett doesn’t need to know about my personal life. He’ll somehow use it against me.
“I want that color!” the woman in front of Rhett suddenly says loudly, like she’s purposely trying to get his attention. When he looks at her, she bats her lashes. I want to laugh but somehow keep myself from doing it.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, glancing at me and smiling. It’s actually a very nice smile. He should do it more often.
"So, where did you get these skills?" I ask him as he paints the nails of a woman whose hair is pulled up into a tight white bun on top of her head. She looks like she could have been a ballerina in another life.
"I used to do this for my grandmother when she was in a place like this. I was just a teenager back then, but I was pretty good at it. I like to think it's one of the reasons why I'm so detailed in my work."
I smile and continue working on the woman in front of me. She has bright orange hair that is obviously dyed and is wearing some of the most obnoxiously loud jewelry I've ever seen. She's quite a character.
I start to notice that the women are lining up more in front of Rhett than in front of me. They seem to be coming from all around, and then I realize they’ve never seen such a tall and handsome man willing to paint the fingernails of the women at the assisted living home. Before I know it, he’s handling everything, and I’m sitting back, relaxing.
"Aren't you going to do something?" he finally asks me as he tries to keep up with the long line.
I shrug my shoulders and laugh. "I am doing something. I'm watching you."
* * *
RHETT
I am delicately painting the nails of Mrs. Johnson, who seems to be one of the feistier residents here at the assisted living center. Suddenly, the sound of a microphone squealing breaks my concentration. I look up and see Connor strutting toward the karaoke machine that is set up in the corner, pulling a reluctant-looking Lainey behind him.
"All right, everybody, who's ready for a performance?" Connor yells into the microphone, holding his mouth too close to it, flashing one of his over-the-top cheesy-looking grins. A few of the residents perk up, but most of them seem happy snacking on cookies or watching Savannah and me work our manicure magic.
Most other contestants are sitting with residents, chatting or playing checkers and chess. Only Connor is trying to become the center of attention.
Savannah leans over to me. "You're not going to believe this," she mutters, with an amused shake of her head.
I stifle a laugh. She clearly knows what's coming.
The opening beats of Shallow from A Star Is Born blare out, and Connor immediately launches into one very exaggerated stage act, clutching his chest dramatically. Lainey joins in, or at least tries to, her voice grating and terribly off-key from the very beginning.
I honestly can’t tell if Connor is trying to be funny or if he really sings like that. I’m hoping it’s the former.
They're making a mockery of the people that they're trying to entertain, which kind of annoys me, but it's hard to pay attention to that when you can't take your eyes off the train wreck right in front of you.
"Tell me something…” Connor warbles, missing every single note as he starts gesticulating wildly. I shake my head in disbelief at what I'm seeing. Savannah just smirks, as she continues applying the final coat of polish to Mrs. Palmer's bright-red fingernails.
"His singing could use some work, couldn't it?" I murmur to her.
"Oh, you have no idea," she confirms with a laugh. "You know we dated, and I had to endure way too many overly enthusiastic car sing-alongs from him."
I raise an eyebrow at her. "I guess I don't understand why you dated that idiot."
“I dated him for a whole two years until a few weeks ago."
"So what finally made you see the light and dump him?"
Then I notice something like a flicker of sadness that crosses her face before her jaw sets in determination.
"He couldn't handle how close I am to my little sister, Sadie. We had a pretty terrible childhood and a neglectful mother, who passed away several years ago. So I got guardianship of Sadie when she was twelve, and I basically became her parent. She's twenty now, and Connor couldn't stand that I treat her like my own child instead of putting him first. I'm a protective big sister. I care about her more than anything else. She's all I have left. He didn't want that. He wanted it to just be him and me and one day our own family, but not with Sadie. I missed out on college because I couldn't afford it while I was taking care of her, and then she missed out on college because I couldn't afford it while I was just trying to keep us both afloat. So this competition is my big chance."
