Chapter 4 Colby

Day two. The end of the competition. Well, the end of episode two of the competition, or at least Colby's and Jason's part in it. Colby was fairly sure more work would continue—editing, sound mixing, and so on—but their role as guest judges would be done.

He watched cake pieces fly, fascinated. A vast amount of carving was happening. So much artistic skill. So much creativity: one contestant was planning a cool and graceful Druid-inspired Winter Solstice scene, another had come up with a rather dramatic Roman Saturnalia, and a third was exploring classical Persian traditions, just to name a few.

He hoped they'd been excited about the theme. He and Jason hadn't chosen it—the show's producers had—but it'd seemed to please everyone; they'd all had immediate ideas and favorite historical eras, so that seemed to be good.

He also did very much want to keep the sparkling tinsel-striped cardigan, the one he was presently wearing. It was awful, of course, in the tacky holiday way, but wonderful for that exact same reason. It deserved love, being and knowing precisely what it was.

They were, in fact, all wearing the same clothes, for continuity of filming; at least, Colby reflected philosophically, the set was nice and cool and air-conditioned. And at least the contestants and judges were allowed to change clothing for each episode, within the production schedule. He supposed it was in some ways a lot like wardrobe on a film production, and in some ways not; he understood that process extremely well, by now. This wasn't so different, though the role he was playing was more or less himself, the Colby Kent public persona.

Yesterday, the first day, had gone well. In so many ways.

So very many ways. Delicious, of course. And a delight. And he thought he'd made a friend, or at least he hoped so, if Nate might not mind being considered such.

That had been nice. He truly was doing better, or he thought he was, most of the time; he'd thought, yesterday, that he needed a moment alone. Evidently what he'd needed had been time with one other person, someone who understood metaphors about caramel and too much heat, who didn't outright ignore Colby's spun-sugar breakability but also didn't hover or make much of a fuss.

Nate had wanted to help, and had also been in need of help. Colby thought that together they'd managed to feel better about a few things, perhaps.

Jason's arm now rested on the back of Colby's chair, somewhere between idle stretching—the chairs weren't quite big enough—and an offer of comfort. Colby appreciated the comfort, and liked belonging to Jason, but honestly wasn't needing a safe harbor at the moment. Though it was good to have.

He asked Nate, who'd certainly know, "That's a fairly ambitious structure, isn't it, that sixteenth-century castle for the Tudor Christmas feast? With that amount of detail, given the time constraints?"

"Yeah, it is." Nate considered castle walls, crenellations, the plan for a cut-away side revealing tiny sculpted figures and a banquet table and holly. "They've got a lot to get done. I'm not saying they won't finish, I really want to see what they can do, but it'll be tricky."

Nate, Colby had already decided, was among the nicest people he'd ever met: honest and straightforward, unable to conceal any of that shining emotion, full of empathy. Nate could've said I don't think they'll finish or that was a poor design choice, too complicated or I'm not optimistic; instead he genuinely wanted to see what a contestant could achieve.

"I kind of want to help," Jason said, which the cameras promptly zoomed in on. "I mean, I'm tall…and I could stack some cake…"

"No contributions from the judges, dear," Miranda put in, waving a finger at him. "Even if you do love that Roaring Twenties Hollywood idea. Put the muscles down."

"How, exactly," Colby said, because that was a brain-twisting image; and then let it go. "I'm so interested in that flavor combination, too. Using the classic Sidecar cocktail flavors, but with that holiday spin on it, with more spices…oh, now I want to make us drinks. Not that I'd want to interrupt."

Sandra, who'd been working on the cake in question, looked up. Called over, "You all want some brandy, over there?"

"You know, I wouldn't say no," Miranda called back, which got a laugh—Colby, and the contestants, remembered the ongoing teasing about her love for rum- or brandy-soaked desserts from previous seasons.

"Nice strategy," Nate said, grinning. He'd relaxed somewhat, too. "Bribing Miranda with holiday drinks."

"It's a celebration, after all," she pointed out, and then one of Sandra's assistants came running over with four tasting glasses, laced with cinnamon and orange. "Thanks, sugar, but no favoritism!"

Nate held up his. "Cheers."

Colby took a sip. Lavish warmth slid across his tongue: heat, spice, citrus. He always had associated oranges and cinnamon with holidays, particularly at some of the more lavish dinners and receptions his parents'd hosted: traditional, in a sense, and comforting as a reading of A Christmas Carol.

