by Beth Bolden
“Have to puree them yet, and then strain them,” Quentin points out.
Landon glances up from where he’s carefully monitoring the melting butter in the skillet. “While you’re on the rotating table?” he squeaks.
Quentin shrugs, but even he has finally given up on trying to seem positive about it. “What a crap sabotage,” he admits. “I’m gonna kill Rory.”
“I’ll help you,” Landon offers.
Quentin reaches over and squeezes Landon’s arm. “Knew you would.”
“Twelve minutes,” Alexis announces and Landon feels his heart race.
“Should I start?” Landon asks worriedly.
“One scoop of batter, carefully,” Quentin says.
Landon has just finished pouring the first pancake, his heart in his throat, when Quentin leans in a bit closer, clearly on the pretext of examining how Landon did. “I think Jessa and Jeff are yelling at each other,” Quentin whispers.
Landon surreptitiously glances over two stations, to where the campfire is set up. And there are definitely some raised voices and poisonous looks being exchanged. “We can only hope it’s enough to ruin their dish,” Landon confesses.
Quentin frowns. “We’re fine.” He does not sound as certain as he did before, and Landon hates what the uncertain edge in Quentin’s voice does to his own stomach.
“Of course we are,” Landon soothes.
Quentin glances back at the pan. “God damn it,” he barks out, “they’re burning.”
Landon wants to cry. Instead of watching their pancakes, he was off staring at Jeff and Jessa and hoping they’d mess up. And now he’s messed up.
“It’s okay,” Quentin says impatiently. “Let’s clean it off and start fresh.” Landon repeats the same procedure with the butter and the batter, and considers apologizing and promising to pay closer attention, but the look in Quentin’s eyes stops him.
“Time to flip,” Quentin says. Landon slides the spatula under the first pancake with one purposeful movement—“Like you mean it, Landon,” Quentin coaches—and flips the pancake, uttering one long prayer the whole heart-stopping moment it’s in the air.
They stare at the exposed side. Landon flinches.
“Turn the heat down,” Quentin says, and Landon can tell he’s trying to stay patient but between the horrible sabotage from Rory and that only Landon can cook their food, it’s impossible to miss that his frustration is mounting.
“I’m going to finish the raspberry syrup,” Quentin says and heads back over to the hell contraption with the food processor in hand. Landon glances up briefly to watch him go, then refocuses on their pancakes. He’s screwed up enough today; they can’t afford more lapses of concentration.
Landon, without Quentin to distract him, focuses solely on the pancakes, making sure to flip them accurately and when all the bubbles have burst in the middle. He works for the last few minutes and nearing the end of their time limit, has a full plate to deliver to Quentin.
Thankfully, Quentin has managed to use the food processor without any accidents, and as the assistants take away the diabolical prep station, he finishes straining the sauce.
Quentin has just enough time to plate the pancakes and to artistically drizzle on the syrup, then to dust the top with powdered sugar.
When the timer buzzes indicating the thirty minutes is up, Landon doesn’t think or even hesitate. He feels like he’s been close to throwing up for the full time, and all he feels is relief that it’s over. He flings his arms around Quentin and squeezes hard. He doesn’t care that they’re covered in sweat and unidentified food gunk or that they spent the last half of that challenge being the team that gets pissed at each other. All he feels is bliss that they’ve made it through with a full, delicious-looking plate of food to show for it.
It isn’t until Landon pulls away that he remembers there’s a camera on them. And that hug was pretty obvious. It’s impossible to know if their impromptu embrace will make the final cut, but Landon has a feeling it will.
His stomach winds into tighter and tighter knots as the judging trio makes their way down the line of plates. This week they’re near the end, and Landon doesn’t think he can take the pressure.
He doesn’t even care if the camera records it. Shamelessly, he reaches out and grabs Quentin’s hand, using the reassuring weight of it to ground him.
Simone, Jasper and Zach start with Reed and Diego. Landon is still bitter over what happened last week and has zero compunction about half-sneering as the judges take small, speculative bites of the English breakfast they’ve prepared.