“Well, this Connor fella sounds like an idiot to me, dear,” an older woman says. She’s waiting for glittery nail polish. Savannah smiles at her graciously.
The singing continues in the background, and it's apparent that Connor couldn't carry a tune if it had two handles. I suddenly feel a surge of respect for Savannah’s resilience and selflessness, and I admire her ability to put her younger sister first despite the obstacles she’s faced.
I can’t relate to it, of course. I’ve always had two parents with plenty of money and a very stable family structure. But she seems closer to her sister than I am to my entire family. Of course an egomaniac like Connor would be threatened by the unshakable loyalty to someone other than him.
Connor hits a particularly sour note, which shatters any charm he might've once had with the residents. An elderly man puts his fingers in his ears in protest, making Savannah and I laugh.
"Boy, he's really working hard to get those extra minutes of camera time in," I mutter, looking back at the hand in front of me.
Savannah smiles wryly. "Don't worry, this sideshow won't last long. His little tantrums were always short-lived, just like his talent."
That makes me laugh. Sure enough, after several more excruciating minutes, Connor finally runs out of breath from his failed attempt at hitting notes far too high, and his voice starts to crack and croak like a frog. He dramatically bows as Lainey gives a few awkward claps and follows along behind him. The karaoke machine is mercifully turned off, and I can't help but feel relieved that the painful audition is over. It’s like he thought he was at a nightclub karaoke night instead of an assisted living home.
I look over at Savannah, who has refocused on the resident sitting in front of her, and Connor's pathetic bid for fame is left in the dust. For somebody who's already overcome so much, I wonder if her empathetic heart and sensitivity will let her go far in this competition.
For a fleeting moment, at least, the pressures of the competition have faded into the background. I suppose there are worse fates than getting momentarily upstaged by your rival’s tone-deaf ex-boyfriend and his fame-hungry partner. Like realizing that you're actually starting to enjoy the company of the person you're supposed to be competing with.
* * *
SAVANNAH
The digital clock's bright red numbers feel like they're burning my retinas. It's after midnight. I sigh and roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. My mind just won't shut off. It's a whirlwind of thoughts, making sleep completely elusive to me.
Tomorrow is the main baking challenge. Someone is going to get sent home. The pressure is mounting, and it's only the first week.
I also miss my sister so much—her smiling face, her stupid jokes, and just the comfort of having someone around who loves me. Not being able to call her or contact her at all while sequestered in this house is already taking its toll.
I can't help but feel guilty for abandoning the person I raised for this opportunity, even if it's just temporary. Even if she's the one who wanted me to go. But this is my chance, our chance. I have to tell myself that multiple times daily, and I'm still not sure I believe it.
Winning this competition would mean financial security and so many opportunities for both of us, but that doesn't make being apart from Sadie any easier right now.
I know I won’t get any rest while my mind is whirling like this. I quietly slip out of my bed, pull on my swimsuit, and throw on my robe. Maybe a soak in the courtyard hot tub will help me clear my head before the long day of baking tomorrow. The house is silent as I tiptoe down the hallway and go through the doors into the courtyard area.
The warm night air blows across my skin as I make my way across the fake grass toward the hot tub. It's tucked over in the corner beside some potted palm trees and flowering hibiscus plants. To my relief, the area is completely deserted. Everyone is asleep, getting ready for tomorrow's activities. I will get some precious solitude to soak and hopefully clear my racing mind. I shrug off my robe, bend down to do a forward stretch, and then step into the hot tub, sinking into the steaming water with a contented sigh. I let the heat slowly unknot all my tense muscles, including my lower back, which has been bothering me since I fell off the kitchen counter into Rhett’s arms.
I lean back and look up at the stars in the night sky. It's the only sense of the outside world that I have now. Our windows are all covered, and we can't leave the house without being chaperoned. We're completely sequestered like a bunch of prisoners, but we all signed up for this.
This quiet moment is just what I needed after the chaos of the week and the excitement of the nursing home visit. My mind goes back to the unexpected scene of me and Rhett sitting there, diligently painting the fingernails of elderly ladies. Most of them just wanted to see him up close, I think.
