Page 43 of The Baking Games
“Yep,” I say, purposely filling my mouth with waffles so hopefully she won’t press further.
“Huh. I never thought they’d make you do that. Still, you can trust me. Just tell me one big-name celebrity,” she says, leaning closer.
I lean in, and I can smell her shampoo. It smells like strawberries and vanilla, and I have a sudden urge to press my nose into her thick, red hair. That ought to get me booted from this house right quick.
“I can’t. We’re currently on national television,” I whisper before leaning back.
She laughs. “Wow. I forgot about that.” She looks around at the cameras. “Amazing how quickly we forget everyone’s watching us. Hi, everyone!” she says, waving at a camera in the corner of the kitchen.
It’s true. Thousands, if not millions, of people are watching the show’s livestream. That is amazing to me. I watch TV occasionally, but I can’t imagine staring at my computer between shows and watching strangers live in a house. Reality TV really has been society’s downfall.
“So,” I say, trying to divert her attention away from asking me any more personal questions, “you work in a bakery?”
“I work in a bakery inside a grocery store.”
“And how is that?”
She shrugs her shoulders. “It’s not working on celebrity yachts, I’ll tell you that much.”
“What’s your end goal with all this?” I ask, waving my hand around.
“Help my sister go to college and hopefully have enough left over to rent a space and open my own bakery. Long term, I’d love to own a chain of bakeries.”
I can see her doing that. She’d be perfect in some little small-town bakery, like in one of those cheesy Christmas movies I swear I haven’t watched on TV.
“What about you? What’s your big goal?”
“Work in a Michelin star-rated restaurant, and then own one someday.”
She nods. “I can see that.”
I cock my head to the side. “Oh yeah? Why?”
“You’re kind of… fancy.”
Fancy? That wasn’t what I expected her to say.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Relax, Rhett. It wasn’t a putdown. It’s just that what I know of you from school is that you’re buttoned up. You’re white dress shirts, and I’m vintage aprons. You’re drawing your designs, and I’m flying by the seat of my pants.”
“I’m a winner, and you’re a loser,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. Geez, why did I say that? I’m going to be chained to this woman for days, and I decide to be a jerk right out of the gate.
She stares at me with her big blue eyes and swallows hard. I expect to see her eyes well up, but her face turns red instead. I can barely make out her face from her fiery hair within moments.
“That was rude, even for you, Rhett.”
“But he’s not wrong.” We both hear his voice at the same time.
Connor.
“Go away, Connor,” I say, wishing I could put my words to Savannah back into my stupid mouth.
“Um, it’s a free house, dude. I can roam around as I please.” He leans against the doorframe leading to the foyer. “Don’t feel bad for pointing out the truth.”
“You haven’t won anything either, Connor,” Savannah says, pushing her plate away from her like she’s lost her appetite.
“Well, I’ve come a lot closer than you. The judges eviscerated you, Sav. If Bianca hadn’t royally screwed up, you’d already be back in your crappy little apartment with your annoying sister.”