Jason still had one arm around him, and rubbed his thumb lightly against Colby's shoulder. "Thoughts?"

"Perfectly festive. A hint of hazelnut liqueur as well? And orange liqueur, to match that candied orange peel as a garnish, and both cinnamon and nutmeg." Possibly slightly too much orange, in terms of overwhelming the brandy itself, but then again Colby did like orange, and in any case Sandra had made it quickly and without reference to any specific recipe.

Nate blinked at him. "I was going to say amaretto, but you're right, she used hazelnut, not almond. You win."

Colby nearly apologized. Caught himself. "S—er…thank you? It's just sort of automatic, to be honest. Years of my parents hosting diplomatic gatherings and literary cocktail hours and such. And I like flavors."

"Colby's a magician," Jason informed Nate. "Solving flavor puzzles."

"Oh, no, not really. Though…imagine being a sort of culinary magician…baking spells into plaited breads, tarts, baskets of muffins…if that's not already a fantasy novel, it ought to be. Kitchen magic, snug and domestic."

"Saving the world," Jason jumped right in, because of course he did, and Colby adored him for it. "Not with swords or epic battles or anything. With gingersnaps. Lemon tarts. Shared flavors. Inviting people to try a slice of fresh-baked rosemary bread, with some magic in it, or more like intention, just wanting everyone to get along and be in a good mood, not a real spell, but it'd work."

Miranda was looking at them as if concerned about their grasp on reality. Nate, however, said, "I'd totally read it. Or watch the movie version. Eclairs and Enchantments, or something like that."

"That," Colby told him, "is an absolutely perfect title, and if we ever film the movie version we're giving you credit. Speaking of movies, what do you think of that sailing ship Kim's team is working on? I love the nod to Steadfast and how Jason and I met, but I'm so afraid it's not going to stand up well without those supports, on the display table."

"I'm not sure it'll be holiday-themed enough," Miranda mused. "Just putting a tree and some presents on a historical ship's deck…that seems like an afterthought. But, you know, we've got a couple of hours to go…"

"They might surprise us," Nate said. "Though I'm also worried about the support. I hope they're thinking about that. I'm keeping an eye on Kodi, too. They're so good at flavor, and at sculpting, but that's so much detail, and they haven't done much assembly yet…"

"I hope that one comes together," Colby said. "I love that sort of Victorian steampunk era décor, and I love all the attention to historical detail they've put in…it sounds like a great deal of time to get everything done, but it really isn't, is it? It just flies past."

"Yeah." Nate finished off his own drink—they'd been small pours—and set the glass down. "The time gets weird. At first you think it's so long, it'll be fine, of course you can do it…but then it just accelerates. Like the closer you get to the finish line, the faster it goes."

"I don't know how you did it. How you all do it. I like to think I'm not dreadful at baking, but that's at home, in our own kitchen, usually. And I've had time to practice."

Marcus materialized, a tall cool figure in a dark grey suit, polished and precise as a master chef in a kitchen's daydream. "We'll give the contestants some time to work, and move you all to the judges' room, for a couple of hours. You can watch on the monitors, and it'll give you a short break."

Colby hadn't needed a break. But he supposed it wasn't just for him; the bakers still had at least three hours to work, and probably this was usual, letting the judges step out for a while, letting contestants exhale a bit. Not that the cameras weren't present, but it must make a difference.

"Sounds good," Jason agreed. "Is there coffee?"

"Of course there's coffee," Nate put in. "We take good care of you."

"You do." Jason gave Nate a nod: appreciation, approval, mutual understanding. "We appreciate it."

* * * *

In the small judges' lounge, Jason and Nate went over to the sideboard to collect food—bagels, fruit, cheese—and the requested coffee. Colby watched them; Jason was smiling, and said something that made Nate grin.

Jason was the softest person Colby knew: a giant heart under the heroic muscles, and a soul that wanted to love and care for everyone. He wasn't surprised they'd get along.

Jason had kissed him and told him to grab a seat and keep an eye on the monitors, so he did that, curling up on the closest couch and folding long legs up. Miranda had gone off to make a phone call, something about her own farmhouse Christmas special; Colby did not mind being on his own for a moment.

He took the sparkly green holiday tree barrette out of his hair for a second—it was sliding—and tried to put it back more neatly. He wasn't sure he'd managed it, not having a mirror.

Marcus, who had not left, reappeared and sat down. Looked at him, levelly.

Colby, never a fan of direct and penetrating scrutiny—especially the silent and judgmental kind—tried not to flinch. He hugged a knee instead, tucked into the corner of the couch.