“I’ll confess, first, I love beans, but I don’t get them for breakfast,” Zach says and Landon can’t help but agree.
“Beans in an English breakfast is rather de rigueur,” McDonnell explains and Zach just laughs. “I know,” he says. “But so weird to me. They’re delicious regardless.”
Landon goes from a half-sneer to a full sneer. He’s totally allowed to be competitive, okay?
“The eggs are a bit overcooked,” Simone points out. “And I would’ve liked a bit more of a crisp on the bacon and sausage. But overall, well done.”
Landon glares as the judges move on and he sees Diego and Reed turn to each other with success and happiness. He would give anything for him and Quentin to be able to do that after the judges taste their pancakes.
The next group up is Oliver and Nora. Nora spent all that money on the campfire, and it’s no surprise that with their only sabotage being that Nora had to cook their food, there’s nothing seriously wrong with their French toast.
“One side of this looks a bit overcooked and the other a bit undercooked,” Zach says apologetically. “But the flavor is delicious. I especially like the hint of nutmeg, and what else is that?”
“Rum,” Oliver confirms. “I like to think of this as my eggnog French toast. Perfect for the holidays.”
“Delicious,” Zach comments, and Landon can’t help it, he’s growing even more nervous.
Good for him, Jeff and Jessa are up next and their tiny skillet of potatoes and eggs looks really depressing. If Landon isn’t mistaken, he can even see a bit of a char on their food. Things are not looking good for them.
“This is burned,” Simone says pretty matter-of-factly.
“I’d really like to have more food here,” Jasper explains. “When I make breakfast for my kids, they’d eat about ten of these tiny little skillets.”
Really, that’s all that needs said. Landon just prays that their pancakes are just slightly better than Jeff and Jessa’s skillets. His attitude feels so far from how they began, but at this point, he only wants to stay in the competition. He doesn’t want to get kicked off like this, after barely speaking to Quentin through the round.
The trio of judges stop in front of Landon and Quentin’s station. Landon’s heartbeat is careening wildly in his chest.
“Pancakes,” Quentin says politely. “With raspberry syrup.”
“The color is so beautiful,” Zach observes as he digs into his portion.
“Pancakes are a bit dry and a bit eggy,” Simone says. Landon’s heart feels like it skips a bit.
“Overall, pretty good,” Jasper finishes up and suddenly they’re moving on and nothing horrible and awful happened. Nobody even made a face.
Landon feels some relief, and from the way Quentin’s hand squeezes his, he knows he does too, but he won’t feel completely safe until it’s announced they haven’t been eliminated.
It doesn’t help that the judges go wild over the next pair. “What a gorgeous omelet,” McDonnell raves. “A perfect example of a classic French omelet.” Landon has no idea how Carson was able to pull out a perfect omelet out of his ass, but it doesn’t seem fair. Even though he does like Carson.
Rory and Kimber are up next.
“Steak and eggs,” Rory explains.
“My steak is pretty well done,” Zach says, picking at his. “I usually like a more rare portion.”
“Mine’s a
lright, I suppose,” Simone comments. “But a more consistent preparation is probably something you should work on.”
“A lot of wonderful food today,” Alexis says. “As is popularly said, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” She pauses and the tension in the room seems to grow. “Today, in third place, we have Rory Dargan and Kimber Holloway. Second, Oliver Glines and Nora Hsu. First, Paul Flannery and Carson Brooks.”
Landon feels very little surprise at the announcement. He knew they were a huge longshot for a placement this week. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. Especially considering how much they both wanted to win this week.
“That leaves three pairs that are available for elimination. Landon and Quentin, Jeff and Jessa, and Reed and Diego.”
Landon feels Quentin take a deep breath next to him. As hard as this is for Landon, he can’t even imagine how hard this must be for Quentin. This is his dream of his own bakery. Landon’s career is already well on its way to being fixed. Quentin still needs all the help he can get.
