Page 72 of The Baking Games

I swear it's like she's regressed to childhood.

"Okay, how about this one? Once upon a time, a beautiful red-haired woman drank too much wine with a bunch of strangers."

"Well, that's not a very good story," she says, sticking out her bottom lip.

"Savannah, you need to go to sleep. You'll feel a lot better in the morning."

"I don't know about that. I feel pretty good now," she says, laughing.

"I'm sure you do."

Without thinking, I reach over and brush a stray strand of red hair behind her ear. She catches my hand in midair and presses it to her cheek. Then, she wiggles down into her pillow, holding it there as she sighs and seemingly drifts off to sleep.

I don't know what to do. Do I pull my hand back and risk waking her up? I don't want to pull my hand back. I'm touching Savannah's skin. I can feel her breath coming in and out, in and out.

As I start to pull my hand back, thinking it's the right thing to do, she grips onto it harder, pulls it towards the top of her chest, and holds it there like a teddy bear. Even though I'm stretching for her to be able to do this, I don't want to pull it back. I want to just stay like this. I could stay like this all night, just holding my hand to the top of her chest and feeling her breathe.

As we lay there, suddenly, the producer walks into the room. She gives me the evil eye because I have my hand on Savannah’s chest, and so I pull it back.

She walks over and leans down. "Microphones are off. Turn off your microphone packs."

I nod my head, and she walks out of the room. I turn mine off and then reach over to turn off Savannah's. At least we have some privacy where she won't be embarrassed at being basically out of her head on national TV. I don't want Savannah's future to be ruined because people are making her into memes on the internet.

I decide to go to sleep and try to get the fact that she's lying here next to me out of my head. Just one more night, and then we'll be unchained. I don't like it, but it is what it is.

I roll back onto my shoulder and face her, closing my eyes, and then I feel her reach out for my hand. When I open my eyes, her eyes are closed. She still seems to be asleep. She pulls my hand close to her and then puts it underneath her cheek, holding her hands in a prayer position around it.

"Rhett," she says in a low whisper.

I can't tell if she's awake. "Yeah?"

"Do you like me?" Her words still sound slurred and fuzzy, and her eyes never open.

"Of course I do, Savannah. You're my friend."

"Nooo…” she says, dragging out the word. "I mean, do you like me like me?"

Still, her eyes aren't open. She's barely talking above a whisper.

"I do," I say, hoping she doesn't remember any of this in the morning.

"But, I mean really like me or hippopotamus like me."

It makes me laugh that she can remember the code word at this moment.

"I really like you," I say, admitting it to her and myself for the first time.

She never opens her eyes, but she smiles and sighs, and then I can hear her barely snoring. I decide to stay this way even though it's uncomfortable with my arm stretched out. There’s no place I’d rather be in the world right now than taking care of Savannah, even if my arm cramps up and falls off.

CHAPTER 19

SAVANNAH

This morning is a blur. I know I drank too much wine last night. I don't remember much. I have a vague recollection of Rhett helping me up the stairs and then him talking to somebody in the hallway while I picked at the wallpaper on the walls. I'm not sure why I was picking at it. It seemed very interesting at the time. Then I remember him helping me to bed, but not much at all after that. I suppose I just fell asleep.

I truly expected to wake up this morning and feel nauseous, but as I lay here, opening my eyes and looking around the blurry room, I don't feel too bad. I don't typically get a hangover from wine. I don’t drink a lot anyway; I'm always working, but I do like the occasional glass of wine. Last night, apparently, I liked the occasional bottle of wine.

"Good morning." I suddenly realize that Rhett is still attached to my arm, lying in the bed opposite me. He's looking at me with such a softness on his face and a slight smile. I wonder how long he’s been staring at me like this. I kind of like it, but I’m never admitting that out loud. "How are you feeling?"

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