Tabitha can’t wait to win against Rolf.

They have been rivals for this while competition. Neck and neck.

From the beginning, it was obvious they were the best two chefs. The winner of the main challenges was always one of the two. Right now, Rolf has one more win than Tabitha, and she can’t have that. He’ll hold it over her head forever if he gathers more wins than her.

With three of them left, she can feel the victory in her grasp.

She places the garnish just right on the top of her dish. Presentation had always been her strength, making sure each dish looks as good as it tastes.

Looking at the clock, there is still five more minutes.

“Shit!” Her head whips to Rolf’s station and easily spots the source. He clutches his left wrist that is quickly becoming red and swollen.

Medical already started towards him. “No, I have to finish,” he wheezes.

She’s surprised that her heart hurts for him. Even though she wants to beat him, this unsettles her.

Medical manages to wrap his hand, but it takes precious time away from his plating. He only has two minutes without his right hand.

Her feet begin to move before she realizes it. “Hey, Rolf.”

When he looks at her, she sees the resignation in his eyes. His fire is put out, with a weak ember struggling to stay alive. It feels like physical pain to see him like that.

“Can I help you?”

To his credit, he doesn’t have a big reaction even though she knows he is surprised.

“Yes! If you have the time,” he amends quickly.

They move in sync. He tells her what he needs, and she does it. Sometimes there are no verbal directions, but they each know what to do.

The host is saying something, probably about them. She doesn’t hear a word.

She only pays attention when there is a countdown.

With ten seconds left, she hands him the sauce, and he drizzles it on each dish. He finishes, and his dishes don’t even looked rushed. She would be proud to serve this food.

When the judges were talking to the third competitor, Rolf got his hand looked at.

He returns to the table. “Thank you, Tabs. You have no idea how grateful I am to you.”

“It was nothing,” she waves, dismissing it.

“I wouldn’t have finished. I might be able to make the finale because of you.” He reaches across the table and clasps her hand.

“Well, it is only right that we go to the finale together,” she states, gripping his hand tighter.

OoOoO

“Alright chefs, you all did an amazing job, but there can only be two in the finale. The chef who has secured their spot is….”

Tabitha holds her breath. She knows the quality of the food she put out. She shouldn’t be nervous. But she is.

“Kelvin!”

All three of their jaws drop.

She didn’t see his plates, but how could this happen?

Mechanically, she claps for him.

Her heart drops when she realizes what this means.

Rolf looks over at her with a worried glance. She returns it. Their newfound goal to be in the finale together has just been shattered.

And now, they are against each other once again.

——— (The last time I edited this was literally 14 weeks ago. I have so many drafts, some of them with just a single word. So if there are mistakes, I finished it really quickly to get it out of my drafts. How many drafts do you have? I now have 31.)

It was the first of three rounds in the annual cooking competition at Myrtle Beach. Maria Wall was getting very anxious, because this year could be the year she won. The 30 time champion, Matt Payne, had retired and was now the judge. Maria had always come up second or third to Matt, but this year, she had a chance. “Maria! Are you listening to me?” her boyfriend of three years, Evan asked. “I was asking you if I could have a kiss before you go kick butt.” Maria giggled and gave Evan a kiss on the cheek. “I have to be up there in five minutes, and I was just imagining myself winning and opening a restaurant with the winnings.” Evan laughed. “That’s my girl. Always thinking about winning. Make sure you save me some of that winning food.” Maria nodded and was about to say something else when they called all the contestants up on stage.

The competition began.

The first task was to make an appetizer, and as Maria was working on her fried and stuffed okra and cheese bites, she noticed this young man about her age working alongside her. He was also making fried okra bites, but without the cheese. Maria groaned. A copycat. Great.

The young man smiled at her and said, “I’m Andrew. I see we have the same taste in appetizers.” Maria smiled at him. “I guess so. But don’t distract me. I have a competition to win.” Andrew smiled at her. “So do I.”

When the time had run out, it was time to announce the Winner of the first round. “Maria Wall.”

Maria gasped and jumped up and down. Only 2 more rounds, and the Chef hat would be hers!

During the second round, she decided to make her famous chicken alfredo. Andrew was making chicken Parmesan this time, and Maria had to admit, It smelled delicious. Andrew caught her looking at him and waved, causing Maria to blush. She cursed herself. “Maria, what are you doing? You literally have a boyfriend that loves you, and you love him!”