“Landon and Quentin—the judges thought your pancakes were a little dry and overcooked. Jeff and Jessa—your skillets were small and the contents were burned. Reed and Diego—inconsistent cooking of the eggs and meat on your offering.”
Alexis pauses again and Landon wants to scream.
“Safe are Diego and Reed.”
Landon’s pulse rabbits. That means it came down to them and Jeff and Jessa. He can only pray that burned is worse than dry.
“And eliminated today, Jeff and Jessa. Sorry, guys.”
It takes a long moment for Landon to realize that it’s not their name that Alexis called. It’s not their names and by some sort of miracle, even though they pushed their chances to the very edge, they’re safe. They’re not leaving. Quentin’s dream is still intact.
Landon’s knees sag in relief and he’s about to turn to Quentin when a big, strong pair of arms wraps him up and lifts him off the floor. It’s instinct but he just wraps his legs around Quentin’s waist and lets Quentin cart him around the kitchen like they’ve just won, not that they barely didn’t get eliminated.
And if he whispers into Quentin’s shoulder that he loves him, it doesn’t matter because nobody can hear him.
Of course, Quentin apologizes the moment they’re alone in their green room.
“God, Landon, I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into the curve of Landon’s neck as they embrace again. Landon doesn’t think his heart has really slowed down yet, and it’s all he can do to hang on to Quentin as he holds him close and tight.
“It’s not your fault,” Landon insists, even as his heart continues to race. He can’t believe they came so close to losing it all over something as silly as a lazy Susan prep table and pancakes.
“It just was so hard to stand there and just watch, when it was my bakery on the line.”
Landon nods his head in commiseration but he can’t help but think there’s an unspoken and you can’t cook, at the end of that sentence.
It’s the plain and bitter truth, but it still hurts.
Not only does Landon desperately want Quentin to win so he can launch his own bakery, he knows that he and Quentin have yet to really talk about what’s going on between them. He doesn’t think Quentin would disappear out of his life if they were no longer dependent on Kitchen Wars to keep them together, but Landon worries anyway.
Landon will often wake up to a text from Quentin. A picture of whatever he’s baking or a cute emoji or even a simple “good morning”—and every single morning it’s enough to put a smile on Landon’s face as he drags his lazy butt to the kitchen for coffee.
They’ll text throughout the day and Landon has taken to sending him tiny little snippets of songs—though he’s always careful to make sure none of the lyrics are obviously about Quentin, even though so far the majority of the album seems Quentin-inspired. Landon regularly ignores Julian’s knowing smirk at all the blue eyes that have appeared in the lyrics he’s written over the last few weeks.
They’ve gone on less than ten dates yet somehow Quentin has claimed an undeniably permanent part of Landon’s life. So logically, Landon knows Quen isn’t going anywhere, but his heart still stutters at even the tiniest fraction of a possibility that he might. Especially if it was Landon’s fault they were eliminated.
“You’re not mad?” Landon asks when they finally pull away from each other. Landon can’t seem to unglue his gaze from Quentin’s face. He hopes if Quentin notices, he’ll chalk it up to the near miss they just experienced.
“Of course I’m not mad!” Quentin exclaims. “The pancakes were dry. That’s not even on you, that’s on me. You have nothing to feel bad about. I’m the one who should be sorry.”
Quentin leans in and rests his head back on Landon’s shoulder. He’s got inches on Landon, but he can also make himself small. Like he needs Landon’s comfort and nobody has ever needed him for that before.
“I’m going to go grab a quick shower,” Landon says after a long moment. His heart has finally stopped racing, and now he just feels vaguely sick. All that adrenaline curdling in his stomach.
As Landon showers, he’s surprised at how much he wishes they could just go back to his place and cuddle on the couch. He’s never felt less like going to a party.
He’s fixing his hair in the mirror when Quentin walks out, towel wrapped around his narrow waist. Quentin drops the towel nonchalantly, and suddenly cuddling isn’t all Landon can think about. He stares in the mirror, his eyes glued to Quentin’s cock, hard and red, brushing up against his belly. It makes his mouth water and his insides melt into mush and how are they going to make it through the next five hours.
