Guilherme's diabolical enthusiasm was already old. And he was making me hate the word 'twist.'

"Bakers, we need a second cake... Not for the bride, but a groom's cake."

Groans and grumbles sounded, but I frowned. What the hell was a groom's cake? Why couldn't he eat the real one?

The challenge sunk into Paige, starting with her eyes rounding and ending with them strained with stress. The more roses I swirled, the better they looked, but we hadn't decorated the first cake or made its topper yet.

I was sweating again, but we'd make it work.

"Since you have one hour left, just this once..." Guilherme held up a finger like my elementary teacher scolding the class. "We're relinquishing some help."

Through the doors, a line of people in aprons entered, their familiar faces causing an eruption of cheers, applause, and sighs of relief.

Dead last, Paige's sister entered wearing a big smile. While it was definitely for the cameras, my other insider was a much-appreciated sight.

"Welcome back, original assistants. You are only here for this challenge before we'll say goodbye forever."

Morgan's ponytail wagged as she entered our station and hugged Paige with an uncertain smile and awkward arms. Her blue eyes sparkled at me.

"Another cake?" Paige released her and grabbed her sketchpad. "What are we going to make? I didn't ask Andy—"

"Black forest," Morgan said with a 'trust me' tone.

"Alright." Paige nodded, her pen outlining a three-layer cake with cherry filling. "Brody and I will make it. The cake topper—"

"Cats in clothes. On it." Morgan slid closer and gave me a side hug. "Hey."

"Glad you're here," I mumbled, hoping she knew I meant for more than sculpting cats in wedding clothes.

She leaned back, putting her mouth near my ear and heating it with a breath. "It's a mistake."

I froze, every muscle locking tight.

"I told her it's a mistake." Morgan tugged at the edges of her black dress sleeves. She wiped her wet, swollen cheeks, her red eyes staring at the ground between us as if counting the blades of grass.

Punching down the last time I'd seen her, I blinked myself into the present. An extra body made the crowded kitchen smaller. I gathered the ingredients Paige called out, including cocoa powder, fresh cherries, and coffee.

While I chopped and drained cherries, she mixed the rest for the cake. Working beside her was as enjoyable as it was painful. The draw to move closer made me bump her elbow with mine.

"We got this."

Folding in the cherries, an appreciative smile was all she offered, but fuck, it twisted a knot in my chest.

She poured the batter into a rectangular pan and shoved it in the oven. "For the filing, let's use fresh lemon juice, can you get that?"

"Sure."

'Get that' turned into me bursting lemon juice all over the counters, and, to the excitement of the cameraman who caught the exact moment, some into my eye, but I pushed through and poured the amount she needed through a sifter.

"Thank you."

How she turned a bunch of nothing into special end products was amazing. Some water-cornstarch sludge she made on the stove became the best cherry-flavored thing I'd ever tasted. Sweet and tart, I closed my eyes.

"Too sour?" her tentative voice asked. "I didn't add sweetener because the chocolate cake is rich."

"No. It's so good," I groaned around the spoon. "I don't even like cherries."

Despite her appreciative nod, something was off. While she worked, only tension filled her eyes, and her movements were robotic and rehearsed.

Just like in Home Ec, she operated out of obligation not enjoyment. Her abandoned dream of becoming a doctor wasn't a secret, and while she was a wickedly talented baker, her drive was being challenged.

Different circumstances, but I'd seen the same weariness in my closest teammate, Dom. Down the stretch, once those fires flickered out, our post-season ended with him retiring.

I couldn't help but wonder not if she was settling, but how much. It was okay. Having me, she didn't need to pull all her weight. While I didn't have her talent, four years of repression gave me the strength to carry her too.

Provided she let me.

As she frosted the bridal cake, I brought over the chilled tray of roses and she placed the best ones.

"You did good." She smiled like I'd met her expectations, and my pulse jumped at the ease returning in her eyes.

Strands of hair hung in them, which I swept back...making her drop her knife with a rose on it. Red splatters flicked onto our shoes, and I grinned at how much I liked her flustered. Her jittery discomfort meant she was affected by me, and her murderous glare made me smile.

"Hair." I shrugged as if my heart wasn't beating faster, handing her a clean knife and holding the cake tray. "Careful, butter fingers."

Her grumbling made my grin widen. The first sparkle of humor appeared in her eyes. Gone in a blink, she was back in work mode, placing the last roses with delicate care as if they were more than wiggly piles of frosting.

Taking a squeezed bag filled with red-something, she ran the tip along the edge. Crimson droplets trickled over the edge like blood, but I shut my mouth.