As she was saying this to herself, she saw Evan wave at her. She smiled and waved back, but she didn’t blush like she usually did when she saw Evan. Did she even love him anymore? Maria tried to shake the thought out of her head, but every thought in her mind was thinking of Andrew. Maria sighed. Yes, she’d probably have to break up with Evan. She loved Andrew, and she knew it. She felt someone brush her arm, and she looked up from her dish. “Are you okay?” It was Andrew. “Yeah, just having a little crisis. Can we talk?” Andrew nodded and laughed. “Of course, Maria.” He said her name so smoothly Maria thought she would faint. They went to the storage room ‘for more ingredients’ and Andrew sat her down on a bag of flour while he sat on bags of flaxseed across from her. “What’s up, Maria?” He asked, grabbing her hands in his. Maria took a deep breath and said, “Okay, so I really really like you but I already have a boyfriend but I want to break up with him because I don’t love him anymore I love you.” Andrew laughed. “I love you too. I’ve never had a girlfriend since my girlfriend died in a car accident 3 years ago. We were 19 back then. I was planning on proposing to her the next weekend, but….the accident happened. We had been dating since we were 14. I knew it was time to ask her to be my wife. We wanted to start a family together.” Maria put a hand on Andrew’s shoulder and wiped away his tears. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m here now. I’ll be your girlfriend as soon as I break up with Evan.” Andrew smiled and kissed Maria on the cheek. “I love you.” He said, and stood up. “We have a competition to finish though.” Maria nodded and he helped her up. They walked out of the storage room together, back to their stations.

Andrew won the main meal round. Maria didn’t want to beat him as badly anymore. In between the second and third round, she had the hard conversation with Evan, and he immediately left. “I don’t want to see your face anymore.” Were his last words as he left. Maria was crying, but Andrew came over and kissed her. “It’s okay, honey. Let’s win the competition. Together. Then we can open your-our dream restaurant.” Maria hugged him around the neck, and they shared a kiss on the lips, which was seen by everyone there. Matt Payne saw this as well and said, “Well folks, the competitors in the running to win look like they have a little relationship going. 22 year olds Andrew Ivan and Maria Wall.” Maria and Andrew broke apart blushing. Andrew took her and hand and led her back to her station, hugged her, and then took his place at his station.

The last round was dessert. Andrew was making tiramisu, and Maria was making crème brûlée.

Andrew would go past her station and leave ingredients that she had requested, along with a hug or a kiss. She would do the same for him, and the crowd loved it. When the timer ran out and they had to put down their stuff, Andrew and Maria hugged each other tightly, waiting for the results. “In third place, with his strawberry cheesecake that is to DIE for, Peter Robey. And now, in first place, with an AMAZING dessert and INCREDIBLE performance today alongside her new boyfriend, Maria Wall, with the most amazing crème brûlée I have ever tasted! And of course, that leaves Andrew Ivan in second, with his incredible tiramisu.”

Maria squealed and went to go receive her award. When she got back, she ran into Andrew’s arms, kissing him on the lips. She had done it. Her and Andrew had done it.

The stage was set for the ultimate culinary showdown. Jullian and Percy, two renowned chefs, stood side by side in the final round of the prestigious cooking competition. The air crackled with tension as they prepared to battle it out for the coveted title.

But there was more at stake than just culinary glory. Both Jullian and Percy had fallen for the same woman, Rayleighanne, a talented food critic who had captured their hearts with her infectious smile and discerning palate. Their intense rivalry in the competition mirrored their unspoken competition for her affections.

As the competition began, the kitchen buzzed with activity. Jullian, with his meticulous attention to detail, crafted each dish with precision and finesse. His dishes were a reflection of his passion and dedication, each bite telling a story of his culinary journey.

Percy, on the other hand, embraced bold flavors and daring combinations. His dishes were a testament to his creativity and willingness to take risks. Each bite was an explosion of taste, leaving the judges in awe of his audacity.

As the competition progressed, the tension between Jullian and Percy grew. They exchanged glances filled with both admiration and rivalry, their eyes conveying a silent challenge. Each dish they presented was a declaration of their love for Rayleighanne, a way to win her heart through their culinary prowess.

