I ran back to my room with tears streaming down my face. How could any of that be true? I would’ve known if Flynn had been helping with the restaurant, wouldn’t I? I definitely knew how I got into school, and it was with hard work even with the odds stacked against me. For fuck’s sake, I would have been in straightaway if Flynn hadn’t pulled strings to get Knox in. He had a lot of nerve even thinking something like that. When I was able to get myself together, I called Mama and she set the record straight. Flynn had probably lied to Knox to puff himself up at our expense. Mama never lied to me before so this was easy to accept.
I sit up in the tub, and reach for my towel, wiping away the unpleasant memory. Why would I think anything has changed now? Because he said I’m a great chef? He doesn’t believe that in the least. If he did, he wouldn’t have been there with the knives—so quick to think I’d fail. He was just blowing smoke up my ass. And then softening me with his sob story about not really wanting to cook. About how Daddy is so mean. And I fell for the whole pity pie. Like some sort of sucker. Why?
With renewed strength, I turn in for a good night’s sleep.
When morning comes and I step out onto the sidewalk, somehow Knox has timed his exit right behind mine. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he had a tracker on me.
He sidles up, wearing another pair of dark jeans, but this time with a white button-down and leather motorcycle jacket. Leisure Knox is affecting me more than I could ever imagine possible. A far cry from our school chef smocks and splattered pants. “Good morning, Am—uh, Rowan.”
I nod stiffly. “Morning.”
“Do you want to share a cab?”
“Sure.” I cast a sideways glance at him, trying to gauge his easy demeanor. What does it mean that we’re both pretending last night didn’t happen? I touch my lips, tingling from a phantom kiss.
The doorman hails one for us and Knox opens the door, beckoning me in. I go around the car and hop in the other side. Amber is the new petty.
I’ve left all my belongings back in the room and only brought my purse today. I want to be in the moment and absorb my surroundings, the studio, the competition. My phone has my music so I didn’t leave that behind. I pull it out of my purse and prepare to put the earbuds in.
Knox reaches over but doesn’t quite touch my hands. “Can we talk a moment before we get there?”
The exact opposite of what I want to do, but at the same time, I’m anxious to know what he’s thinking. We have traffic this morning so I hope this moment doesn’t last too long. “Okay.”
“About last night. When you almost kissed me—”
I turn on him and clearly the look on my face gives him pause. “Pick your next words very carefully, Everheart.”
“Listen. When we almost kissed, I don’t want you to think that I’m playing some game with you. I’ve always thought of you as—”
“Look, let’s just ignore that happened, okay? We’d both had some drinks on top of a couple of really stressful days. It’s not a big deal. Let’s just go back to how we were?”
“What if I don’t want to go back?”
“Oh yeah, I forgot. You want to be friends.” I put my earbuds in, essentially shutting down the conversation. We’re only feet from the front of the studio anyway. When I press play, Jakob Dylan sings to me about losing his friend, and I swear, right then and there, I want to kill somebody. Why did I almost kiss him? Why? Why? Why?
I let Knox go into the studio without me and stew on the sidewalk for a bit. I cannot believe I was so stupid. And over Knox Everheart of all people. He bested me nearly every day for four years, but at least I fought back. I studied and mastered and gave him as good as I could. But now what? He bats his stupid eyes at me and wears some sexy clothes and I completely lose all my good sense. He hasn’t gotten any prettier in the last ten years I’ve known him—that would be impossible—yet I’m ready to throw it all to the wind because he gave me a compliment. Dafuq?
Tears sting the back of my eyes, and I shake them off, unbelievably upset with myself. Get it together, Rowan. He is less than worth it.
At that moment, I recommit myself wholly to winning this contest. When I get back, Mama and I are going to have a heart-to-heart. I’m doing this for her, but I’m doing this for me too.
With my resolve in check, I dash into the studio and up the elevator. When I enter, I spot Knox at a spare table, but I come up short at who’s sitting at the table next to his.
*
There are four new families at the tables we occupied just yesterday—the Warrens versus the Murray family and the Ortiz family versus the Wards. They’re fresh-faced and buzzing around getting to know each other, the crew, and the presenters. They’re a much more social bunch than we were, that’s for sure. They don’t even seem nervous. Then again, maybe it was the Townsend/Everheart dynamic that put a wet blanket on the collective mood in the previous heat of competition.
I look at the two audience tables set
