SAVANNAH
When I sleepily make my way into the communal kitchen, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling butter fills the air. Despite it being very early in the morning, the space is filled with activity as my fellow contestants mill about making their breakfasts before our big challenge day ahead.
I tie on one of my favorite vintage aprons that I brought with little embroidered strawberries on it and start gathering ingredients. Eggs, milk, flour—the fixings for my favorite pancake recipe. I've made it a million times for me and Sadie over the years. Sometimes, I like to throw in extra things like blueberries or chocolate chips, but this morning, I think I'll just make them plain and use some of the maple syrup I saw earlier. As I whisk together the batter, my mind drifts off to Sadie like it does all the time these days.
I wonder what she's up to right now. Is she awake? Has she eaten breakfast? Did she make it to work on time? A pang of sadness twinges in my chest. We've never been apart for more than a couple of days in our entire lives. One week into this competition, and I already miss her sunny smile, her stupid jokes, and her giving me one of those trademark big bear hugs every morning when she meets me in the kitchen.
"Pancakes? Can I help?" I glance over to see Tanya giving me a warm smile as she also ties on an apron.
I haven't talked to her a lot yet, and she’s not much older than me. Maybe she could be another friend to me in this competition. So far, it's just Maggie, and while I love talking to her, we're about thirty-five years apart in age, and it's a little bit hard to relate on some topics.
“Sure, I would enjoy having some help. I'm missing my sister right now. She normally helps me with pancakes.”
“Oh, yeah. How old is she?”
“Twenty. But I've been her guardian since she was twelve.” Tanya smiles slightly but doesn't ask any further questions. "You must miss your family, too,” I say.
She lets out a sigh. "Terribly. It's always just been me and my kids. I'm a single mom. I've raised them on my own, and I'm doing all this for them. I'm thankful my brother and his wife could care for them while I’m away. I know they're cheering me on from afar, but it is hard not to call and check on them."
I nod. “Yeah, you're right. The only thing keeping me motivated is knowing I'm doing this for my sister and for our future. Otherwise, I would've already called for a taxi to take me home.”
Tanya laughs. “There's nothing quite like family, is there?" she says, pouring batter onto the griddle. She starts talking about her kids, their names, their ages. Unfortunately, I'm not paying much attention. I'm just going through the motions of the pancake recipe like I always do while thinking about all the different times I've made it with Sadie by my side.
All the fun we've had, the times that we've tossed batter at each other from across the kitchen, the talks over a big stack of pancakes covered in butter and warm maple syrup. The subtle tang of the buttermilk, the warmth of cinnamon and vanilla.
Tanya is right about one thing. We have to push through the loneliness by channeling the love we have for our loved ones. I have to be determined. I pour another dollop of batter onto the sizzling griddle and think about the challenge tonight. I need to do everything I can to try to win it for me and for Sadie.
* * *
RHETT
I chalk up my pool cue, looking at the tightly racked balls with an intense laser focus. I don't do anything halfway. Even a pool game is a major competition. My mind is worrying about the baking challenge ahead, and I think it's making me slightly more uptight this morning. I can't afford any mistakes or sloppy execution on this first shot.
“Don’t get distracted,” I mutter, forgetting Nate is standing beside me.
"You know, we don't have to take this so seriously." He's infuriatingly calm and breaks the tense silence as he runs the chalk over his own cue. "This is just a friendly game of pool, man. Before tonight's big challenge, I think we should relax a little bit, don't you?"
I glance over at his solidly built forty-five-year-old body and grunt. Despite being just a little bit older than I am—well, about fifteen years—Nate has the most peaceful, centered demeanor of anyone. He's like everybody's relatable buddy. He doesn't get ruffled by much of anything, and he's always trying to impart some philosophical nugget of wisdom to the rest of us.
"Easy for you to say," I respond, lining up my shot and decisively sinking the break. A couple of solid balls drop cleanly into the pockets. "I guess when you come from a long line of bakers, this culinary stuff is second nature. You're probably not even worried about the challenge tonight."
He watches me thoughtfully as I circle the table, sizing up my next move. "You'd think so, but that legacy cuts both ways. There's a lot of pressure to live up to in my family. My grandma started the McBee’s Cookies brand. Everybody knows that name. I’m supposed to do even better, at least according to my family.”
I stop for a moment and look at him. “McBee’s Cookies? Really? I didn’t know that.”
“Well, I don’t exactly advertise it. Ironically, I have the hardest time making cookies,” he laughs.