But amidst the fierce competition, a spark of romance began to flicker. In the quiet moments between the chaos of the kitchen, Jullian and Percy found themselves drawn to each other. They shared stolen glances and secret smiles, their connection growing stronger with each passing day.

Rayleighanne, caught in the middle of their intense rivalry, couldn't help but be captivated by both men. She admired Jullian's precision and dedication, his ability to create dishes that touched the soul. But she was equally enchanted by Percy's daring and creativity, his dishes pushing the boundaries of flavor.

As the final round approached, the tension reached its peak. Jullian and Percy knew that this battle would not only determine the winner of the competition but also the fate of their love for Rayleighanne. The stakes were higher than ever, and they poured their hearts and souls into their final dishes.

The atmosphere in the kitchen was electric as the judges tasted the last creations of Jullian and Percy. The room fell silent as the judges deliberated, their decision holding the power to change lives.

Finally, the verdict was announced. The judges praised both Jullian and Percy for their exceptional talent and creativity. But in the end, it was Jullian who emerged as the winner, his dishes resonating with the judges on a deeper level.

As Jullian accepted the title, he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. He had won the competition, but at what cost? He looked at Percy, who stood there with a mixture of disappointment and acceptance. In that moment, Jullian knew that he couldn't let their rivalry destroy the bond they had formed.

Stepping forward, Jullian took Percy's hand in his, their eyes locked in a silent understanding. "This competition may be over, but our journey is just beginning," Jullian said, his voice filled with sincerity. "Let's put our rivalry aside and embrace the love we share for Rayleighanne."

Percy nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You're right. Our love for her shouldn't tear us apart. Let's show her that we can support each other and create something beautiful together."

And so, Jullian and Percy set aside their rivalry and joined forces. They opened a restaurant together, combining their unique culinary styles to create a dining experience that was truly extraordinary. Their love for Rayleighanne became the foundation of their partnership, and their restaurant flourished, becoming a symbol of their love and dedication.

As for Rayleighanne, she found herself falling for both Jullian and Percy, unable to choose between them. But in their joint venture, she found solace. She realized that love wasn't about choosing one person over another, but about embracing the connections that touched her heart.

In the end, the final round of the cooking competition became more than just a culinary battle. It became a turning point in the lives of Jullian, Percy, and Rayleighanne, teaching them the power of love, forgiveness, and the beauty that can be created when rivals become partners.

"You are going down." At least that's what I think he mouths at me from across the room despite his teasing smile. I glare back at him, as I have this entire week of competing against him for the cooking competition we are both in. Yet I don't feel as much hate as I did now, in the final round, as I had in the start. "In your dreams," I mouth back at him, making a face. I don't need to win this, but I'd like to. I also know I deserve to. Now it's just him and me, the final round. He puts his meal together first, twenty minutes early while I use every second I am given. I watch the seconds tick by as I garnish my lamb, making sure it looks perfect. A four course meal: salmon puffs, pumpkin garlic soup, a lamb leg, and to finish it off a beautiful tiramisu made from scratch. We had to do one free choice starter, a soup, a meat main dish and a desert of choice. The alarm goes off and I step back, holding my arms in the air. He smiles at me as the judge tastes his food, plenty of compliments given for his simple salad, tomato soup, roast chicken and red velvet cupcakes. So simple, just like him. I've only known him for four days, the duration of this contest yet I can easily read his face: he thinks he'll win. I don't listen to the judges words but he smiles proudly before they come to me. Each course they go through feels like an eternity. They start with the salmon puffs. The first course makes me think back to the first day of meeting my competition. After the cooking part, I went fishing in the lake a few miles away to calm myself. He was there too, but we didn't speak and stuck to our own sides of the dock. Neither of us caught anything. The second course, pumpkin soup. Like the pumpkin patch I went to the second day, looking for a good one to perhaps buy as an additional ingredient. He was there too, but for the tomatoes. "Fancy seeing you here," he had said and we had had a tense, awkward and forced conversation about this seasons vegetables and he reminded me a tomato is a fruit. I told him to put it somewhere he didn't appreciate me saying. They move onto the third course, the lamb, the main part. I ran into him walking to my hotel, he nodded tensely at me as we both remembered my tomato comment and the carrot I threw at his head after the competition that day after he said I looked like a swollen and baked tomato. "I'm sorry," the words slipped out as he had passed me, making him pause and turn. "About the carrot. I'm sorry about the carrot." He nodded, "Me too. About the tomato comment. You don't look like a tomato, a potato maybe..." I glared at him as he laughed and raised his arms in surrender. "Joking! I'm sorry." We exchanged a few more words before trashing each other and heading our seperate ways. The last course, the dessert. Last night he asked me if I wanted to get coffee with him to ease the stress of the final round. Just him and me left. Despite that and all our heated words before, it was fun. We talked, we shared and we laughed. I can't remember the last time I enjoyed myself so much. We make eye contact as the judges discuss. I don't glare, he doesn't mock me. We are not rivals anymore as we watch each other, waiting to see who will win this round. We simply are.

