Most of it was in a good way. It was labeled as cute that Brody and I were friends, and I even read a piece of torrid fan fiction that someone had written about the two of us, featuring doughnuts, KlecksoCream, and melted chocolate. Even better was that Brody read it to me last night, which ended up with blowjobs, cuddling, and the hottest goodnight kiss of my life.
Losing Ivan from round three was hard. Not just because Ivan was taking Kristen and going off on a tour, but because I’d grown to like him a lot. He was funny and genuine and some of the best clips I’d gotten for my channel had been because I’d totally relaxed with him, and our banter was off the charts. The most recent post featuring him was my biggest post this year so far, and all it contained was Ivan and I talking about chocolate and ending up in tears of laughter over a stupid story about a chocolate penis he’d mistakenly had sent to Kristen’s mom for her birthday. It was stupid and funny, and when I peered at myself laughing, it was absolutely genuine. I felt that laughter through every cell in my body, and it was the most honest I’d ever seen myself on camera.
Not that the Mallys couldn’t distinguish that fact. At least none of them pointed out that the video seemed more genuine, but the likes weren’t just a heart or a thumbs up or a laugh emoji, there were real comments, people sharing embarrassing stories of things they’d sent or received by mistake. Erin and her team went through and liked the posts but that didn’t sit right with me, and I blame Brody completely for everything. He’s the one person I’ve ever met that makes me want to do better. The people who are commenting on my post, sharing all the funny stories, I should go through and individually respond and give people the time to talk. I made a list, but even factoring in the time to read them all, let alone answer them, was overwhelming. So much so, I ended up closing my phone and pretended that no one had commented at all.
Great.
I don’t think that Ivan had deliberately self-sabotaged his bakes. His strawberry and basil entremet didn’t set although he swore blind he’d added the right amount of gelatin, and then his prickly pear macaroons stayed flat. But I wonder what I would do if Brody had lost? Would I follow him as soon as I could?
All I know is that with Ivan gone it was me, Brody, and the gloating Clare to go through to the filming for the fourth episode. I never thought I’d be invested in getting to the final show, but since Brody had happened, my entire outlook on WBBS had shifted. I didn’t have the extra bakers that Erin hired poking and primping to make things look good for the camera, but I’d actually won baker of the week this episode, and that wasn’t because everyone else was shit. In fact, my cupcake round was a close thing with Brody, and my showpiece was only just marginally better than Clare’s. But the judges said that it was the taste of my bakes that had won it for me. Just hearing those words meant the impostor syndrome cape I wore tightly around me began to slip.
My bakes could be a little on the messy side at times, but I knew how to bake. I knew sugar work, and my chocolate tempering was fine. So I should have more faith in myself.
Maybe I didn’t need Erin and her team? Was it possible that I could manage my own life very nicely, without her micro-managing what, when, and how I did things? She’d lose her shit over my idea of a children’s focus, and she was right. Justin the adult baker needed to change, and what if I could do it on my own?
I was filled with positive energy and the directors interviewed the three of us separately. By the time we headed back to the Fairmont, I was exhausted, happy, and all I wanted to do was to lay on the bed and cuddle with Brody.
Chapter Eighteen
Oh Pilates?! I thought you said pie and lattes!
Brody
There’s a photo that I have seen everywhere. It’s of a stunning turquoise lake with mountains behind it and a glimpse of the Victoria Glacier, and the water is so clear that it reveals tumbled stones beneath. I never once imagined I’d actually see this wonderful place for real, but here I was, with Justin and Clare, right on the shores of Lake Louise, outside a huge hotel, where we were doing finalist sound bites. Clare was up first and had been hurried off to the perfect spot for filming, which gave Justin and me a short space to chat away from the camera. I’d take any free moment I could.
“It’s so blue,” Justin declared. I knew things about this place, and he’d just given me an opening for me to blurt them all out.
“The color is because of the rock flour carried in the glacial melt. The sun reflects off the glacial wash particles in the water refracting blue and green wavelengths of light.”
He side-eyed me. “How do you even know that?”
I waved the leaflet in my gloved hands right in front of his face. “It says so in here.”
“You’re a cheat.” He elbowed me. “Anyway, I can go one better without a leaflet.”
“Go on then,” I encouraged because I’d grown to love those moments when the shutters fell from Justin’s eyes, and he smiled with genuine enthusiasm and glee.
“Did you know that Lake Louise is dammed by an early Holocene moraine formed by Victoria Glacier?”
“I did not know that,” I admitted and was impressed that he didn’t appear to have a leaflet.
“To be honest, it probably formed during the Eisenhower Junction glaciation.”
“Wow.”
“Exactly.” He snapped his fingers, which didn’t work quite as well when he was wearing gloves, but then he brushed at his shoulders instead and looked smug.
“Did you study geology or something?”
He raised an eyebrow and there was mischief in his expression. “Google is my friend.”
I wanted to tease more of that soft smile, make him admit to what else he’d learned for today, but it was his turn for sound bites, and I was abruptly left alone with Clare. That would have been okay if she’d done her usual thing of ignoring me the same as she did everyone, but for some reason, she came to stand next to me where Justin had been, and weirdly she was very close.
“So, what do you think about Justin’s chances then?” she asked in a low tone, which instantly put me on edge. She had to know we were friends at least, so why was she coming over and asking me that?
“Uh—”
“He’s nowhere near my level, all that mess yesterday with the macaroons. Yes, they tasted good, but let’s face it, he’s not my level. Or yours.” The last part she added quickly as if she’d only just remembered who she was talking to. “You know it should be us in the final, right?”
“I think that anyone who reaches the final will deserve it.” I remained tactful even though I wanted to ask her what the hell was she implying.
“Yes, but we’re the two best in the competition. It should be us.”
Okay, her insistence of me agreeing with this damning statement was freaking me out. “As I said, the judges will—”
“It would be awful if Justin messed up the next round because he simply can’t make the grade, don’t you think. I mean, I’d feel so sorry for him.”
“We could all mess up.” I forced my hands in my pockets and took a casual step away from her, but she placed a hand on my arm.