“How are you so calm about all this then? If you have such a legacy to live up to?” I’m genuinely interested in what he has to say.
He shrugs his shoulders. “I learned a long time ago that no matter what we do in life, we will disappoint somebody. And most of the time, it’s their baggage to carry. Not yours.”
I just shrug, not looking up from lining up my next shot. "Well, I guess it's better to have something to live up to than nothing to live up to at all," I say. The words are out of my mouth before I can rein them back in.
I just gave an unintended glimpse behind the curtain of my life, my upbringing, my family history, or lack thereof. It's not something that I want to unpack willingly in front of a competitor. To Nate's credit, he doesn't really even blink at what I said. He just leans back against the wall casually, like he's waiting for a bus.
"Sometimes the fire for greatness comes from unexpected places, doesn't it?" He nods his head like one of those therapists who’s waiting for you to answer something. Not that I've ever been to therapy, but I've seen them on TV. I stiffen at his attempt to be philosophical about my past. Who gave this guy a couch to start psychoanalyzing me?
"And what is that supposed to mean?" Nate seems completely unfazed by my prickly tone. He gestures calmly at the table.
"Nothing meant by it. Just an observation from someone who's been around the block a few times in the baking world. The drive to be the best usually isn't sparked by having an easy stroll through life.”
I grit my teeth and bend over to take my next shot, but the cue ball over-spins, causing me to stumble slightly. Nate's carefully casual words threw me off kilter more than I want to admit, got under my skin, and dredged up some memories and unresolved feelings I work hard daily to compartmentalize. But he's right.
This obsessive need for me to be the best and seize my own success with both hands without anybody helping me was born from tougher stuff than some idyllic family bakery business like Nate had. I'm desperate to prove my worth. I'm untethered from any legacies or connections in my own family. I just live with the gnawing pit of something to prove, and it all came from the lowest of lows that I have felt in my life, trying to make my own way by simultaneously living up to the opinions of others.
I suck in a sharp breath and straighten. "Save the couch therapy for someone who cares about that crap," I say flatly. "I'm here to bake circles around everyone and win this whole dang thing, plain and simple. I'm not interested in group hugs or swapping hard luck stories."
Nate simply shrugs as usual, smiling slightly and then taking his turn to smoothly pocket a couple of balls without breaking his laid-back facade. "Suit yourself, man. But you might find this whole ride a lot easier if you let a few folks in along the way instead of constantly trying to prove yourself as some kind of a tough guy lone wolf. I've been there, and it never ends up anywhere good."
I snort at that, already looking back at the table as he continues taking his shots. I'm temporarily lulled into calmness by the rhythmic cracks of ball against ball, but I will not drop my guard here. There's a fat chance of that, not when there's finally a shot at seizing a victory for myself and by myself. No, I'm going this one alone. Same as with everything else in my life up until now. Letting people get underneath my skin has only ended up in disappointment every other time before. This baking competition is my chance to prove myself on my own merits.
Nate pockets the final ball, and I stalk around the table, racking up for another punishing round. He's a lot better at this than he let on.
I'll show everybody here what I can do with my own unvarnished grit and determination, starting with nailing this first challenge tonight, like it's the only challenge that I've ever had in my entire life. I’ve been waiting for it.
* * *
SAVANNAH
The competition kitchen is buzzing with nervous energy as we all get situated at our stations. I look around and do one last check to ensure I have all the tools I think I'll need, trying not to let my shaky hands give away just how nervous I really am. Someone will leave after this first big challenge, mostly based on what the judges think of our work. It's enough to make my stomach twist into knots.
"Bakers!" Dan's over-the-top announcer voice reverberates around the room, cutting through the tension like a foghorn, as he strides with his big, long legs over to the center of the room. I swear it looks like he has stilts inside his pant legs. "Welcome to our very first main challenge. We're bringing the heat right out of the gate with a real scorcher, folks." I have no idea what he means by that. I think he just likes to say things for dramatic effect. I almost laugh but manage to hold it in.
He rubs his hands together under the bright lights. "For your first true test, you'll have just three hours to design and construct an edible masterpiece out of chocolate."
I look over and catch Rhett's intense glare. He gives me the tiniest of nods, probably imperceptible to anyone else, and I can tell he's already in competition beast mode from that furrowed brow. Somehow, his laser-focused determination actually helps me feel more confident.
"But hold onto your whisks,” Dan continues with an exaggerated wink at the cameras. "This is just the beginning, folks. These chocolate showpieces must embody the theme of movement in their design. Our very discerning judges over there,” he gestures toward the stern-faced panel, “will be critiquing your craftsmanship, creativity, technical skills, and, of course, the most important, taste factor."