“Marley, the frosting!” Called Twyla, getting the golden brown three tier cake from the steaming oven. Marley quickly scrambled to the counter where the homemade frosting lay and raced it over to Twyla. Twyla sighed a sigh of relief and carefully spread the frosting out. Then she used a stencil and added beautiful flowery designs and swirls. After that, Marley put on the fondant flowers and honeycombs, along with some bees.

“There’s is so good.” Jerry whispered to Clay. Clay was busily working on his three tier cake, “not as good as ours.” He brushed the flour remains off of his apron and begin to use food coloring to paint on beautiful designs. His curly hair bounced as he moved from every side of the counter, checking out his beautiful dessert. He couldn’t help but notice Twyla, her tan skin, her blue eyes, her chocolatey brown hair, and the way she always beamed with joy when baking.

“Time is up, bakers!” Mr. Williams exclaimed, looking into the camera. “Please bring your cakes to the judges when I call your name.” It was the semi finals, so they wouldn’t have to wait too long, there was only four teams left.

“First up, Clay and Jerry!” Clay swallowed the lump in his throat and along with Mr. Williams and Jerry, he carried the cake up to the judges. Jerry carefully cut each judge a piece and layed it onto their plate. “We made a hazelnut cake with yellow buttercream icing and food coloring paint designs.” Clay said. The judges nodded approvingly and each took a bite. “Delicious! The buttercream really gives it extra flavor, and it looks amazing.” Said Ms. Ferrel. Mr. Henson took a s slow bite, “very delicious, a little dry though, and I would suggest that next time you add a little more water to help with the dryness.” The other two judges say their opinions, and Clay and Jerry walk away with pride.

“Last, but not least, Twyla and Marley!” Mr. Williams announced. Twyla and Marley together carried their cake up to the judges and while Marley cut the cake, Twyla explained the dish. “We made a dark chocolate cake with French buttercream frosting, fondant flowers, honeycombs, and bees, and flowery stencil designs on the frosting.” The judges all took bites of their cake, and this time Mrs. York spoke first, “absolutely fabulous! It has great texture and the cake is very nice and moist. The fondant really makes it stand out, too.” Mr. Tucker spoke now, “I do believe this is your best cake of the season, you have come very far from the first round.” Marley and Twyla beamed with pride and walked away after Mr. Henson and Ms. Ferrel gave their critiques.

After the show…

“Great job, Clay!” Twyla exclaimed, high-fiving him. “You do so good, too!” Clay said. “I’ll miss John and Eliza though,” Jerry pouted. Marley put her arm around Jerry, “it is okay, Jerry, at least they made it this far!” Jerry smiled and then said, “I am so excited that tomorrow is the finals!” Twyla and Marley agreed, “yeah! We could win that money.” Jerry shook his head, “oh, I don’t care about winning! I just want to go home and pet my cat!” Everyone began to laugh, and then Clay disappeared behind the corner.

“Clay?” Twyla called out when she noticed he was gone. “Twyla, I think I-I…” he mumbled from the darkness. “You what?” Twyla called out again, searching for the source of his voice. “I think I love you! But it is so hard because I want to win, but because I love you, I want you to win too.” Tears flowed from Twyla’s eyes, and when she finally found Clay, she hugged him.

The Final Episode.