Marcus sighed. "I don't bite. Despite what Nate may have told you."

"No." Colby made himself relax, hopefully visibly. Acting. The persona. Right. "You've been wonderful. Keeping us organized, well fed, supplied with coffee. Thank you."

Marcus looked at him more, for slightly longer than felt comfortable. "I actually wanted to thank you."

"Oh. Er…why, again?"

Marcus glanced over at Nate and Jason, who were laughing about something, waiting for a bagel to toast. The glance said a lot, loudly.

"Oh. But…no, I didn't do anything. And it's possible he wants to throw marshmallows at me."

"You saw him." Marcus glanced down this time, an admission. "I try, and I love him. But sometimes having someone else see it…someone not me…you told him he was exactly where he needed to be. Who he needed to be. And you believe in him enough to offer a whole new culinary arts scholarship and put him on the applications committee."

"It's not as if it's not work," Colby said. "Though it'll be something good, I hope. Meaningful. But…you see, I know he's a good person. He worries about being too nice and he asked me whether I was all right. That's the sort of person I'd want evaluating me. Which goes for you as well, of course."

"Me," Marcus said.

"You're better at tiramisu than I ever could be, and you care enough to come and talk to me, and to say thank you when you really needn't. Can I ask a question about that walnut and Stilton soda bread you did years ago, on that Iron Kitchen episode about blue cheese? Was yours wheat flour? That's what I tried, but I don't think it came out quite the same."

Marcus blinked. Almost laughed. "Half and half. White and wheat. You know, we're rebooting that show soon. You should come on as a judge, for an episode or two. It'll be closer to this format, as far as mystery ingredients, but a full dinner menu, not just baking."

"I think," Colby said, "I could probably manage that." He could. With friends around, and Jason holding his hand, and no one seeming to mind that he got overly enthusiastic about baked goods and magic and hypothetical magical baked goods.

All in all, he was decidedly happy, just now.

He peeked back at the monitors. "Oh, that Victorian Christmas banquet is coming along, that's lovely!"

"Yes," Marcus agreed, "I'm not judging, of course, but…Kodi's very good. If I were saying anything…"

"You'd be saying it about them?"

"Something like that, yes."

Jason and Nate arrived, having foraged successfully. Nate and Marcus promptly began a discussion about the proper amount of cream cheese on a bagel, but lovingly so.

He looked up at Jason, who'd sat down between Colby and the rest of the world, and who held out an arm. Colby settled in against him—Jason felt solid as a loving rock, as usual—and accepted coffee. Cinnamon and blueberry and vanilla, it made him smile. "My magician. As ever."

"I try. How're you feeling?" Jason had plainly noticed the brief hint of defensive leg-hugging posture, earlier.

"Good, in fact." Colby lost himself in caffeine for another minute, resurfaced. "This is fun. Everyone's so friendly, and I'm enjoying all the flavors. I'd do it again. Which might be a possibility, in fact; Marcus was inviting me to be an occasional judge on the Iron Kitchen reboot."

"Huh. And you'd say yes?"

"Well…not every single episode, maybe once in a while, and of course it'd depend on our filming schedules, and I think I'd like you there, but…yes. I think I'd like to do that."

Jason's smile began in his eyes, deep and rich and cozy as sunkissed brown earth. "Sounds good to me."

"Yes." Colby wrapped one hand around his coffee, took a small lemon-basil biscuit from Jason's offered plate, leaned against large firm strength simply because he liked the feeling. "It sounds good to me, as well."

* * * *

Stuffed with coffee and treats, having been paying attention to monitors, they returned for the day's Showpiece judging with thirty minutes to go. Edible artwork had taken shape, in curlicues and arches and swirls of sugar, buttercream, fondant, gum paste, modeling chocolate. The scents of peppermint, orange, mocha, and cinnamon drifted. Seasonal history spilled over in every direction: that standing-stone Winter Solstice, a slightly listing-to-one-side nineteenth-century sailing ship, the ancient Roman festival, a late-medieval Christmas.

Colby immediately wanted to go explore each and every one, in detail. He wondered briefly what it might be like to be the size of a sculpted gum paste sailor, so that he could go and walk round atop the cakes.

That was likely the sort of bizarre and whimsical comment that did not get one invited back as a judge. He sat up more, being professional.

And then he leaned forward again. Unable to help it. "They've put working lights in that Victorian Christmas tree!"