Crap. That last part really cranks my heart rate up another notch. I look around at my fellow competitors. They all look stone-faced. How are they not dissolving inside? This high-pressure first challenge is finally hitting home for me. One of us gets cut today. Just like that. Goes home. It’s all over. End of the line. I can't let that happen. Still, I feel like screaming, bursting into tears, and running out of the kitchen. Anxiety is a beast.
"Before we get those mixers revving and crown our first winner, I want to address a couple of questions from the viewers at home on social media." Dan suddenly whips out a blue card from his jacket pocket, clearly milking the dramatic pause for all it's worth. He turns toward Lainey across the aisle. "This first one's for you, Lainey. Seems the audience can't get enough of those beautiful lashes and that perfect blowout. What are your beauty secrets?"
Lainey lets out a high-pitched giggle as she touches her hair extensions. I mean, come on. We all know they're extensions. "Oh, you know, just a lot of time and effort goes into looking this glamorous every day."
She bats her artificial eyelashes like two giant spiders stuck to her face. "I'd love to share all of my tips and tricks for achieving perfect hair and makeup." Suddenly, she starts droning on, detailing an excessive multi-step routine that probably costs more than my rent. I can't resist turning and looking at Rhett, rolling my eyes.
Her vapid answer finally stops, and an awkward silence settles over the room before Dan pipes up again. "Yes, well, that's fascinating stuff, Lainey. Now let's move on."
This is a live show. All the main challenges will be live. I'm sure the audience at home has fallen asleep or turned off their televisions. As he scans the next card, I can feel Rhett's eyes burning a hole in the side of my head. I throw him another glance, finding him smirking slightly, clearly assuming he's about to be the next target of Dan's interrogation.
But that amusement vanishes in a flash when Dan suddenly turns to me with a sly grin. "And this one's for our lovely Savannah, the only redhead in the bunch. Seems the viewers at home have already picked up on some potential romance brewing on the set." He wags his eyebrows as a few cat calls erupt from around the room. "So, the big burning question is, what's the real story behind the little hot tub incident the other night when Rhett may have caught you in a rather compromising position?"
What is he talking about? I feel the heat rush to my face as I'm instantly transported back to the hot tub just a couple of nights ago. I was in the hot tub by myself and noticed Rhett in the courtyard. Purely innocent so I don't really understand the big deal.
Again, I look over at Rhett, who looks just as uncomfortable as I feel. I can tell he's mortified to be forced to talk about anything like this on national television. I clear my throat and try to figure out what I will say. This is ridiculous. Nothing happened. Everybody watching on TV or their phones could tell that. Surely, people don't think something is going on between us. I can also tell that Rhett does not find this amusing. The idea of a romantic entanglement with me seems to be repulsive to him.
I suck in a breath, square my shoulders, and face the camera. "There is absolutely nothing romantic going on between Rhett and me. I can assure you of that. We can barely stand each other, much less have any kind of chemistry." Rhett's posture relaxes a bit, and he gives the smallest of nods. "The hot tub thing was just an awkward incident. I didn't know he was already out there. I slid out of my robe. I was wearing a bathing suit, as anyone could see, and I got into the hot tub. Sometimes, a girl just needs a break to gather her bearings. No scandal here, folks."
Rhett remains stone-faced, his earlier intensity already back now that the conversation is hopefully moving on. He's just as eager to put that awkward non-incident firmly in the past. "Well, that's not all. Viewers said they also saw Rhett holding you in his arms in the kitchen."
I feel like I want to throw up. How are these people misconstruing everything they see with their own eyes? "I fell off the counter while looking for a snack, and Rhett just happened to catch me."
Dan looks at the camera and winks again. "He just happened to be there."
They cut the camera to Rhett, who just stares at it like a deer in the headlights. He obviously has nothing he wants to say, so they cut back to me again.
"He kept me from busting my head open on the kitchen floor. For that, I'll always be appreciative." I say, looking over at him quickly and then back at the camera, "But nothing romantic. I hate to break it to everyone, but you won’t see any falling in love between me and Rhett Jennings. We’re both experienced pastry chefs who are here to win a competition. Plain and simple.”
It's at this moment that I realize this reality show is not at all about baking. Sure, we are all pastry chefs or self-taught bakers, but this is really about locking a bunch of people in a house and waiting for drama. And if they think they will get drama from me, it won’t happen.