The Florist and the Pastry Chef: The Bake-Off

• 10 •

Sebastian

We win the first round. Whether it's good or bad remains to be seen. We were required to act excited for the camera. As soon as Lillian deemed filming over, silence settled between the five of us. Maybe we made a mistake displaying our talents so early in the show.

Despite Chef Rebekah not liking us, we still won with our jalapeño jam and Paisley's stellar flower designs. No one seemed happy that the Montréalers won the first round. Especially Simone's team. After the win, I think she wanted to retract her attempt to flirt with me. All I'm getting are relentless glares. Which I don't mind. They're better than her rude flirting attempts. I can't believe she had the audacity to flirt with me in front of my wife. Plus, she was ignorant to Paisley.

Results of the competition aside, we've made our mark whether we like it. I'm not concerned about us as a team. We've worked together for a long time. We excelled yesterday. Especially Paisley. I didn't expect her to take the stage. I'm so proud of her, though. She was a goddess in that spotlight. Nothing fazed her.

Sometimes, I like to think I helped bring out this fearless side of Paisley. When, in reality, all I did was support her. Paisley always had a fearless side. She just needed a push to tap into it. Defying her parents was the first step. She broke those chains by herself, and she continues to do so. All I can do is offer my support. On our wedding day, I vowed I'd stick by her side until the end. When she disowned her parents, I was there. When her pregnancy test came back positive. When postpartum hit her.

No matter what, I'll never leave Paisley's side.

After dinner, the ladies decide to go shopping. Arielle stays with me because I decide I don't want to go.

Although I enjoy shopping, my feet are sore from today's competition. Besides, I need to plan Paisley and I's anniversary. It's at the end of the month. June twenty-eighth. Knowing we'll be able to spend our anniversary somewhere outside of Montréal makes me appreciate Mom tagging along. She's our safety net. I want our anniversary to be extra special this year.

As I'm feeding Arielle a spoonful of applesauce, I contemplate my options. Soon, we'll have some time off from filming. The dates haven't been released yet. It doesn't matter. Late or early, Paisley and I will still enjoy the celebration. I'll still take her out for a nice dinner on June twenty-eighth. A trip will be an option to spend quality time together.

Figuring out a destination is tricky.

Paisley wants to go to Tofino on Vancouver Island. Tofino is filled with hiking trails, beaches, and excellent food. However, Whistler is another place Paisley wants to visit. Hiking in Whistler is phenomenal.

"What do you think, Arielle?" I murmur. With a rubber spoon, I catch the applesauce dripping from the corner of her mouth. "Do you think Mommy will enjoy Tofino?"

All I get in response are typical baby noises and tiny hands reaching for the spoon. I sigh and feed her another spoonful. Talking to Arielle about important topics is useless. She's only developed some motor skills and can sleep through the night. Understanding what the hell I'm talking about is above her.

I sigh again, leaning back in my chair.

Sometimes, I wonder if this was a mistake, signing my family up for this baking competition. Everyone seems to enjoy it, but what happens when drama becomes inevitable? It always does in competitions like these. Pride overpower civilized manners. Teams will sabotage each other. They'll try to break other teams apart. Competitions are dysfunctional and dirty.

It's happened to me before. When I was eighteen, I partook in a culinary competition in Montréal. It was going great until somebody switched out my sugar for salt. They ruined the cake I baked. The judges choked. I've never been so embarrassed in my life. Any misstep and we'll be screwed. We have to be diligent. Especially with Simone and Harper around. They have a vendetta against Dani.

Despite my worries, I know we can handle it. We're a powerful group, both as individuals and as a group.

Still, drama is pointless. I don't want to deal with more of it. Paisley and I went through enough at the beginning of our relationship. Margaux faced the aftermath of it, too. Dani and Cadence have also faced enough drama in their lives.

I can't say competition is the only thing stressing me out. Paisley's pregnancy was hellish. A woman's body will always amaze me. Paisley will always amaze me with her strength. And I don't want to push her.

Looking at Arielle makes wanting another kid difficult to ignore. My curiosity is strong. I often daydream about another kid and what they'll look like. I want to make a bigger family and raise them. Teaching them what love is. Or how to be a good person. They're important lessons. It would be unfair of me to ask Paisley for something so load-bearing.

I run a hand through my hair, scooping up some more applesauce and guiding it to Arielle's mouth. It's Paisley's decision. I refuse to push my wants on her. That's not something I want to practice in our relationship, but also because it's unfair of me. I was there when Paisley gave birth to Arielle, but I will never understand the pain she experienced.

I push away my anxieties. Dwelling over them won't help. The competition will work out. Paisley will decide, and I'll support it.

After I've set the spoon and jar of applesauce down, I pick Arielle up from her highchair. The jar of applesauce is empty. Now that her tummy's full, Arielle will become drowsy. It's almost bedtime, too.

Despite her still being a baby, I think she inherited the whole tired-after-eating thing from me. Whenever I stuff myself, I can't keep my eyes open. I fall into a food coma.

Chuckling, I tap Arielle on the nose.

"For the sake of future embarrassment, I truly hope you're more like your mother than me."

Arielle's soft blue eyes meet mine while her tiny hands poke at my face. I take one of her hands in mine. Her hands will be double the size when she's older. One day, she'll be speaking coherent sentences. In French or English. She'll be making her own decisions. Going to school. I can't help but wonder. About who she'll be or what her voice will sound like. How much she'll look like her mother.

For the next several minutes, I pace the length of the kitchen, rocking Arielle in my arms.

We're at the point where we put her to sleep when she's drowsy, but not asleep. It's supposed to act as an early introduction to independence. She will learn to ease herself to sleep without needing comfort from me or Paisley.

She's a little fussy at first. I wonder if she can sense bedtime is coming up. I try to calm her while she squirms.

If she's anything like me, getting her to bed when she's a toddler will be a nightmare. When I was a kid, I never wanted to miss out on anything. I would stay awake until everyone else went to bed.

After several minutes, she calms down and cuddles against me, her tiny breaths warm on my neck. I rest my hand on the small of her back, rubbing it. I also press a kiss to her head.

Although I worry about what's coming, I'm happy with where I am in my life. I got to marry the most beautiful, strong, passionate woman in the world. Then have a baby with her.

Every day, I wonder if I could become even more content than I already am, and every day I do. I hug my daughter a little tighter, amazed that I have everything I never knew I always wanted.