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Throat tight, I shake my head.
He stares at me for a long moment, as if he’s trying to read me. Figure out if I’m telling the truth. “You’ll hate yourself if you don’t do well in tomorrow’s elimination challenge because you’re tired.”
I blink. That’s…very true.
His lips are soft when he lays a tender kiss on my mouth, shifting his hand to my jaw as he deepens the kiss. With a low growl, Fallon pulls away. “I’d do anything to have my way with you right now. To taste you. Have all of you.” He rests his forehead against mine. “But I’d never forgive myself if I was the reason we got eliminated tomorrow. You need to shut that big brain of yours off and try to sleep.”
My heart spasms. Gulping, I nod. “Okay.”
Rolling me back over, Fallon shoves his leg between mine and tucks me into his chest, wrapping me up in his warmth and weight. He wants me, but he knows how important doing well in this baking competition is to me.
When was the last time someone gave up what they wanted for me? I can’t think of a single time.
So, blood humming, lips curling as warmth settles over my body, I close my eyes and do my best to sleep.
Our next elimination challenge involves bread. We have to make thirty-six perfect dinner rolls. Fallon and I work fairly well together, landing somewhere in the middle of the pack. Our bread was well-baked, but the texture was a bit too chewy for the judges’ tastes. Reg and Tex win that round, and Carla and Emma end up going head-to-head against Mary and Tony, the mother-son duo from New York. The Latinas come out ahead, and another teary hug-fest ensues. I…don’t hate it.
Over the course of the week, Fallon and I spend a lot of time together. We don’t kiss again, but the tension is there. Bite-sized challenges go well for us, including focaccia so good Reg asks for the recipe. The days are busy, and by the time evenings come around, we both end up stumbling to shower before falling face-first into our pillows.
I do enjoy waking up wrapped up in Fallon’s warm body, though. Mornings are my favorite time of the day.
Before I know it, Saturday morning dawns and it’s time to head back to the barn for another full day of cooking. Our third elimination challenge is upon us.
CHAPTER 12
Fallon
THIRD ELIMINATION CHALLENGE: CHOUX PASTRY
“A croak in what?” I say out of the side of my mouth as Carrie introduces the challenge.
This week was a revelation. It made me regret letting Jen push me away last year. I should have spoken to Amanda and told her about my intentions with Jen. I should have pursued her harder, told her how much she meant to me.
I should never have left—but then I think of my sister being harassed, my criminal past, all the shit I’ve done in my life.
Jen deserves better.
“Croquembouche,” Jen whispers. “It’s a tower of choux—cream puffs—with threads of caramel wrapped all around it.”
Bernard Franco surveys the assembled crowd, his pale eyes assessing. “We are looking for perfectly uniform choux, which need to be filled completely with at least two different fillings. Your caramel should be golden-brown, not burned. We’re looking for structural stability in the tower, so make sure you adhere the choux to each other properly with your caramel. They should not, however, be impossible to take apart when it comes time to taste them.” He grins. “A hint—use a candy thermometer, or risk disaster.”
When Jen’s hands clench the side of the counter, I know we’re in trouble. She’s gnawing on her bottom lip, eyes darting over the other competitors as if she needs to check that they’re as nervous as we are.
The only people that look unworried are the judges. Everyone else is freaking out.
Pastry Prodigy Heather spreads her arms. “You have two and a half hours.”
“What?” Jen claps a hand over her mouth as a cameraman shifts to catch her reaction.
Bernard grins. “We’re looking for perfection, folks.”
“Of course they are.” Tex crosses his arms over his barrel chest, glancing back at Jen and me. “You look nervous, Blondie.”
“Shut up, Tex,” Jen grumbles.
The big man grins. “Finally, she looks shaken. You were flying through our bite-sized challenges. I was worried you were a robot.”
“You wouldn’t be the first person to think that.” Jen arches a brow. “My nickname in high school was the tin man.” She glances at me. “No heart.”
