Page 33 of The Baking Games

SAVANNAH

When I sleepily make my way into the communal kitchen, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling butter fills the air. Despite it being very early in the morning, the space is filled with activity as my fellow contestants mill about making their breakfasts before our big challenge day ahead.

I tie on one of my favorite vintage aprons that I brought with little embroidered strawberries on it and start gathering ingredients. Eggs, milk, flour—the fixings for my favorite pancake recipe. I've made it a million times for me and Sadie over the years. Sometimes, I like to throw in extra things like blueberries or chocolate chips, but this morning, I think I'll just make them plain and use some of the maple syrup I saw earlier. As I whisk together the batter, my mind drifts off to Sadie like it does all the time these days.

I wonder what she's up to right now. Is she awake? Has she eaten breakfast? Did she make it to work on time? A pang of sadness twinges in my chest. We've never been apart for more than a couple of days in our entire lives. One week into this competition, and I already miss her sunny smile, her stupid jokes, and her giving me one of those trademark big bear hugs every morning when she meets me in the kitchen.

"Pancakes? Can I help?" I glance over to see Tanya giving me a warm smile as she also ties on an apron.

I haven't talked to her a lot yet, and she’s not much older than me. Maybe she could be another friend to me in this competition. So far, it's just Maggie, and while I love talking to her, we're about thirty-five years apart in age, and it's a little bit hard to relate on some topics.

“Sure, I would enjoy having some help. I'm missing my sister right now. She normally helps me with pancakes.”

“Oh, yeah. How old is she?”

“Twenty. But I've been her guardian since she was twelve.” Tanya smiles slightly but doesn't ask any further questions. "You must miss your family, too,” I say.

She lets out a sigh. "Terribly. It's always just been me and my kids. I'm a single mom. I've raised them on my own, and I'm doing all this for them. I'm thankful my brother and his wife could care for them while I’m away. I know they're cheering me on from afar, but it is hard not to call and check on them."

I nod. “Yeah, you're right. The only thing keeping me motivated is knowing I'm doing this for my sister and for our future. Otherwise, I would've already called for a taxi to take me home.”

Tanya laughs. “There's nothing quite like family, is there?" she says, pouring batter onto the griddle. She starts talking about her kids, their names, their ages. Unfortunately, I'm not paying much attention. I'm just going through the motions of the pancake recipe like I always do while thinking about all the different times I've made it with Sadie by my side.

All the fun we've had, the times that we've tossed batter at each other from across the kitchen, the talks over a big stack of pancakes covered in butter and warm maple syrup. The subtle tang of the buttermilk, the warmth of cinnamon and vanilla.

Tanya is right about one thing. We have to push through the loneliness by channeling the love we have for our loved ones. I have to be determined. I pour another dollop of batter onto the sizzling griddle and think about the challenge tonight. I need to do everything I can to try to win it for me and for Sadie.

RHETT

I chalk up my pool cue, looking at the tightly racked balls with an intense laser focus. I don't do anything halfway. Even a pool game is a major competition. My mind is worrying about the baking challenge ahead, and I think it's making me slightly more uptight this morning. I can't afford any mistakes or sloppy execution on this first shot.

“Don’t get distracted,” I mutter, forgetting Nate is standing beside me.

"You know, we don't have to take this so seriously." He's infuriatingly calm and breaks the tense silence as he runs the chalk over his own cue. "This is just a friendly game of pool, man. Before tonight's big challenge, I think we should relax a little bit, don't you?"

I glance over at his solidly built forty-five-year-old body and grunt. Despite being just a little bit older than I am—well, about fifteen years—Nate has the most peaceful, centered demeanor of anyone. He's like everybody's relatable buddy. He doesn't get ruffled by much of anything, and he's always trying to impart some philosophical nugget of wisdom to the rest of us.

"Easy for you to say," I respond, lining up my shot and decisively sinking the break. A couple of solid balls drop cleanly into the pockets. "I guess when you come from a long line of bakers, this culinary stuff is second nature. You're probably not even worried about the challenge tonight."

He watches me thoughtfully as I circle the table, sizing up my next move. "You'd think so, but that legacy cuts both ways. There's a lot of pressure to live up to in my family. My grandma started the McBee’s Cookies brand. Everybody knows that name. I’m supposed to do even better, at least according to my family.”

I stop for a moment and look at him. “McBee’s Cookies? Really? I didn’t know that.”

“Well, I don’t exactly advertise it. Ironically, I have the hardest time making cookies,” he laughs.

“How are you so calm about all this then? If you have such a legacy to live up to?” I’m genuinely interested in what he has to say.

He shrugs his shoulders. “I learned a long time ago that no matter what we do in life, we will disappoint somebody. And most of the time, it’s their baggage to carry. Not yours.”

I just shrug, not looking up from lining up my next shot. "Well, I guess it's better to have something to live up to than nothing to live up to at all," I say. The words are out of my mouth before I can rein them back in.

I just gave an unintended glimpse behind the curtain of my life, my upbringing, my family history, or lack thereof. It's not something that I want to unpack willingly in front of a competitor. To Nate's credit, he doesn't really even blink at what I said. He just leans back against the wall casually, like he's waiting for a bus.

"Sometimes the fire for greatness comes from unexpected places, doesn't it?" He nods his head like one of those therapists who’s waiting for you to answer something. Not that I've ever been to therapy, but I've seen them on TV. I stiffen at his attempt to be philosophical about my past. Who gave this guy a couch to start psychoanalyzing me?

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Nate seems completely unfazed by my prickly tone. He gestures calmly at the table.

"Nothing meant by it. Just an observation from someone who's been around the block a few times in the baking world. The drive to be the best usually isn't sparked by having an easy stroll through life.”

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