Page 93 of The Baking Games

For some reason, I can't figure out whether I'm nervous because we're playing pretend about our relationship for the audience at home, or if it's because I'm going on an actual date with Savannah. Either way, I don't want to be late, so I walk over to her door and knock.

When she opens it, I'm stunned. This doesn't look like the Savannah I normally see, with very little makeup and her hair pulled up into a ponytail. Instead, she's got it down, curled and flowing across her shoulders—her bare shoulders. She’s wearing a red dress with the shoulders cut out, and the dress comes just above her knees. She has on a pair of black high heels. I’ve never seen her wear heels before.

Either way—dressy or plain—she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in real life.

"Wow," I say when she opens the door.

She smiles slightly. "Do I look okay?"

"You look great. It's just… different."

She laughs. "Yeah. Believe it or not, Lainey helped me."

"I helped her!” Lainey yells in the background, smiling from her bed.

"Wait, what? I don't understand."

Savannah holds up her hand. "We'll talk later. It's best not to ask questions right now."

I hand her the bouquet of flowers that I picked from the garden area, a mixture of purples, reds, and yellows. I have no idea what the flowers are called, but I thought they looked nice together. “These are for you."

"Thank you. These are beautiful." She leans in and smells them.

“I’ll put them in water," Lainey says, walking up behind her. I don't know what happened between these two, but I feel like I'm in the twilight zone.

"So, where are we going?"

"I have some special things planned," I say. "Shall we?" I hold out my elbow like one of those men in an old movie, and she takes it. She looks back at Lainey and then walks out the door. We go down the stairs slowly because she's wearing high heels now. It's weird to have her taller. I'm used to looking way down at her.

I guide her to the garden area. Most people don't go out there because everybody spends a lot of time in the courtyard since it's way bigger, but the garden area is actually very nice. It's a small area off the side of the house that is surrounded by old brick walls. They're covered in ivy, and production has strung twinkle lights all over the area.

The ground is old pavers. I've had help setting up a small table in the center, and I spent the last few hours cooking us a special dinner. When we walk out, and she sees the candle in the middle of the table and hears music, she turns to me and smiles.

"You did all of this for me?" she says, putting her hand on her chest.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know. No one's ever done anything like this. I mean, I've been taken out to nice dinners before, but nobody ever went out of their way to set up something so romantic."

I look down at her and then run my thumb across her cheek. I don't know why I do it. It just feels natural. "Well, you deserve the very best."

She smiles, and then I lead her over to the chair, pulling it out so she can sit down. "So, what are we having?"

I sit down across from her. "Well, I planned a very special menu. I made stuffed mushrooms with garlic and herb cream cheese stuffing for our appetizer. And then, for our main course, I made pan-seared salmon with a lemon butter sauce. I also made garlic mashed potatoes and asparagus with a Hollandaise sauce. For dessert, I made my famous strawberry tiramisu."

Her mouth falls open. "Wow. I had no idea you could cook all of that."

"What? Did you think I was just a pastry chef? Of course, I can cook." I pour her a glass of sparkling water with lemon and mint. We also have a bottle of wine, but I'm saving that for dessert.

"Well, I'm sure I'm going to enjoy everything."

I stand and walk over to the table where the food is ready. I tried to convince the producers to get me somebody to serve us, but they weren't willing to go that far. I walk over to the table and uncover the mushrooms, handing her the spoon so she can dish them onto her plate.

As we eat, she compliments my food and we talk about all sorts of things. Our favorite TV shows as kids, our favorite books that we've ever read, our favorite movies. Even her favorite animal, which is a dog.

Everything she tells me about herself seems interesting. I hang on her every word. The audience is probably eating this up, but I don't care anymore. I'm just glad to spend this time with her. Every time I think about leaving this house and going back to our normal lives, I get a pain in the pit of my stomach.

Of course, she has no idea. She thinks we're just pretending. She'll return to her normal life with her sister, and I'll get onto another cruise ship with thousands of people I don't know.