“Things are getting hot in here as Twyla, Clay, and Wyatt go head to head!” Mr. Williams exclaims excitedly, slightly shaking the camera. Twyla and Marley race to their stations and so do the rest. “Your challenge for the finals is to recreate the first dessert you ever made, but instead of just making a, let’s say, a batch of cookies, make a cake shaped like a cook and decor on top!” Marley and Twyla shake their heads. “Are you thinking what I am thinking?” Twyla asked. Marley squeals, “giant cupcake!” Twyla looked at Marley dumbly, “no, the first dessert we made with momma is ice cream!” “Oh… right! So we are gonna make a ice cream cake?” Marley questions and Twyla nods excitedly.

Clay looked at his cake with disgust. “It just isn’t good enough!” He exclaims, utterly frustrated. Jerry pats his shoulder, “it is okay, Clay, we can fix it in time—-“ “alright bakers! Ten minutes left! I repeat! Only ten minutes left!” Sweat runs down Clay’s face as he silently swears under his breath. He steps away to look at it, “okay, the fondant looks pretty good for the fake macaron base.” He mumbles.

“Bakers! Please bring your cakes to the judges… this time, instead of you explaining it to them, they will just try it and see what they think.” Mr. Williams announces. They contestants all look at each other in shock and walk away, fear welling in their stomachs.

—————————

“Okay, here we are! The judges are about to announce the winners and the three finalist teams are all eager to know who will claim the 100,000 prize!” Mr. Williams does a tiny happy dance as the camera zooms around the room, landing on the judges. Mrs. Ferrel clears her throat, “the winner of America’s Great Cake Bake is… Wyatt and his wife!” Wyatt and Mrs. Johnson squeal with delight as they receive the trophy. The credits begin to roll as they walk out, but suddenly the camera spins around. “I’m glad I got to compete in this with you.” Clay says, smiling at Twyla. Twyla blushes and kisses him on his pink cheek: “me too.”

Almost 1,000 words!

She walks over to my station just as I realize I didn’t push the handle of my beater all the way down. As I frantically turn around to turn off the machine, she giggles.

“You’ve got some batter on your chin” she says moving her right thumb up to my face and stroking the stray piece gently off the edge of my jaw. I stay frozen in place even when she retracts her hand, and am a bit surprised as she places her finger in her mouth. “Mmm! This is really good Arlyn!” She squats abruptly and peers into the oven at my baking station. “Millie-feuille?” She tilts her head back, looking a bit upset “Ugh that is such a good idea! I’m more of a chef than a baker so I went super basic and decided on doing a cake for this round.”

“Basic?” I raise an eyebrow. “Your dish last round was anything but. I’ve never thought of combining pumpkin and mango before into a toasted salmon lasagna- the judges were blown away” I shake my head. “Knowing you, your cake has to have a unique twist to it. Don’t sell yourself short, short-stack”

“Short-stack?” She scoffs, pushing my elbows with both her hands. “Where did this disgraceful insult come from? I’ll have you know, 5’3 is close to average height”. She’s standing so close to me now that I feel her body heat radiating off her maroon apron.

“No seriously, what’s the flavor profile of your cake?” I ask, changing the subject.

She lights up at the question, her words coming out quickly and excitedly in a way where you could tell her choice was something she’s proud of and poured a lot of thought into. “The Genoise is red bean and toasted rice green tea. Coconut cream and horchata between the tiers.”

I hang onto her every word as she continues to briefly describe her process.

“And you’re pairing all that will almond blackberry ganache?” I ask slightly breathless out of awe. She definitely has a knack for making me feel starstruck. “Absolutely brilliant.”

She tucks a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. “Stop it Ar, you’re making me blush”.

The timer I set for the puff pastry goes off and I snap back to the reality of our situation.

“Gotta fish this out of the oven now” I say too matter a factly. “Best of luck with the remainder of the round. Not that you’ll need it with your genius tho” I add with a shrug.

“You too!” She says while jogging back to her station. ——-

With four people in total left in the competition and the two weakest dishes preparing for a face off, after making it through the round, me and her are the only people in the common room now.

It’s significantly less busy, but it doesn’t feel any less vacant thanks to her presence.

As we both sit tiredly in a mutual peaceful silence on the couch, I take a moment to reflect on how far I’ve come from the start of the show, wondering how I could better prepare myself for the finale.

“Whatchya thinking about?” She asks.

“Do you want to- maybe-“ I breath out “never mind.” I say, averting my gaze.