Morgan smiled as I passed her. Two headless cat bodies sat on her prep tray, one in black and white, the other covered in black, white, and orange splotches. One lay on its back, paws up and the other loomed over like it'd pounce.

"It'll make sense when it's finished." She pushed on a round form with a sticklike tool, shaping a head with ears.

Overhead, the clock wall showed fifteen minutes left. Fuck, where had the time gone?

"What's going on the groom's cake?" I asked.

"Good question." Paige joined my side as we crowded her sister's work area. "If they were actual clients, I'd put the cats on Andy's cake and make a simple, heart-based topper like Stella's locket, but—"

"So do it," Morgan said. "Trust your gut."

"You heard Stella's requests." I had, but Paige's instincts had merit. Shaking her head, she argued against herself. "Anything else—"

"Ten minutes!"

Morgan's hands flew faster, and I frosted Andy's cake. It looked nowhere near as nice as Paige's, but she lined the bottom edge with broken chocolate pieces, did the same blood drip edge, and put swirl thingies and fresh cherries on top.

She was incredible. Anything I could've made would've looked like dog food.

Just in time, the cats made it onto the wedding cake. Paired with Andy's chocolate cake made a weird combination of styles and cute, but exactly what Stella had described. Morgan and Paige's silent inspections meant they weren't a hundred percent happy.

"Time!"

A loud buzzer made a few people jump, and all hands raised like the room surrendered.

Taking a look around, we had nothing to worry about. Doug, a nice older baker who'd asked for my signature on four baseballs for his grandkids, was shaking his head. Before him sat a tilted cake.

Next over, Deb's cake was a rainbow explosion. It made pride flags look washed out, but if their grooms wanted a statement, they were getting one.

The back room was a mob. Bodies pressed in tight, and the smell of baking products and sweat hung thick in the air. Relief mixed with nerves as the wall televisions turned on and the engaged couples entered the kitchen.

While the sound wasn't on, Stella's black dress immediately located her and Andy. They froze at our station. His jaw dropped, and she cupped her mouth. A second later, their faces lit up, and clutching hands, they smiled and pointed at the cats before the screens faded black.

Thank fuck they were happy. It put a warm, content glow in my chest.

Morgan and Paige sat against the wall, whispering behind their hands. Whatever they discussed, Paige's frown deepened, and she shook her head.

A producer closed the gap to them before me, pulling Morgan up for an interview. I missed the first question, but she nodded.

"And what do you think about Paige and Brody as a team?"

"They're great."

Given I didn't know if I had Morgan's approval until she made sure Paige would be here, hearing it and seeing her encouraging smile settled relief in me. Over the past four years, Vi had sent me a book's worth of expletive-filled opinions, the most recent being a 'stop fucking up' response to my apology for missing her wedding.

"Paige, Brody." Cara directed us back into the kitchen.

The walk toward the judging table ended with three sour faces highlighted by the overhead lights. Our cakes were positioned atop a display column with another spotlight on them. The sides angled away from the cameras had been cut into, with show assistants holding plates with pieces on them and standing out of frame.

Blood drips aside, both the cakes held their shapes and looks, but it was hot. Very hot. As if we stood in the oven, my armpits pumped out heat. Slowing my steps to match Paige's, a somber sensation filled me as we stopped with our cakes between us.

"Hi, Paige," Savanah, sitting between the other two judges, greeted. "Tell us about your cakes."

"Our clients were Stella and Andy, who struck me right away as having distinct, edgy preferences. We have a white vanilla bridal cake with Italian buttercream icing, and the groom's cake is black forest with dark chocolate frosting and a cherry filling."

"Paige," Gregory scolded, glancing between our two cakes. "What happened?"

It must've been a rhetorical question because she didn't answer.

Miranda scoffed. "These cakes don't look like they're made for the same event. Red and white versus chocolate." Her hands directed her comments back and forth between the cats. "The cats scream children's birthday cake, not wedding, and who killed the bride and groom? There's blood oozing over the cakes!"

Not reacting challenged every tensed muscle fiber in me. I crossed my arms behind my back and gripped my elbows.

"They're our clients' cats. It was important for—"

"The clients aren't the ones judging you." Miranda's British accent was chilly and biting. "I could buy this groom's cake in any grocery store. First, you give us gas station coffee cake, and now grocery store bakery design. I am not excited to taste these."

"It's pretty, but we have a saying where I'm from. Go whole hog." Savanah clasped her hands and peered through her glasses. "Honey, this ain't even half a hog."

Paige's cheeks burned and tension rolled off her. How she managed to stay quiet, I wasn't sure.