Landon glances up, and his eyes catch Quentin’s in the mirror. Quentin’s watching Landon as Landon watches him. His insides go from mush to lava and his hand is trembling as he reaches up to smooth down his bangs.
“We . . .uh . . . I . . . uh . . .” Landon stumbles. He doesn’t have enough blood in his head right now to sound remotely coherent. “I’ll wait outside,” he finally gets out and he escapes the room, tugging at the tight collar of his shirt because god, how did it get so warm so quick?
He’d think it was only him, but when Quentin emerges, his cheeks are flushed and his lips are bitten raw. Landon straightens his shoulders and tells himself that if they can make it through the party without fucking in the bathroom, they deserve an award.
They take a cab to the restaurant where Rory works, which has been closed for the night. Quentin sidles up tight against Landon and when his big hand settles high and hard on Landon’s thigh, Landon clears his throat and tries to imagine that it hasn’t just turned into the Sahara desert.
“You okay?” Quentin asks softly. There’s so much care in his voice and it amazes Landon because he’s never had the kind of moment with someone like he had with Quentin in the green room and had them care about him, too. It’s raw sexuality tempered with what Landon hopes might be love.
He’s surprised, but he’s actually not lying when he snuggles closer to Quentin and looks up at him with stars in his eyes. “I’m good,” he says. “Great, in fact.”
Rory’s restaurant is a great barn of a place, all exposed rafters and brick and rustic furniture. Quentin shrugs at Landon’s questioning look when they walk in. “It’s supposed to be ‘barnlike.’ Don’t ask. I try not to.”
There’s a DJ set up in the corner, playing music softly, and several groups of people clustered through the big open room. They head to the bar where Rory is unsurprisingly holding court. “Quen!” Rory exclaims, moving so fast to embrace Quentin and then Landon that he’s really surprised that beer doesn’t slosh over the rim of his glass. “Let’s get you drinks.”
“This place is something else,” Landon says to Rory as Quentin deals with the bartender.
“It’s a little much,” Rory shrugs, “but I can still grill you a steak that’ll make you weep.”
Quentin places a glass in Landon’s hand and he gla
nces down to find, to his surprise, a vodka soda, his usual drink of choice. There’s even a sliver of lime balanced on the rim of the glass, exactly the way he likes it. He takes an experimental sip and even the brand of vodka is right.
He shoots Quentin a thankful glance, but he doesn’t really understand. He’s nearly certain they’ve never talked about Landon’s cocktail of choice before.
“Maybe we’ll have to come to dinner here sometime,” Landon says. He wants to imagine a future with Quentin where they have the time and opportunity to go on dinner dates like any normal couple would.
“I heard Quentin already took you to Sur Ma Langue.” Rory makes an expressive face and Landon can’t help but laugh out loud. He’s funny, this friend of Quentin’s. Even if he’s just tried to oust them from the competition. “Very posh of you, Quen.”
Quentin just shrugs. “I like to make a good first impression.”
Rory throws back his head and downright cackles. Landon doesn’t understand what’s so hilarious. He takes another sip of his drink and prides himself on absolutely not choking on it when Quentin’s hand settles firm and warm against his back. Like they’re here together. Like they’re dating. Which, Landon is pretty sure they are, but they haven’t actually discussed it so he doesn’t want to assume.
“Oh, I bet you do.” Rory turns to Landon. “You wouldn’t believe how ridiculous Quentin was for you when you were on The Voice. Never missed an episode. Followed your Twitter. Even had to talk him out of going to try to catch you like all the other fan girls a few times.”
Landon doesn’t know what’s more surprising: Rory’s story or the way Quentin’s hand tightens on his back as Rory tells it.
“Oh, that’s . . .” Landon is legitimately floundering for words. He had no idea Quentin felt that way about him back then. It’s reassuring somehow, and nice, and also not at all what he was expecting to hear.
“It’s most definitely weird,” Quentin inserts, and he doesn’t sound happy at all. “Thank you, Rory, for making me sound like a creep.”