My cheeks flame. "You are impossible! And stop calling me that," I splutter, but there’s no real heat behind it.Sugar. At this point, I might as well change it to my legal name.
The next two hours are a whirlwind of intense focus. The gingerbread panels are temperamental little beasts, requiring precise baking times. Too soft and the treasure chests will sag like deflated balloons, too hard and they’ll crack under the slightest pressure. I move everywhere at once, rotating trays of golden shortbread coins, carefully monitoring the jewel-toned stained-glass cookies as they melt and fuse into sparkling panes. At the same time, I'm creating royal icing in every color of the rainbow for the final phase of assembly and decoration.
"Your shortbread is perfect," he comments, testing one of the cooled coins. "The texture is spot on."
"Thanks," I say, surprised by the genuine compliment. "Your gingerbread smells amazing."
He grins. "Secret ingredient: a touch of black pepper. Gives it depth."
We're making progress but we're far from safe territory. The heat from constantly opening and closing ovens turns our station into a tropical microclimate, while time ticks by like a pressure-cooking metronome. All this is… distracting—and in this competition, one small mistake can cost everything.
Then, disaster strikes. As James carefully slides a tray of freshly baked gingerbread walls from the oven, several of the larger panels crack right down the middle.
"Damn it!" James barks in frustration as he stares at the fissures.
I quickly move to his side, assessing the damage. The cracks are significant, but not fatal. "We can salvage this," I say quickly, already formulating a plan. "The royal icing will act like cement, reinforce the weak spots. And we can use some of your chocolate work, or even some of the melted stained-glass mixture, to create decorative ‘iron bands’ or ‘patches’ to cover the repairs. Make it look intentional, like artsy treasure chests."
"There’s not enough time to re-bakeanddo all that," he argues, the stress making his voice sharper than usual.
"There is if we worktogether," I insist, abandoning my gem cookies without a second thought. "Pierre taught me a few emergency pastry triage tricks. Trust me."
He hesitates for just a moment, then nods.
And just like that, we’re back. We manage to patch and reinforce the cracked gingerbread, but the repair job has eaten into our precious time. The once-comfortable four-hour window now feels terrifyingly narrow.
"We need to seriously pick up the pace on the decorating," James says, his voice tight with urgency as he begins piping intricate gold filigree onto a mended gingerbread panel.
"But without sacrificing the quality," I counter, carefully arranging a rainbow of sparkling stained-glass gem cookies on a cooling rack. "These kids, they deserve our absolute best. No shortcuts."
We’re so deep in our zones that we barely register Judge Parker’s booming announcement of the 15-minute warning…
Ten minutes remaining, and we're adding the final touches to our treasure chests.
Two minutes.
James barely has time to place the last chocolate coins when—
"TIME!" Chef Parker yells.
We step back from a collection of a dozen beautifully decorated treasure chests, each filled with an assortment of gem-like cookies, coins, and chocolate medallions. Each one unique and created with care.
"We… we actually did it," I breathe, a mixture of disbelief and elation bubbling up inside me.
James doesn’t say anything, but his hand, warm and surprisingly strong, finds mine under the workstation. He gives it a quick, firm squeeze, a silent acknowledgment of our shared victory, before letting go just as quickly. The gesture is so unexpected, so out of character from the James IthoughtI knew, that for a moment, I just stand there blinking, my fingers tingling from the contact.
As the judges make their rounds, examining each team's creation, I find myself standing shoulder to shoulder with James, feeling an unexpected unity.
Judge Parker finally stops at our station, his gaze lingering on the details of our treasure chests. "Remarkable work.The concept is particularly thoughtful. Whose idea was the individual personalization of each chest?"
Before I can open my mouth, James speaks up, his voice clear and confident. "That was all Elena, sir. Her inspiration to make each chest a unique gift really guided our entire design process. She wanted to make sure every kid felt truly special."
I stare at him, completely floored. It wasn’tallmy idea, it was a collaborative process. For him to give me primary credit, especially in front of the judges… it’s generous. Shockingly so.
The judges move on, their faces giving nothing away, but there’s a definite buzz around our station. After what feels like an eternity, but is probably just fifteen minutes, Judge Chen steps forward, a microphone in her hand.
"Competitors! All of your creations today were truly exceptional, and will undoubtedly bring so much joy to the children. You should all be incredibly proud." She pauses, building the suspense. "However, there can only be one winner. And today, the team that truly captured the spirit of the challenge with their creativity, their skill, and most importantly, their heart, is…" She beams. "Elena and James, with their incredible Treasure Chests of Joy!"
A wave of elation washes over me. We won! I actually throw my arms around James in a spontaneous, whooping hug, and he laughs, a surprisingly unrestrained, joyful sound, hugging me back tightly for a moment before we both pull away, slightly breathless and grinning like idiots.