She turns my head back towards her. “No” she says in a slightly whiny tone. “Please tell me-what were you going to say?”

“Do you want to cook together?” I blurt out, my eyes wide.

She smirks. “Cook with the competition?” She questions. “Shouldn’t I know better?”

“Well.. we don’t exactly know what’s waiting for us in the final round” I say. “I arguably need to learn how to be bolder with my flavor pairings while still having things compliment each other, and I recall you saying you’d want some more tips on baking.” I meet her eyes. “So yeah, I mean- why not help each other?”

She takes a moment before giving me a convinced look. “Okay.” She says, sitting up from the couch and reaching out her hand. I tentatively grab on and am slightly impressed by the sheer amount of force she has by how quickly she hauls me up. It must be thanks to all that kneading dough.

I tie my hair up into a messy bun as we walk to the dormitory kitchen.

——-

It’s the morning of the big day (the finale) and I couldn’t sleep from the amount of nerves I’m feeling.

In addition to baking, a hobby that has served as a good emotional outlet for me to blow off steam is boxing.

I feel a lot calmer as I walk back up the stairs from the gym, unraveling my hand wraps in rhythm with my steps.

I fish the keep to my room out of my bra, still mentally reciting algorithms for balancing out flavor and texture combinations as I walk down the hall. Can acidic go with savory? Wait no- it needs a mediator of sweet.

“Arlyn” I stop at the sound of her voice calling my name out from behind me.

“Eminie? What are you doing awake at 2am?” I ask taken aback.

“I could ask you the same thing.” She counters, eyeing the gloves poking out of my gym back. “Are you part of some underground fight club?”

I try not to laugh. “No, I like to hit bags, not people”.

She slaps the backside of her hand to her forehead and gives a sarcastically sorrowful look. “What have the bags ever done to you to deserve such maltreatment?”

I smirk “Hmm.. they were made for it. They were in need of my fists company”.

She clicks her tongue. “Touché”.

“And how about you- you still haven’t answered the question” I press.

She looks shy all of a sudden, moving her left hand further behind her back. “I was just writing”.

“Just writing?” I say, an earnest expression on my face “about what?”

“Umm. Well.”

This was my dream. To win. My bakery was at stake and I have everything to lose. I didn’t realize that meant my heart as well. Justin was a an Italian baker who had recently opened a shop a town over from mine. It was destiny some would say that we would not only be competing for costumers but also 1000 dollars in prize money. The thing is I have never met him before only heard his name and the awe that comes from his baking skills. I come up to the competition ready to beat the renounced baker only to find a modest man who also has his bakery on the line. And he is also good looking?

i don't feel. i don't think. i just cook. you see, i don't let my feelings or emotions get in the way of a fabulous dish. one twinge of doubt leads to an undercooked roast. another strike of fear leads to under seasoned potatoes. and worst of all, a single hint of uncertainty leads to losing. so i don't lose. i always win. and i don't dapple in silly feelings.

-BEGINNING OF COMPETITION-

i take three deep inhales as i tie my apron on. no one is getting between me and the title of "Best Chef"- and being a woman, no less! i start prepping my ingredients when i hear the announcers start to speak. "Competing in this renowned restaurant is Dana Alexine, Jamie Douglas, Michelle Robinson, and Derek Horgan. Let the competition begin!" i freeze. Jamie Douglas? his name sounds so.......familiar. i shake my head to clear it. get back on track. start cracking eggs, chopping potatoes, kneading meat. jamie comes round the table and smiles. "hi. i feel like i remember you." i blush, but silently kick myself. "yes. i'm sorry, i must continue my prep." he nods. i dart my head down and continue my work. he watches from his kitchen silently, only slicing some veggies here and there. glimpses of a curly-haired boy with the same warm eyes and teasing smile appeared in my head every slice. the knife reflected a small girl, looking just like me, only younger. i slam the knife down, and i feel his eyes burn into the side of my head, and i yell, "don't you have work to do?" he doesn't seem to mind. jamie smiles and continues his batter. the tone sounds, our time is up, and our plate should be finished. mine is complete, save a dash of flaky salt. jamie's scallion pancakes were only half cooked, with a brown crust at the bottom of one of them. as i walked up to present my dish, i felt a hint of something unsaid. halfway to the table, i stopped. i wheeled around, facing jamie. this wasn't real. i felt my vision blurring. dana, remember, you do not have feelings. do not let them get in the way of your goals. so i reluctantly set the plate down and said in a flat, monotone voice: "i have made a-a-" i turned on my toes. "i have made a feeling." jamie smiled. "i thought i knew you." he was........my childhood friend? he was my best friend. why did he.....when did he..... oh. i do remember. he left to new york to become a real chef, not just a teenager starter-upper. i feel remembering tears burn into my eyes. he opens his arms and this time i do not hesitate and walk straight into them.

