Page 29 of Serving Bunt

All the air whooshed out of me. “Thank you.”

“Sadly, they’re still a bit raw in the center.”

Keira set her fork down gently. “The flavors are actually quite good, gentlemen. There’s real potential here. You just need to figure out how to meld your styles instead of letting them clash.”

“Communication is key,” Mandy added.

Boy, if I had a nickel.

I could only nod, my ears still burning.

Even Diaz looked like he had been knocked off his high horse. “Yeah, we’re . . . still figuring that part out.”

Penelope stepped in with her signature bright smile. “Thank you both. You may return to your station.”

By the time filming wrapped for the day, my social battery was running on empty, my shoulders ached, and I was ninety percent sure there was still buttercream in my left shoe.

The barn emptied in slow waves around us. Producers huddled around their monitors reviewing footage, while my fellow competitors replayed the day’s disasters at the nearby picnic tables with a round of beers and the kind of exhausted, slightly hysterical laughter that only came from trauma-bonding over public humiliation.

I wanted no part of it.

Except, maybe, the beer.

At this point, I would settle for a lukewarm shower and a cuddle with my wiener—and not necessarily in that order.

The early evening air was still sweltering, even though it was pushing eight o’clock. Sweat prickled along my spine as I stepped onto the gravel path, counting down the seconds until I was safely tucked inside my cabin with the air conditioner cranked down to sixty.

It wouldn’t be long now.

Shower. Dog. Bed.

I shoved my hands deep into my pockets and headed down the path, shoes crunching loudly with every step.

Shower. Dog. Be—

“Matty, wait up.”

Lord have mercy, not now.

I kept walking.

“Matty.”

Gravel crunched behind me as Diaz jogged to catch up, falling into step beside me. “Tesoro, I know today didn’t go the way you wanted—”

I scoffed. “That’s an understatement.”

“—but c’mon, they’re just cookies.”

I stopped abruptly, pivoting to face him. The movement was sharp enough that he nearly walked right into me. He caught himself at the last second, sneakers skidding against the gravel.

“Just cookies,” I repeated. “Just cookies?”

Diaz’s brows pinched. “Okay, maybe that came out wrong.”

“That’s all anything is to you, isn’t it?” He opened his mouth, but I kept going, the words pouring out faster now. “Just cookies. Just flirting. Just kissing. Does any of it actually matter to you?”

The words came out sharper than I intended.