When ex-boyfriend Jamie shows up at Baked With Loved with a proposition, Kate is split between protecting her heart and saving her business.
(Extended Summary inside!)
JAMIE TARTT x OC
TED LASSO, SEASON 3
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BBC FOOD APPROVED! The egregious decal shone proudly like a medal on display against the front window of the popular Notting Hill bakery—Baked With Love.
From ube marmalade crumpets to cherry goat cheese butterfly cakes, Kate had run through countless number of recipes before she'd curated the perfect one for each of her new baked inventions. It was innovation and ambition that had captured the taste buds of her customers (high praise not often offered to an American like her).
But that was six weeks ago, back when Kate's mind was active and her creativity hadn't failed her.
Now . . . well, things were certainly different.
Standing in the kitchen of her shared Kensington flat, she wanted nothing more than to scream.
It was 6:07 AM, and she'd been going at it (baking) for the past hour and a half, like she had every day for the past two weeks. And every morning, it was the same result.
Shit. Absolute shit.
Evan emerged from his bedroom, dressed and ready to head out. "It smells mad in here. What died in our kitchen today?"
"My hopes, dreams, possibly my business."
He paused at Kate's dramatics, taking in the sight of her disheveled appearance and the mess that had overtaken their countertops. They were lucky Darcy was still asleep.
Unlike in films, Kate looked a right mess. Her sweaty hair had been pulled back into a ponytail but bits of baby strands stuck out oddly from the sides while her fingers had stained an ugly blotchy pink from what Evan could only assume were berries.
He took a seat at the dining table near her; the only spot left empty in her vicinity. "Another failed recipe?"
"Try three." She set an unpleasantly filled tray down in front of him.
"The earl grey molten lava cakes burst in the oven—" (the unsightly chocolate treat resembled an icky sort of goo,) "—the lilac strawberry pie twists were charred when I took them out—" (from what he could see, they were burnt along the edges,) "—and the center of the cinnamon cardamom cake collapsed!"
Kate groaned and plopped into the chair beside him. "I'm cursed, Evan. I'm a baker with the damn yips. It's like if you forgot how to throw a punch."
Evan refrained from rolling his eyes at her. "You don't have the yips, you're just going through a rough patch. But you are on the precipice of burn-out."
"No such thing as a baker's burn-out. Oven's always pipin' hot and ready," she replied weakly although the joking tone fell flat.
He stared blankly at her. "But the baker's yips . . . yeah, that's totally real."