"Lights in a cake." Jason was fascinated too. "I love all the technical skills. I feel like I'm learning new techniques every minute. Maybe we should go home and do some baking."

"They're really going all out," Nate observed. "Honestly, I'm impressed."

"I've been judging this competition for a few years now," Miranda agreed, "and this might be the most impressive Showpiece round yet. Clearly they're feeling inspired."

"Inspired by history." Colby watched Kim try to stabilize her tipping ship. "That's so fantastic."

"Inspired by the two of you," Nate said to him, amused and gently teasing. "They're trying to live up to your zucchini bread…"

"Oh, no, they're all so much better than I am, I'm an amateur! But thank you for the compliment. I love all the sugar work we're seeing…that large moon, the fruit, those ornaments…"

"And it's so tricky to get those big pieces done, because they're so fragile."

Off camera, a cue popped up. Miranda called over to the contestants, "Ten minutes!" and everybody watched them react to that: last-minute details, decisions, tragedies involving unset gelatin waves.

"I'm not sure I can watch," Colby said. "I'm feeling so much stress on their behalf."

"I know that feeling," Nate agreed. "But, y'know…it's fun. Like you said earlier. We do this because we love it." His eyes found Colby's, momentarily. "And also it's the holidays, and that's fun too. Friends, family, good food."

"And festive sweaters." Colby grinned at him. "I'm totally keeping this striped glittery one."

"Our wardrobe people say thanks for the compliment. Marcus told me."

Five minutes. Two. One. The countdown—

And, in a giddy jingle of holiday bells and applause and contestants hugging each other and sagging with relief, the day's competition finished. Seven tantalizing wintry scenes out of history beckoned, laced with mint and cinnamon and bourbon vanilla and gingerbread and sugar-cookie snowdrifts.

Colby, practically inhaling the holidays, felt the joy scamper all through his bones. He wanted to hold Jason's hand and taste everything.

Under glowing stage lights, on the Holiday Baking Showdown set, they did just that. Listening to the bakers share their stories, hearing every drop of love and passion in each presentation. Examining delicate piped leaves, wood-grain patterns pressed into gingerbread, transparent shimmery peppermint meringue ice floes. The detail was exquisite in most cases; Colby ended up in awe of all their decorating and carving and modeling skills, and said as much, which he thought made the bakers happy, from their expressions.

Not every sculpture was flawless. Some hadn't quite come together, or hadn't managed terribly smooth fondant work, or—in one case—had visible armature and empty spots. Kim had managed to stabilize her sailing ship—though Miranda did comment, again, that it seemed more historical than holiday—but the Tudor Christmas feasting hall team had absolutely not finished their intricate tiny decorations, and it'd come out looking bare and sparse.

Nate, Colby noticed, was more inclined to talk this round: pointing out some of those issues, but kindly. Understanding the time pressure, the adrenaline. Never harsh about it.

Colby himself also tried to be kind. He knew all the judging clips would be edited down for time, and attempted not to ramble too much, even when he desperately wanted to stay and chat with Kodi about their historically accurate miniature Victorian dessert display table, the mincemeat pies and the plum pudding and the almond choux talmouses. At least he wasn't the only one; everyone seemed impressed by that.

Jason was also visibly having fun, while unobtrusively keeping a hand at the small of Colby's back. His mother was a chef, after all; he offered insightful comments on the density of a tasting cake bite, the use of panettone in a bread pudding, the texture of apples and cranberries in a filling. Colby thought about that a bit, too.

He leaned in, while they moved to the next display. "You're also enjoying yourself."

"Of course," Jason said. "This is awesome."

"I mean you like doing this. Showing everyone this piece of yourself."

Jason looked surprised, then happy about it. An action hero, a knight, a stalwart tower; but one who loved his mother and grandmother, and their childhood kitchen memories, and the newer joys of his and Colby's shared recipes, domestic and experimental and full of delight. "Yeah. I really do."

"I'm glad." He didn't have to stretch too far for a kiss; they were close to the same height. "You taste like eggnog. From that bread pudding tasting element. I like it."

"So do you." Jason linked their hands together. "I like it too."

Wandering and tasting concluded, being good judges, they went off to confer. The contestants got to find their own waiting room, this time, and sit down; Colby hoped they managed to relax somewhat, though he personally wouldn't, in their place.

A large set-decoration candy cane shimmered at him in agreement, red and white. He nodded back.