"The cats are cute," Savanah continued. Despite her sweet, soothing tone, I sensed an insult was coming next. "I love their wedding clothes details and their position of one looking like he'll pounce on the other, but they should be on the groom's cake."

"Let's hope it tastes better than it looks. Bride first." Gregory hummed, spearing a piece of vanilla cake.

Watching three people chew something that determined if we were staying or being sent off was surreal. Given their brutal comments on the presentation, taste had to win them over.

Vanilla first, Gregory wiped his mouth with a napkin and pushed aside his plate. "Nothing distinct or edgy here."

Shit. These people were—

"It's fine." Miranda swallowed. "Classic, boring, not memorable, but the execution is there. Good texture, nice bite of flavor, but I'm also tasting air. Did you use real vanilla beans?"

"Yes."

"It's vanilla, but it's only vanilla." Savanah abandoned her plate and pulled the chocolate one towards her. "Mmm. This though?" She pointed with her fork and gave a thumbs up. "One of my favorite cakes, and you've nailed it. What's the thickener in the filling? It's not giving cornstarch."

Paige's tense shoulders slacked a tiny bit. "Arrowroot powder."

Having no idea if the substitution was good or bad, the cherry filling was fucking delicious, so if they had a problem with it, I'd—

"I agree. The filling is making all my tastebuds come to life." Gregory taking a second bite had to be a good sign. "Delicious. Best part of the cake. Wonderful balance of tart against the rich, chocolate-heavy cake. I just wish I didn't have to enjoy eating it with my eyes closed."

Fuck these backhanded comments. My jaw ached from clenching it shut.

Even Miranda seemed less pissed off, pursing her lips around a chocolate bite. "Why didn't you put the filling in the vanilla cake?"

Because we'd already made the damn cake by the time we were forced to make another, I wanted to say and instead pinched my arms behind my back.

"We could have," Paige said, bowing her head like she'd messed up.

What the fuck? We'd made what the bride asked for. Okay, the decorations were a little off, but like hell we were going home for making the bride happy.

Shocked by the judges' reactions, numbness carried me out of the kitchen. Had that really happened? Greg submitted a falling-over cake, for fuck's sake. With her pale skin and dull eyes, the life had been sucked out of Paige.

My fingers twitched for contact, but Morgan flew in, grabby hands hugging both of us. "I'm being kicked out."

"See you in the hotel?" Paige's voice muffled into her sister's head, which nodded.

Morgan dragged along my partner's remaining energy on her exit, but Paige's posture and expression shifted at her reflection in a camera lens. After a flicker of dread, she slipped on a mask of calm.

"It'll be okay," I assured, my hands tingling with the urge to pull her in. Comforting her, holding her, lying with her cheek on my chest and my hands running up and down her back was my former source of comfort, and not indulging felt so uncomfortable.

Awkward silence carried us through the other teams' critiques and everyone's return to the kitchen. My face strained with a forced smile while clapping for Deb's color bomb being the winner.

Stiff beside me, Paige showed no surprise when Gregory announced we were in the final two again, and we stood against Greg and Stormy Seas's leaning tower of cake with the 'safe' crowd breathing on our backs.

"Both cakes were delicious and to the customer's tastes," Guilherme spoke for the judges. "One, a lovely design but poor execution, while the other a good execution of balanced flavors, but a boring design that wasn't a wedding cake. So...who remains to bake here another day, and who goes home?"

Guilherme shifted his stare between me and my partner. "Paige? Brody? You are..."

The longest pause followed, during which the room squeezed in. Lights glowed blinding. Sweat trickled down my lower back. My breath shortened into hitched inhales and hollow exhales.

One tremble in Paige's lower lip, and I grabbed her hand. Tingles shot up from our connection point. Curling my hand around hers and tucking it into my side, my body grew hot, and my arm muscles flexed taut.

I didn't care how many cameras captured how this looked. She didn't yet know how far I'd go for another chance. Showing up here, potentially making an idiot of myself on television was only the start, but there was an undetermined but limited amount of time to prove that my feelings hadn't changed.

If anything, they'd grown stronger, but grasping at the unknown made me want to squirm out of my skin.

How could I convince her, four years after I let her quit and walk away? After years of inaction, I didn't know how to prove that I could love her the way she needed to be loved, but I knew one thing.

We couldn't go home. Not yet, and not like this.

My heart pounded through my chest walls. Paige inhaled a loud breath, nestling her hand into mine as we braced for their decision.

Thank you for reading this story's preview! The rest of it is available on Radish: https://radishfiction.com/stories/31706