Who would've thought that the brooding ice man had such a gentle side? The tranquil silence is suddenly shattered by the sound of footsteps on the grass behind me. I turn with a startled look, my hand to my chest, when I see none other than Rhett himself appear. He's dressed for a run, wearing his sneakers and shorts but no shirt.
Dear Lord in heaven, he has a nice chest. I never considered what might be under that clean apron he wears in the kitchen.
I forgot this is something that he apparently likes to do regularly at night. So much for my solitude. Our eyes meet, and he looks at me with a half-smile, clearly as surprised to see me here as I am to see him.
* * *
RHETT
The digital alarm clock numbers had been mocking me for what seemed like hours. I couldn't stand to hear Connor talk in his sleep anymore. He laughed, flung his arms in the air, and occasionally snored. I don't know anybody who could sleep next to that man.
I don't get much sleep these days, anyway. I haven't slept more than four or five hours in a row in ages. My mind will never turn off. It's constantly strategizing, analyzing, and fixating on something.
With a frustrated sigh, I throw off the covers and quickly put on my running gear, minus my shirt. The nighttime summer air is hot and humid. A late-night loop around the courtyard is my go-to solution for insomnia. Okay, not one loop, probably dozens of loops. I like to hear the rhythm of my feet pounding against the fake grass and let it drown out the endless stream of thoughts.
I lace up my shoes and quietly leave the room, going downstairs through the courtyard doors. It's a warm night, and it hits me as soon as I walk outside. I begin to stretch my calves in the corner of the courtyard area, and that's when I see her—Savannah. She's slowly making her way across the grass with a robe loosely tied around her slender figure. She must be having trouble sleeping, too. I halt mid-stretch because I can't stop my eyes from trailing over her as she unknots that robe and lets it slip off her shoulders. She bends over and stretches for some inexplicable reason, and I feel my cheeks flush.
In the dim moonlight, I can make out the curves of her petite body in a modest, pale blue bathing suit that somehow manages to be both insanely alluring and totally casual at the same time. I have to actively force my eyes away before they linger too long, cursing myself for even noticing her. Thankfully, she doesn't seem to see me as she settles into the steaming hot tub. I should just continue on my usual route, not make this awkward, but then her eyes suddenly look over and meet mine.
"Well, well, look who's up burning the midnight oil," she says, raising an eyebrow. "Don't you need your beauty sleep?"
I chuckle, crossing my arms in a feeble attempt to seem unbothered. "I think I'm already beautiful enough."
She lets out a low laugh, sliding further into the hot tub and sighing. "I'll keep my opinions to myself," she says. "Soaking in these steamy bubbles is such taxing work. Way worse than running around in a circle." I open my mouth to retort, but I can't think of anything to say. She finally speaks again. "In all seriousness, I can't sleep knowing the big competition is happening tomorrow."
"Trust me, I get it," I say. "My mind doesn't exactly hit the off switch these days."
"Well, if you want to stop pacing around like some kind of jungle cat and actually relax for once, you could join me," she points toward the hot tub.
Everything in me wants to take the invite, the alien desire to let my guard down, even if just for a moment, but my tough guy image and self-preservation win out. "Yeah, I think I'll pass on that," I say dismissively, trying to ignore how her damp red hair is curling adorably around her face.
"One of these days, Rhett Jennings, you're going to let your guard down and actually have a relaxing moment. I hope I'm there to see it."
"I appreciate the invite," I say dryly.
"Your loss, but I do appreciate you gracing me with your sparkling presence, even if just for these few moments."
"Don't mention it," I mutter, waving my hand.
I turn and start my laps around the courtyard. I can still feel her amused gaze following me as I run round and round. This is the first time I've ever felt like a complete idiot running in circles. She is so easily seeing through my prickly exterior, and I don't like it one bit. I might need to run a few extra laps just to work off the restlessness she has firmly planted under my skin.