He let the two actual GourmetTV experts talk first, because they'd know best, of course. Miranda had opinions about flavors and sculpture work and thematic relevance; so did Nate, a bit more confidently. They were in agreement about the top two or three, and also about the bottom, though Nate winced when agreeing that Kim's ship really hadn't been on theme. Colby knew Nate did not want to send anyone home, though that was the show's format, and a requirement.

He realized they were all looking at him now, awaiting input. He said hastily, before Jason could fret, "Honestly, based on the theme, and completion, and flavors…and ambition…I honestly do love Kodi's Victorian banquet, even if it is a bit pandering to my interests? But then that's sort of the point, pleasing guest judges, so in that sense they're wonderfully successful…but then Sandra had that splendid Twenties Hollywood Holidays theme, and her flavors matched that so well, and she made the marvelous Tinseltown pun with her decorations…"

"That one might be my vote," Miranda said, "but either of them, really, they could both win this week. As far as the person going home, though…"

Nate winced again.

Colby said, "Well, they do know, you know; as Nate mentioned, they're here for fun. For the holidays. And, yes, they'd all love to win, but even being here…it'll give them more exposure, more followers, more people celebrating their accomplishments. And perhaps they can return next year."

And Nate breathed out, eyeing him. "Yeah. True. Okay, so…"

"Kim or Thomas," Miranda said promptly.

Thomas and his assistants hadn't finished the Tudor Christmas feast. Colby sighed. "I do love them both, and I honestly don't know. But I know we've got to make a decision."

"I'd keep Kim," Jason said. Everyone looked at him; he went on, "Thinking about the practical aspects, and technical execution…she was better at time management, and more ambitious, and they even got the ship to balance on that curved hull. And her flavors did something ambitious too, with that tropical Filipino twist combined with the holiday spices, that banana and caramel and coconut and mango along with cinnamon and nutmeg and cardamom…my mom would be interested. I'm interested. Of course we won't be here next week, but I feel like I want to see what she can do next time."

"I like you," Miranda said to him. "Colby, sugar, I'm keeping him."

"Sorry to disappoint." Colby gave her an angelic smile. "He's very taken."

"He's also right, I think," Nate said, and they all nodded.

"About the top two," Jason said. "And…about that whole culinary scholarship idea Colby and Nate had…I might have an idea."

* * * *

Back on camera, watching anxious contestants file in, Colby wanted to hug them all. Only in theory, of course—he did not especially feel like embracing strangers—but the emotion was there. Perhaps Nate could do the hugging for him.

He tried not to smile at any one person more than another. Even if he did know the plan. No giving anything away.

"Well." Miranda folded her hands on the table. "I do have to say, the quality of this round was exceptional. Every one of you should be very proud."

The bakers clutched each other's hands too. Smiled shakily. Quivered with anticipation, and exhaustion, and nerves, and possibly a sugar overdose.

"Unfortunately," Miranda went on, "we do have to say goodbye to someone today, as their holiday baking journey comes to an end. So we'll go ahead and get that out of the way, because it was a difficult decision, but it did come down to completion and time management, versus being true to the theme. And for one of you, the flavors kept your sugarplum dreams alive."

The foil-wrapped set-décor present-pile, at the back of the room, framed them all in red and green and gold. It shimmered, waiting.

"Sadly," she told them, "it's my job to announce this one, since we won't make our guest judges do that…so, Thomas, we're sorry, but today, that's the way the sugar cookie crumbled."

Thomas, to his credit, did not look surprised; he nodded, while Kim appeared ready to collapse with relief.

And that part was over. Done. Not as bad as it might've been, Colby thought. No tears in this episode, at least not during the elimination. He wondered whether there might be, in the edited footage, or in the little confessional commentaries.

Nate also looked relieved. And more comfortable, if regretful, about sending a baker home. Good; perhaps the next rounds and episodes would be easier. Colby hoped so.

"Even though you honestly were all amazing this week," Nate said, pretending for the sake of the cameras and future air dates that it'd been a week, "we do have a top two, and they stood out in terms of flavor, execution of the theme, and fantastic detail work. Sandra, Kodi…congratulations. And, well, traditionally we'd name one of you the winner, this round…"

Sandra and Kodi glanced at each other, even more anxious now. They looked like near opposites—short and grey-haired, versus tall and young and gawky—but they wore the same expression, felt the same emotions, along with matching smudges of chocolate and sugar-dust.

"So." Nate looked over at Colby. "You two want to take this one?"