they start with the cookies , then the pies . soon they compete with the cupcake . ryan and georgia smile across the counter . they pass a look while the judges do the judging .

“ we have a winner .” says one . “ ryan .”

in the room later , the back room , georgia congratulated ryan . he bent forward , his lips brush hers .

“That sway-back heifer!” Belinda said, hands on hips.

“Mom, you are in the Lord’s house!” Tamara said, shocked.

“It’s my turn to provide the coffee hour refreshment. Sheree knows I do every sixth week,” Belinda said setting her buttery pound cake down with an angry thunk. “and she shows up with her skinny ass apple cobbler.”

Fragrant chunks of cooked from scratch apples in a maple glaze peeped up from buttermilk golden crust. The heavenly smell made Belinda’s mouth water. Rolling her eyes behind her mother’s back, Tamara set down the bowls of freshly whipped cinnamon cream and warm spiced apple compote.

“That woman makes my ass itch,” Belinda said stamping her high heels.

“Mother, language! Remember it is not a competition. You’re all serving the Lord. I’m sure it was just an accident.”

Belinda turned and gave her daughter a look that would hobble most grown men. Tamara swallowed hard.

“I’ll go place the whipped cream in the fridge, shall I?” Tamara said and exited with her mother’s white and blue hen Corningware.

Belinda grumbled as she fussed with the paper napkins and plates. Arranging and rearranging the paper goods, Belinda thought of her rival Sheree. She was a new church member and had only been attending The Good Shepherd’s for five years. Practically a stranger Sheree was still over the last couple of years joining every church group Belinda was in, the Hospitality Committee, the Board of Trustees, Christian Women, even the goddamned Serenity Gardening group. She was always volunteering and making suggestions to try new things. She was always smiling in her face while she did it.

“Belinda, so nice to see you’re bringing back the 90s shoulder pads. How brave,” Sheree said from behind her.

Scowling Belinda raised her head from the hospitality table. She turned to face her nemesis with her best go fuck yourself Sunday smile.

“Good morning, Sheree, I am so happy you were able to crawl out of the bar and make it to church on time.”

Tamara stepped out of the church kitchen with extra dessert plates. Seeing the church ladies squared up, Tamara ducked back into the kitchen and slipped out of the kitchen back door.

“Why Belinda bless your heart thank you for being concerned about my well-being but why do you think I drink as much as you do?”

Bosom to bosom, the two women had dropped the pretense of friendliness. Belinda inhaled deeply Sheree always smelled good, this Sunday her rival smelled of almonds and nutmeg and browned butter.

“Well I figured you had to be drunk to make broke down apple cobbler when you know it was my turn to handle hospitality. I made the pastor’s favorite, butter pound cake,” Belinda said bumping against the other woman.

Bumping back, Sheree said, “I signed the sign up sheet for today and your pound cake is as dry as your cobweb covered—“

Belinda surprising herself and kissed Sheree full on the mouth. Blinking rapidly, she popped back.

“Well finally,” Sheree said. “I had to chase you till you caught me.”

Languidly looking Belinda’s staturesque body up and down, Sheree rubbed the back of her fingers against Belinda’s soft cheek. A dam burst inside Belinda. Like a magnet, their lips were drawn together for a longer more satisfying kiss.

“Belinda, after the service why don’t you drop off your girl and stop over to my house for breakfast. I can make you my world famous scrambled eggs. I make them with creme fraiche and fresh chives.”

“Oh you bougie bitch with them soft scrambled eggs. I like a firm touch with heavy cream and the bite of parmesan,” Belinda said with a sly smile.

Shoulders brushing, the church ladies left Fellowship hall and went to the church kitchen to heat up the coffee urn.