I move toward the standing mixer, throwing ingredients in, taking care to measure with conviction. Cooking is one thing, but making is another; there is no room for measuring mistakes. An extra tablespoon of sugar could ruin the whole dish. Karl grins, his voice cutting through the tension. “Don’t
Abby The buzzer goes off, and the contestants place down their dishes, stepping back from their stations. The room is alive with murmurs, excitement from the crowd as their eyes scan the three dishes on the stage. The judges step down from their booth, their gazes inscrutable. My hands tremble,
Abby I’m sitting by myself in the breakroom, my fingers wrapped around a cardboard cup of coffee from the vending machine. The coffee has already gone cold, but it’s not like I was drinking it anyway. The taste was too bitter for what I need right now. Karl stepped out just a few minutes ago. He
“I know my way around a kitchen better than you ever will,” I retort, although the words feel hollow even as I spit them out. “Abby, Abby, Abby,” he tuts, pushing off from the counter to take another step closer. “You can barely navigate your way out of a paper bag. This competition? It’s not for
Abby Daniel and I fall silent as Bryan and Mr. Thompson suddenly walk into the room, Daniel’s earlier remarks still ringing in my ears. But as my eyes flick from Bryan, whose eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, to Mr. Thompson, whose face is somber, I suddenly find myself forgetting all about my ar
Abby The air in the studio feels dense with anticipation as Karl and I walk back to our station together. The crowd murmurs as they become aware of the implications: that only Daniel and I are returning, and Bryan, the third contestant, is nowhere to be found despite the fact that the winners of t
Karl The sizzle of sauteing farro mafaldine fills the air as Abby and I maneuver around our station like we’ve done this a million times before. I can sense a newfound glimmer in Abby’s eyes, a hint of something confident and downright mesmerizing. “Ken,” Abby’s voice cuts sharply through the no
His gaze finally breaks from mine, looking at anything but my face. “I was just checking something,” he says, his voice so low it’s a whisper. “Oh, you were ‘checking something?’” I echo, my tone chalk full of disbelief. “By switching labels and possibly ruining our dish? Hm?” He opens his mouth