Page 7 of The Baking Games

“One prize is a publishing deal for a cookbook...”

“Okay. That’s cool, but not enough to leave for two months.” I pull the bag of cake mix off the shelf and look for the blue icing for the train.

“You also get to make the wedding cake for a celebrity wedding.”

“Which celebrities?”

“Keaton Mallory and Keira Donaldson!”

Okay, making the wedding cake for two of the most famous actors in the world doesn’t sound bad, but it still isn’t enough to get me to give up my job for almost two months and risk getting fired. We’d go under in a matter of weeks if I weren’t working.

“That’s cool, but still not enough to entice…”

“And two hundred thousand dollars.”

Sadie lets those words hang in the air like a carrot dangling above my financially broken head. I can barely form words. Two hundred thousand dollars? That would be a life-changing amount of money for us. Sadie could go to college, and I could open a bakery. Maybe. I think I could, though. If I bought used equipment and rented a space in a smaller town…

“Are you still there?” Sadie asks.

“I am,” I say, sitting back down on the stool.

“This is our chance, sis.” She says the words with such seriousness that I almost start to cry. This isn’t just about me. She knows this is her chance, too.

“But what are the odds I’d even get accepted onto the show? I’m sure hundreds of pastry chefs better than me will apply.”

“Hey, you’re supposed to be the positive one!” She’s right unless it’s about myself. I’m not at all positive about myself.

“And you’re supposed to be the realistic one,” I say. “What happens if I get accepted and leave for six weeks? How will you pay the bills? And I will surely lose this job.”

“I’ll work extra shifts. And Big Thelma isn’t going to fire you. Nobody else would work with her.”

I laugh. That’s probably true. More people have left the bakery section of this grocery store after working with Big Thelma. She’s not the easiest boss.

“It does sound intriguing, but what are the chances I’ll even get picked?”

“You won’t know until you apply,” Sadie says. I can hear the smile in her voice. I have a flashback of the begging I had to do at the orthodontist to let me make payments so she could have that dazzling smile. “Come on, sis! This could change our lives!”

I sigh, not wanting to get my hopes up. “Send me the link.”

CHAPTER 3

RHETT

I pull my rolling laptop bag behind me as I head for the small cafe at the edge of the port. Today, we’re in Miami, which means I can take a little extra time to pick up some groceries and get my legs under me again before we head back out to sea on another vessel.

I stop at my favorite cafe, The Salty Flamingo, and set up shop at one of the outdoor bistro tables. This is where I like to work when we’re docked in Miami for a day or two. Seeing people other than the ones I serve or work with is vital to my mental health.

I order an iced tea with lemon and a Cuban sandwich with fried plantains and then open my laptop. I start by researching some new ideas for desserts. Nothing related to recipes is exciting me, so I head to my email, and that's when I see it.

There’s a new reality show focused on baking. I don’t know how I got on their email list, but I barely look at it before I click the link to apply. There’s no question that I want as much visibility and experience as possible. This one has three prizes for the winner—a cookbook deal, making the wedding cake for a celebrity couple I couldn’t care less about, and most importantly, a fat two-hundred-thousand-dollar check.

My parents could pull that much out of the safe right this very second. I get that. Life would be so much easier—financially, anyway—if I would just go back and finish college, become a doctor, and inherit more money than I’d ever need.

But I can’t do it. I just can’t.

I’m not like my brothers. Or my parents. I feel like an only child, but an orphaned one. Basically, a guy with no family. I mean, I have them, but the emotional connection doesn’t exist. There are expectations, criticisms, and disappointments that could feed the masses, but no real love. Not the kind I’d want.

So, the only way I will build the life I want is to do it on my own, financially and emotionally. And at thirty-one years old, the opportunities are only getting fewer and fewer as time marches on.