"Sure," Jason said. "So…honestly, we were already talking about this, because Colby and I wanted to do something, to give back, as a thank you…and then we were having such a hard time picking a winner…"

"So we thought we'd come up with a compromise," Colby said. "And this way we can also announce this, here and now…"

"So, since we're supposed to be announcing a winner for this round," Jason picked up, "we'll say Sandra, for the way everything worked together, taste and texture and design—"

Sandra did a real-life hand-over mouth gasp, eyes enormous and ecstatic. Kodi instantly hugged her. No hard feelings visible. Only joy on her behalf. Pleasure for her triumph.

"But we also thought, well, if we're planning on establishing a culinary scholarship in any case, which we are, and this is me doing a dreadful job of announcing that, I'm so sorry, but anyway, yes, we are doing that, myself and Jason along with GourmetTV and the network," Colby attempted to explain, "…and, er, Sandra, you've had your own bakery for years, you've been an instructor, even, and Kodi, you're still starting out, and working out of your home, right?"

Kodi nodded, belatedly because they were now staring at Colby, with the expression of someone afraid to believe what might be coming next.

"So we thought—of course we'll do this more formally in the future, once we've got everything set up—but for now, we would like to offer you, oh, perhaps ten thousand dollars? Toward pastry school, or opening a bakery, or whatever you need? And you can be our first official recipient of, er, we'll sort out the name later. Just go and do something wonderful for yourself with it."

"Oh my God," Kodi said. Their rainbow-haired assistant ran up and flung both arms around them. Tears started happening. So much emotion, bubbling up and over. "Oh my God, thank you."

Colby couldn't look away from their happiness, and didn't want to, but did catch—from the corner of his eye—Marcus LeGrand at the side of the set, smiling to himself. They'd run the suggestion, this announcement, past him beforehand. He'd approved, both for the audience ratings and because, he'd said, he liked the idea.

"Now," Miranda put in, wagging a finger, "that doesn't mean you're necessarily going to win this whole competition, sugar, we've got so many weeks left to go! You've impressed our judges this round, but no getting overconfident, just because of that!"

"No…" Kodi was trying not to cry more, or to laugh. "Yes. Thank you. So, so much. I—Colby, Jason, anything you want, my plum pudding recipe or a tart named after you or my firstborn child, seriously…"

"You've made us smile," Colby said. "And that's really the point of holidays, and of holiday baking, isn't it? Though, yes, I might ask you about the plum pudding, later."

"And on that perfect note," Miranda said, "thanks to our guest judges, Colby and Jason, and thank you to everyone for joining us on the Holiday Baking Showdown, and we'll see you next week!" She waved, as cameras zoomed and hovered and danced above.

Everyone else waved too. Nate bounced up to hug Sandra and Kodi, a tangle of congratulatory enthusiasm. A sparkle-drift of glitter, silvery confetti, snowfall, tumbled from the ceiling. Contestants applauded, and cheered, and laughed, and cried.

Jason tugged Colby in closer, caught his chin, and drew him into a kiss: hot as fresh gingerbread, spiced and glorious, a house and a home. Jason tasted like the holidays and like happiness, tongue discovering and plundering the flavors of Colby's mouth; Colby melted against him, surrendered, contented.

Marcus cleared his throat from behind them. "I'm happy that you're happy, but you both do have short final wrap-up interviews to finish."

"Yes," Colby agreed dreamily, in Jason's arms. "Together, this time? Not separately?"

Marcus sighed. "Of course."

"I'm happy that you're happy that we're happy," Colby told him, as Nate came bounding over.

And promptly said, "I'm happy too! What're we all happy about?"

Marcus did not sigh a second time, but did cross gazes with Jason. They momentarily shared a similar expression. "Excellent television drama and a successful episode?"

"And making people's dreams come true." Nate took Marcus's hand. "Can't forget that."

"Helping people," Jason said. They'd begun moving in the direction of interviews, final comments, their last job as guest judges. His arm was solid around Colby's shoulders. "That's important."

Colby matched their steps together, with Nate and Marcus beside them. The glittery tree pin was sliding down in his hair again, messy and merry above his ear; he'd have to fix it in a moment. He liked having it there, though.

The way he liked helping fellow bakers, and agreeing to do a few more guest judge appearances, enjoying himself. The way he liked being friends with Nate and Marcus, because he thought they were friends, now, perhaps: the sort of friends who could work together to make other people smile, in the future.

The way he liked being here, being himself, unafraid and excited and tasting everything new and bright.

"Yes," he agreed, arm around Jason's waist. "That's the sweetest part."

THE END