Grayson stood behind the scenes with the other contestants. All his friends and family were in the audience, rooting for him. He didn't want to let anyone down.

Most importantly, he wanted to impress Donika. He wanted to have something to offer her, and winning the title of the Great American Bake-off would be a way to show her that he was somebody worth being with. He knew she had a lot going on in her life, and he couldn't expect her to just drop it all to focus on him, but he hoped she would, just a little bit.

“Contestants, you’ll be taking your stations in five minutes,” said one of the production assistants.

She wore a pair of thick glasses and held a clipboard with a lanyard slung around her neck. Grayson took a deep breath and let it out, trying to calm his nerves. He'd baked a million recipes and served a million customers in his life. But this was just a whole other level. The show was televised to millions of people across the country and the world. Not to mention, his fated mate was in the audience. It was all just a lot to take in.

Five minutes flew by as if it was five seconds. The production crew called the contestants onto the soundstage. He hurried out and took his spot. The audience members were seated on folding chairs, while the audience handlers were telling them to remain quiet with big white signs.

Grayson scanned the crowd, looking for Donika's sweet face. Then he spotted her, her beautiful eyes and the curve of her sexy mouth. She didn't look particularly happy. When she saw him looking at her, she smiled and gave him a little wave. It made his heart burst with joy. He gave her a secret wave back. The judges came out and sat at their seats. Heathcliff looked at Grayson rather harshly as he sat. Grayson gulped, not knowing why Heathcliff would give him that look. He had impressed the judges with his pie during the last show.

“And we’re on in five, four, three, two, one…” said the production assistant.

The cameras focused on the contestants and judges, and the announcer walked out onto the stage in his slick tailored suit.

“Welcome to day two of the Great American Bake-off!” the announcer said. “Here is a recap of our last episode.”

The video rolled, showing the drama of the previous episode, and Grayson winning the competition. The show came back to the announcer, and he continued.

“Since Grayson Baxter won the first round, he'll have thirty extra seconds in the pantry this morning. Grayson, that means you'll get first choice of ingredients. Use your advantage wisely. Today, the competition will be scones.”

There was oohing and awing from the audience and the contestants all had reactions that were promptly filmed by the film crew. Grayson made scones every day in his bakery. But he knew the other bakers made them as well. His would have to be better than everyone else’s if he wanted to win the competition.

“Grayson, you can go to the pantry starting…now,” the announcer said, holding a stopwatch and clicking it as he pointed to Grayson.

Grayson grabbed the basket off his counter and ran to the pantry. He began scooping things into his basket. The competition was for scones. He had a secret recipe that he baked for his bakery every single day. It was the most popular item in Fate Valley Café and Bakery, and people raved about his scones all the time. He grabbed the only stack of fresh blueberries off the counter in the pantry, the special Brazilian vanilla, and lemons.

The rest of the contestants came running in, just as he was finished grabbing his special ingredients. He picked up his essentials, flour, sugar, cream, and butter and returned to the kitchen.

“Did you find everything you needed, Grayson?” the announcer asked, coming over to his station.

“I believe I did,” Grayson said.

“Time is up in fifteen seconds,” the announcer called to the other contestants.

Then he began counting down as the seconds ticked past. The contestants hurried back to their counters, panting, with their baskets full of ingredients.

“I see some confident faces and some less than confident faces,” the announcer said as the cameras rolled and caught the expressions of each of the contestants.

“You don't look very happy,” the announcer said to Charlotte from Pennsylvania. She’d come in second place in the last round, and Grayson knew she was his main competition.

“There weren't any blueberries,” she said. “I had to settle for strawberries.”

“Do you think you'll be able to make it work?” the announcer asked.

“I hope so,” she said.

Grayson's heart sank. He felt guilty, but he couldn't let it get to him. This was a competition after all, and they were all here for the same thing. To win.

The announcer told them it was time to start baking and the judges watched as the bakers mixed their pastries. Grayson mixed together sifted flour, cream of tartar for extra lift and flakiness, butter, sugar, and baking powder. He rubbed the butter into the mixture, using the heat from his hands to melt it as it mixed with the dry ingredients. Once the dough was mixed, he added several tablespoons of fresh lemon juice, two teaspoons of vanilla, and a dash of heavy cream. He mixed the wet ingredients into the dough and then carefully folded in the fresh blueberries. Once the blueberries were folded in nicely, he put the dough in the fridge.

