“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 the weak. It’s not for the passionless. And it’s definitely not for

someone who can’t tell nutmeg from cardamom.”

His words are like a slap to the face, a reminder of the humiliation on stage. Of

Logan’s disappointment. Of Vanessa’s confused expression. Of the tiramisu that

now represents my biggest failure, all on live television.

Enter title…

Logan turns to leave, his posture as casual as ever as he saunters over toward

door, as if this

I suddenly have

why you’re trying

you. That a woman, of all people, might beat

you

a moment, and for the briefest of seconds,

tremble in his shoulders. It’s so quick that I almost miss it, but it’s

around, and there’s that signature smirk of his again,

hollowness behind

his coffee cup to his lips. “As

someone like…”

placing my hands on my

gaze with a flash in his eyes. “Not just a

fingers go cold from

I grit out

really,” he states, taking a step toward me.

find myself taking a shaky step

to muscle her way into a

The Novel will be updated daily. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

Comments ()

0/255