Page 9 of The Baking Games

“Thank you,” I say, finally getting the feeling back in my tongue. I take a quick sip of water from a bottle on the end table that has probably been sitting there for a week. Hope I don’t die.

“We’re in the final stages of choosing contestants for the show, and you made the cut!” She sounds like the hype person who comes out before Oprah gives a speech and gets the crowd excited—not that Oprah needs help getting people excited.

“Wow. Really?” I’m shocked. I’m not all that special, to be honest. Just a run-of-the-mill gal trying to make it in this crazy world. I’m blown away that they even watched my video. “So, what’s next?”

“Well, there’s quite a lot, actually. More paperwork, interviews with other members of our team, background checks, and psychological evaluation if we get further. There’s also a health check to ensure you’re suitable for the stress of a competition like this.”

“Sounds a little like joining the military or something,” I mutter under my breath.

“I know it’s a lot, but the prizes are amazing, right?”

“Definitely.” The prizes are the only thing keeping me motivated at this point.

“I just need to ask if you’re interested in moving along in the process then?”

I think of Sadie and don’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”

The last few weeks have been a whirlwind. After finishing all the rounds of interviews, background checks, and everything else the producers wanted me to do, I can’t believe I’m standing on the sidewalk in front of the airport, one bag of rolling luggage in my hand and a duffel bag over my shoulder.

“I’m going to miss you so much, sissy!” Sadie says for the tenth time since we left the house. I try not to cry each time she says it.

“I’m going to miss you, too,” I say, bumping into a man who seems hell-bent on getting to his plane on time, even if he has to take me out in the process. The Atlanta airport is the busiest in the world, and I can see that on full display today. It’s early summer, so kids are out of school, and families are heading out on vacation.

I wish I had that. The doting husband carrying my luggage. The two kids running beside me, tiny suitcases in hand. A vacation to a tropical beach or to tour Europe. To make memories. That’s what is really missing from my life. Making memories.

I shake my head in an effort to get the thoughts loose so I can refocus on what I’m doing. This is for Sadie. And for me, too, I suppose. I need a way out of the grocery store bakery lifestyle. Big Thelma was not at all amused when I told her I was leaving for six weeks. She would’ve fired me if anyone else was interested in working with her. Instead, the poor new girl from the seafood section got recruited to take my spot temporarily. Good luck to you, poor new girl.

Sadie could’ve driven me to Sweet Haven, the little town near Savannah where the show is filming. Ironic that a baking show would be filmed there, I know. She could’ve driven me, but that would’ve taken hours out of her day, and I didn’t like the idea of her driving back alone.

Instead, I opted to take the hour-long flight from Atlanta to Savannah. I don’t particularly love flying, but it felt like the right thing. Anything to keep Sadie safe.

I hug her one more time and then make my way inside without looking back. It’s the only way to keep from breaking down.

RHETT

Flying makes me sick. Every single time I fly, I need a barf bag. Yet I can float out on the open ocean with nary a problem. It will never make sense to me.

Thankfully, the flight from Miami to Savannah wasn’t very long—about an hour and a half—but it didn’t take long to make me turn green and lose my breakfast into the poor airplane nausea bag. I really felt bad for that little girl sitting next to me. She saw some things a child shouldn’t see. I think she’s scarred for life.

I step into the terminal, happy to be on earth again, and head toward the outside doors. Producers will pick me up straight from the airport and take me to the secure location where we will film.

Apparently, the little town is called Sweet Haven. Well, isn’t that cute? I’m being sarcastic if that wasn’t clear. I think the town name is silly.

It’s about twenty minutes from Savannah, but we won’t see much of the town. Just the house and the grounds. We’ll be on a pretty strict lockdown during the six weeks of filming so that we don’t get any outside influence that could muck up the competition results.

That’s fine with me. I’m not what one would call a “people person.” I like being alone. I like working alone. I can trust myself. When you include other variables—namely, people—you lose control. As long as I’m in charge, at least, things go well.

I decide to stop by the cafe I see and get a ginger ale. My mom always gave them to us when we were sick as kids. It’s one of my few fond memories of growing up with my mom. When I was sick, I got attention. Not for long, but at least it was something.

The server gives me the ginger ale to go, and I turn around and head toward the outer doors again. And that’s when something catches my eye. Something striking and hard to miss.

Red hair.

Sure, I know lots of people have red hair. Gingers, as the young people call them. Well, not that I’m old. I’m only thirty-one, but to actual young people, that is old.

I turn my head just in time to see her walk out of the bathroom. She’s walking toward a vending machine. Her long, wavy red hair is bobbing as she walks. I can only see her from behind, but I swear that’s her. Why would she be here? On the same day as me? In this particular airport? What are the odds?

SAVANNAH