Page 70 of The Baking Games

"Hey, everybody,” she says in her thick Southern accent. "My name is Lisa, and I run the Sweet Haven Food Bank. I'm so glad to have all of you here to help us today. Follow me."

She waves her hand, and we follow her like little baby ducklings into the building. It's pretty hot in here. I don't know if the air conditioning isn't working, but I immediately wish I hadn't worn long pants today.

When we get inside, she tells us that there are several tasks, and we will be split up to do them. Obviously, Rhett and I can't be split up, so we will be doing the same task. Some people will be sorting donations, while others will pack food boxes that are delivered to people who can't leave their homes. Some of us will be stocking shelves, and some of us will be helping hand out donations through the window.

Rhett and I have been assigned to stock the shelves. Maggie and Nate will sort donations, and then we will take those donations and put them on the proper shelves. We are the only two doing it, so at least we get some time alone. Well, except for the fact that the entire country could be watching us right now on the internet and later tonight on television.

When we finally get set up, Rhett is quiet. He's just picking things out of boxes and putting them onto the shelf without saying a word.

“Are you looking forward to getting unchained?" I ask, trying to fill the silence between us.

He shrugs.

I'm worried about him. I can't believe it. I'm worried about Rhett Jennings. I never thought those words would cross my mind.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about what Connor said...”

He cuts me off, holding up his free hand. "No. Now stop asking me about it, please. Let's just do our job and get on with it."

"Okay.”

We continue stocking the items in silence. Finally, he seems to shake it off enough to start chatting here and there. When we're finally done with our job a couple of hours later and reboarding the bus, Rhett seems like his old self again. I don't know what it was that had him so upset, but hopefully, it's gone now.

We have one more night of sleeping in the same room before we're unchained in the morning. Three days ago, I would have told you I would be excited for that moment, but I dread it. It was nice to have a built-in person to talk to, even if it’s Rhett Jennings. He was nice. Most of the time, anyway.

"Oh, and to answer your question, no," he says as the bus pulls up in front of the house.

“What question? No, what?”

The bus comes to a stop, and we all stand up. He leans over, I guess hoping that I'm the only one who can hear him.

"No, I'm not looking forward to getting unchained."

RHETT

The rest of the day was spent in a workshop where we listened to Chef Alain talk about making the perfect crepes. I've never been a fan of crepes. It's not something I plan to make after this challenge is over, but I still had to sit there and act like I was interested in what he was saying. After all, irritating one of the main judges does me no good.

Savannah seemed to enjoy it but Savannah seems to enjoy everything. She's always smiling and happy, even when she's sad. Or at least that's what I assume.

After that, we had dinner, and we all sat out in the common area, talking and drinking bottles of wine that we found in the pantry. I'm not sure if we were supposed to be drinking them, but we did anyway.

I'm not much of a drinker. I don't like to feel out of control, so I only had a glass or two, but I noticed that Savannah was chatting and enjoying herself so much that she might've had way more than she was supposed to.

When it was time to go to bed for our last night of sleeping chained together, I was a little worried about her getting up the stairs. I helped her as best I could until we got to the room, and the producers agreed to unchain us so that we could change into our pajamas.

I'm pretty sure that tonight, we will not have the issue of being unable to sleep. Savannah is way too tipsy to stay awake, which makes me feel protective of her. While talking to everyone downstairs, she told me that she doesn’t drink very much and that she’s a lightweight. I can definitely see that. She’s petite and is not holding her wine very well.

When she returns, the producer chains us back together, and I ask to speak to her around the corner where Savannah can't hear me. We stretch the chain so that she's in the room, and I'm a couple of feet outside of it. I don't think she's paying a bit of attention because she's so tipsy.

"Listen, I'm going to ask you to do something, and I hope you’ll agree to it,” I say, turning off my microphone before I start speaking.

"You can't turn off your microphone.”

This is the producer that I see most often in the house, and she's not overly nice. She's all business, all about the rules, but right now, the rules don't matter to me.

"I'm turning it off because I don't want this recorded, and if this goes on television, I'm going to be pretty upset."

"I can't guarantee anything. There are cameras everywhere," she says, pointing around.

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