At the end of the three hours, Clementine had escaped the first round without disaster, but not without Adam's help. While toasting garlic, she'd nearly let her bread get over-kneaded in the mixer. Only a warning from Adam to check her dough saved her. She wasn't necessarily glad to have him right behind her to tease her whenever he found the time, but she was sincerely grateful for what he did, needlessly so and to his own detriment, to save her bake. He was still insufferable, but she wouldn't forget the kindness and silently vowed to repay him for it. She couldn't bear the notion that Adam might think she needed his help to get through the competition.
Tilly Trifle and Ansel Carlisle returned while the crew hurried to clean off the stations for the contestants to present their bakes to the judges. Clementine gave her perfectly round focaccia a final examination, and with a quick peek over her shoulder, found the sourdough loaf on Adam's station the perfect shade of golden brown. She didn't have long to look before all the bakes were whisked away to another tent for "glamour shots".
As each glamour shot was finished, the bake was brought back into the big tent for the judges to sample. Rose's rye loaf was first. Tilly Trifle seemed pleased with the fluffy texture and Ansel Carlisle had nothing but praise for the consistency of the cook. Clementine gave Rose a thumbs up when the woman turned to give her a surprised smile. She could tell Rose was distraught by the wringing of her hands on her apron. Even Clementine wasn't immune to nerves as she watched her father work his way through the group of bakers, pointing out the smallest of their flaws — at least she had experience with this part.
Finally, it was Adam's turn, and Clementine watched eagerly to see what her father would say. Ansel Carlisle looked warily at the golden loaf of sourdough and despite her less-than-savory history with Adam, she didn't wish her father's scrutiny on anyone. It was a simple loaf of bread compared to the other bakes around the tent. Many contestants had opted to do complicated braids and fillings in their Showcase Bakes — rustic definitely wasn't her father's style.
"What do you have for us today, Adam?" Tilly asked with a voice sweeter than marzipan.
"I have a loaf of sourdough bread, and if you have a taste for it, ginger and bourbon peach jam," he said with a camera-ready smile.
"Did you use a starter?" Ansel asked as he took a knife to cut away a slice for Tilly and himself.
"I used a 75-year-old starter, a gift to me from one of my mentors," Adam replied.
Tilly's pale brows shot towards her hairline. "Really?" She took a bite of the bread. "Oh my yes, this is quite delicious. Light and delicate but still hearty enough." She dipped the second half of her slice into the jam and came away with a generous helping. "And the jam," she said around her second bite. "It's sweet and smokey and it's a great compliment to that sour note that gives sourdough its name."
"Thank you, Tilly," Adam said before looking to Ansel.
Clementine watched her father chew thoughtfully and wipe his hands on a napkin. "I quite agree. It's a great bake," he said, and that was it.
Clementine had half expected him to find at least one flaw; the only other contestant he hadn't found fault with was Rose. Clementine was next and she doubted she would be so lucky. Her bake was placed at the end of her station and the cameras and judges moved into position. Polly took up the space at Clementine's side and gestured to her focaccia. "Clementine Bell, what have you made for us today?" she asked with a wave of her heavily tattooed arm, which Clementine could now see was covered in a patchwork of baking themed body art.
"I have made a focaccia with garlic and coriander," she replied.
Tilly turned the loaf as she examined the color and consistency of the cook. "It really looks like a great focaccia. Shall we have a taste?"
Clementine didn't breathe as her father cut into her bake. Steam rose from the bread as his knife split the crust and he passed a slice to Tilly. They both ate and Clementine could have sworn all the air had been taken out of the tent.
Tilly was the first to speak. "Focaccia can be quite a heavy bread, but I think you did well with it. It's hearty without being too much."
"Thank you," Clementine said with a weak smile as she resisted the urge to vault the counter and hug Tilly. The urge was sufficiently stifled under her father's gaze. He had the same, dark rounded eyes as Clementine and they seemed to watch her with as much scrutiny as they watched the bread.
"Now," Polly said. "What do you think, Ansel? And we ask that you don't show any favoritism to your daughter, not that we thought you would."
Tilly gave Ansel a startled look. "This is your daughter?" she asked. In shock, her eyes darted between Clementine and her father as if to look for signs of a relation. "I had no idea."
"You don't need to worry," Ansel said, ignoring Tilly. "Clementine wouldn't want favoritism and I wouldn't do her the disservice of giving it to her. She's my daughter, yes, but I'm only here to judge what she can bring up for presentation; she'll have to merit anything she wins here."
"Well then, what do you think of the bake?" Polly asked, seemingly satisfied with Ansel's answer.
"I think it's a good bake. The color of the bottom is a little dark and I'm not a fan of coriander, but she can't be faulted for that," he replied.
Clementine let out a breath in a slow steady stream. That was it? She had expected far worse from a man who had critiqued a brownie she'd made for him in an Easy Bake Oven at the age of six. But she'd take it. She had fared much better than most of her competitors, some of which looked ghostly pale after the brutal round of critiques.
The judges, now done with their tastings, moved to the front of the marquee. Cameras were readjusted, makeup was retouched, and the time came for the best showcase to be announced.