While the dough cooled, he lined his baking sheets with parchment paper. He grabbed the dough from the fridge and rolled it out onto the parchment-covered counter to make sure it didn’t stick. When the dough was about an inch thick, he used a triangular pastry cutter to cut out the individual scones. He placed each scone on the baking sheets and sprinkled them with a layer of raw sugar for added sweetness and then popped them in the oven.

With his scones baking, Grayson grabbed a bottle of water to drink as he waited. The audience was growing restless as the bakers stood behind their counters, patiently waiting for the pastries to complete their baking. The big clock on the wall that timed the rounds was ticking down. The contestants had only been given thirty minutes for the entire competition. Grayson's scones only took twenty minutes in the oven, and he was certainly grateful for that.

Someone had set their oven too high and shouted as he pulled out a burnt recipe. Grayson looked over his shoulder, gritting his teeth. The baker had to try to salvage his entry by mixing an entirely new recipe and putting it back in the oven before time was up.

The competition was fierce. The woman on his other side had already pulled her scones out of the oven. They were chocolate chip with frosting. She already had them cooling as she whipped up her vanilla cream frosting to drizzle over the top. Someone else had made decadent lemon scones that smelled divine. He looked around the room, noting the extravagant pastries the other chefs were baking. He didn't know if his simple blueberry scones could live up to the competition. He pulled his scones from the oven and let them cool for a moment before placing them on the serving tray.

“Five minutes, everyone.”

One of the contestants at the back of the room was running around like a headless chicken trying to complete his recipe before time was up. Grayson's heart was racing in his chest with anxiety and anticipation. He wanted to win. But he also felt for all the other bakers. It was hard not to. He could smell their anxiety, excitement, and fear wafting all around him.

“One minute,” the announcer said. The man who’d burned his scones pulled his second recipe out of the oven and dropped them onto the serving plate.

“Ten seconds,” the announcer said. “Five, four, three, two, one… Hands off the recipes.”

Everyone put their hands in the air, indicating that they had finished their recipes and were all done.

Then they began to take their scones to the judges to sample. Grayson's was second to last for sampling. He stood nervously watching as Heathcliff York took a bite of his scone. He made the strangest face Grayson had ever seen. Grayson had tasted the scones himself when they came out of the oven. He knew they were delicious, sweet, flaky, and soft in the middle, just as they should be. The judges wrote their notes on their sheets of paper. Odessa Carver smiled at him and that made him feel less nervous. After the judges had sampled everyone's scones, it was time for the final judging.

“Have you made your decision, judges?” the announcer asked.

“We have,” Heathcliff York said. “We sampled all of the scones and I have to say I am disappointed. Some of these recipes taste like they could have been made by a second grader. But maybe that's an insult to second graders.”

Grayson gritted his teeth. His recipe was simple, for a simple small-town bakery. Maybe Heathcliff York was talking about him.

“But some of them were delicious, and we will reward the bakers who were able to impress us.”

They announced four of the contestants, Grayson being one of them, and asked them to step forward.

“Two of you were in the top and two of you were on the bottom. One of you will be the winner, and one of you will hang up your chef coat,” said Wayne Brown.

Grayson bit his inner cheek, sweat on his brow. What would he do if he lost the show in front of everyone he knew in town on a recipe he served them every day? It would be humiliating beyond imagination.

“Richard Thomas, Katy Daniels, you are on the bottom. Charlotte Gavin and Grayson Baxter, you are on the top.”

Grayson's heart leapt, and he let out a relieved sigh. Sweat trickled down his brow, and he wiped it off with a handkerchief from his pocket.

“Richard Thomas and Katy Daniels, your recipes did not live up to our expectations. Katy Daniels, your scones were burned. Richard Thomas, your scones were undercooked,” Wayne Brown continued.

“Charlotte Gavin and Grayson Baxter, your pastries were delicious. Charlotte, your strawberry scones impressed us with their flaky texture. Grayson Baxter, we’ve never tasted blueberry scones that were so simple, yet so tasty. Who will leave and who will win?

“There are many things we can forgive. Undercooking and overcooking could be overlooked. But Richard Thomas, you served us something that resembled dough more than a scone. Please hang up your chef’s coat and leave the kitchen.”

“The winner of this round is…”

Grayson looked out at Donika. She bent down to pick up her purse off the floor. A shot rang out in the event center. It sliced through Heathcliff York’s head midsentence as he was congratulating Grayson on his win. The man slumped forward, smacking his head into the table in front of him.

The other judges jumped up, screaming. The audience went crazy with chaos. Everyone was screaming and crying. The cameras were all focused on the dead man, bleeding on the stage. Grayson didn't know what to think. Was it all part of the show? It couldn't be. Heathcliff York was actually dead.