"So," Polly began. "Which of our lucky contestants produced the best bread today?"
Tilly and Ansel gave each other a knowing look. Clementine felt deep in her stomach that the award was going to Adam. She didn't dare turn to see what sort of smug look he wore on his face.
"I think we're in agreement," Tilly said, "that Rose had the best bake of the day."
"It was a beautiful Rye, and it has earned you immunity for the elimination round," Ansel said.
Clementine's stomach leaped into her throat as she clapped furiously for Rose, who looked just as surprised as any of them to find out she was the winner. She took a deep sigh as she realized she would now have to compete to save herself from elimination in a challenge she hadn't been able to prepare for.
The ovens were tested again which meant there was more waiting. Back in the green room, the contestants grabbed coffee and after the crew had their pick of the bakes, they tasted each other's work. Clementine's hand were still shaking from the nerves as she pulled Rose into a hug after tasting her rye.
"That," she said, "is delicious. Where did you learn to bake like that?"
Rose lifted her shoulder in a half shrug. "I picked up a lot over the years. My husband was a geological engineer so we did lots of traveling. When we were first married, we were stationed here in France for a project. I didn't speak a word of the language so I couldn't work. I would walk down to the bakery in town, order a baguette in broken French and walk home. My landlord spoke a little English so she took pity on me and eventually brought me into her kitchen and taught me to bake."
Clementine was about to say, "That's amazing," or something of the like, when another voice said it for her.
The weight of a steady hand on her shoulder caused her to turn. Adam stood just behind her with an admiring grin as he addressed Rose. Clementine's first reaction was to brush off the hand, but there was something in his touch that gave her pause. Something was wrong — that confident sparkle had disappeared from his eyes, a new hesitation there instead. Clementine frowned as if to ask, "Is something wrong?"
Adam's dark brows furrowed as he saw the look she passed him over her shoulders. He looked rattled, but perhaps he wasn't sure how to read the subtlety of her gesture. As a reply he simply squeezed her shoulder a little tighter that left her wondering if the brief exchange had been for her benefit or his.
Clementine excused herself to grab another mug of coffee and to her surprise, Adam followed. He hadn't even acknowledged her before filming and now he was her shadow. She poured more of the smokey, black liquid into her scalloped edge mug and Adam was right at her side to pass her cream and sugar and to say, "Clementine Bell. We spent four years in pastry school together. How did I not know the Ansel Carlisle was your father?" .
"Because I didn't tell anyone," she said quietly. "I didn't know he was going to be a judge if that's what has you worried. He would never show me favoritism—"
"Oh no. I'm not worried about that. Tilly Trifle is the judge that really scares and I do hate to admit that I'm terrified of someone in tassled loafers, but why not tell people about your father?" Adam leaned in closer and the lingering scent of his bourbon peach jam filled Clementine's nose. "You told the cameras you were here to save your bakery, but I bet if you'd told people you were the daughter of both Ansel Carlisle and Juniper Bell, there'd be lines around the block to get into your bakery. You're a pastry legacy for goodness sake!"
"That's exactly why I didn't tell anyone. I didn't want to get to where I am based on legacy. I want people to know me by my talent and not what my parents have done," Clementine said, her stomach roiling as she thought about all the times she'd been discouraged from pursuing a gourmet pastry career (by her father).
Adam shook his head and a hesitant smile blossomed across his lips.
"What?" Clementine asked as she saw his shoulders shake with a laugh.
"Do you need a neck rub? I'd be happy to oblige."
Clementine's mouth fell open in stunned silence, the anger in her stomach turning to something that purred at the thought of steady hands working the tired muscles of her shoulders. Adam's hands. She couldn't help but glance at them; they were nice hands.
No! She cursed herself for letting her mind wander so far into forbidden territory. This was the infamously insufferable Adam Li! She pushed the knotting, tightening sensation in her gut aside and choked out a strangled, "Excuse me?"
"You know," Adam said, his eyes learning to sparkle again. "You must get tired carrying the extra weight of that massive chip on your shoulder."
"Ha. Ha," she replied dryly as she folded her arms across her chest.
"I'm serious. And you're crazy."
"Wha—" Clementine started to object, but Adam stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. Her skin flamed with warmth under the white cotton of her chef's jacket.
"No one, and I mean no one, makes it in this business on their own," he said, the warm brown of his eyes pouring sincerity over each of his words.
Clementine shuddered under his touch as she tried to let his advice sink in. He looked like had to say more, but the producers were calling for places on set and suddenly they were both swept back into the chaos of shooting for the elimination round.
Back in the big tent, Polly was getting her frosting-like swirl of pink hair coated with another layer of hair spray when Clementine found her spot at her station in front of Adam. There was a manilla envelope on the counter and nothing else. Polly took her spot in front of the contestants.
"After a stunning first round, we are back for round two and this time, elimination is on the line. For this round, the judges have chosen something special for you to create; for this round you must bake six flawless French baguettes." She glanced down at her watch. "The recipes are in front of you. You have three hours on the clock. Ready. Set. Bake!"
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