Sweet Temptations - 1. Chapter 1 - Keith

Keith feels like he makes it through the first week of the show by the skin of his teeth. There are twelve of them in the tent, eleven now, but with the two judges, two presenters, and four pairs of camera techs, the tent is damn busy. Keith is used to keeping to himself and his space – both at home and in the garage where he works – but he’s fairly certain his quiet nature comes across as stand-offish on camera. After the technical challenge – where Keith came right in the centre of the pack – the skinny guy next to him in the line-up turns and declares that their traditional Victoria sponges are so similar, that they must be rivals now. Keith can’t even remember his name.

Which isn’t to say he doesn’t get on with anyone. Coran and Kolivan are just as wonderfully hilarious in person as they have been on his screen over previous seasons of the show, and Coran’s utter flamboyance is the perfect counterpoint to Kolivan’s dry, acerbic wit. Keith has had to clench his jaw to stifle his giggles, to avoid ruining their pieces done to camera.

Most of the other contestants are really nice. Everyone is thrilled and surprised to be here, glad to have been picked and super nervous about their bakes. Hunk – who is big, sweet, and Samoan – is easily the most doubtful about his skills, though Keith cannot imagine why. In the first week, Hunk has the bench behind him and Keith spends most of the weekend salivating over the things which come out of his oven. Hunk is self-deprecating and soft, and he reminds Keith of a kid in one of the group homes he shared for a bit. And like that kid, Keith feels an overwhelming desire to protect him from judge Sanda’s vicious tongue.

There’s Ulaz, who is the eldest contestant; he’s humble and good-natured and calls everyone ‘son’ and ‘sweetie’. No one has called Keith ‘son’ since he was eleven, and it makes him far more emotional than he’ll readily admit. Pidge’s bakes feel more like science experiments than baking, and Keith knows no one has ever used molecular gastronomy techniques in the first round before. Ina and Nadia are ying and yang, both in physical appearance and baking style. Nadia and her workstation are a mess, but her flavours are amazing: Ina’s showstopper was the most beautiful thing Keith has ever seen, but it tastes like nothing at all. Lotor looks elegant standing at the bench in front of Keith, with his sleek hair beautifully braided, but he whimpered audibly when he was told – again – that there is only tea in the tent, and no hand roasted, fine ground coffee will be forthcoming.

Keith’s favourite competitor – hands down – is Romelle. She’s only a few years older than him, just finishing university, and is everything he’s not. Romelle is academic, bright and bubbly, with yards of perfect blonde hair and a fashion sense best described by her many layered dresses and tunics with huge draped sleeves. And yet, she’s totally immaculate when she bakes – nary a stray hair or puff of flour. In comparison, Keith did his second ever piece on camera with a streak of chocolate down one cheek which no one told him about until afterward, and he is certain his hair has never looked worse.

But the absolute best thing about getting into the show is also the worst. Because thirsting quietly over one of the judges is very different when Keith does it alone in his apartment. Last weekend he had stood opposite Takashi Shirogane, the master of modern baking, the man who literally wrote the book on the fusion of Japanese flavours in contemporary desserts, a guy who has baked for royalty. There had been nothing between them but the width of Keith’s workbench and a mixing bowl. And Shiro had smiled and told him ‘go on, it’ll be great’ when Keith had expressed his doubts about their showstopper challenge. Keith had turned the same colour as Romelle’s dress.

Up close, Shiro is every inch as attractive as he is on television, and many more inches besides. The camera somehow doesn’t capture the breadth of his shoulders, or the deep swell of his chest when he inhales the aroma of a bake. His soft grey-brown eyes are framed with luxuriously dark lashes, countering the tint of his dove-silver hair, and Keith swears he can feel the weight of Shiro’s gaze falling on him from across the room. He really wants to be imagining it, because openly thirsting over one of the judges on the nation’s most beloved television series is going to do terrible things to his reputation.

It doesn’t help that Shiro is so nice. Sweet and supportive and oh so genuine with his praise. But because of that sincerity, he is also fair, firm, and Keith never wants to be subjected to that kind yet disappointed gaze. Allura – who was sweet and probably talented but rubbish with raising agents – suffered that look in week one along with the cake which was ultimately her downfall. ‘Unfortunately Allura, that is not a Victoria sponge, that’s a frisbee,’ was delivered with as much gravitas as one might announce a death.

The biggest tragedy of Allura’s expulsion from the tent, is that Keith’s supposed rival somehow managed to fall in love with her over the course of one weekend. The man is making doe eyes at the place she previously stood, even though there’s no spare bench there now.

But now, it’s bread week, and for the signature challenge Keith has to produce a flavoured quick bread – one without yeast – in ninety minutes. He feels good, this is a recipe he’s practised loads, so he gets right to work weighing out his flour and measuring his bi-carb as the tent comes to life with similar activities around him.

“There’s dough everywhere!” Kinkade, who is yet again using chocolate as his main flavour, declares. “It’s a dohverload!”

Several of them glance up at his words, and Keith bites his lip to hold back his snort of laughter, because even though they are only ten minutes into the challenge, Kinkade’s bench is indeed covered in chocolate powder and bits of dough. It should not be possible for anyone to have created that much mess, so fast.

“So, Keith.” Shiro, Sanda, and Coran have materialised at Keith’s bench as he begins to slice up his jalapenos and roasted red peppers. It is a testament to his knife skills that he doesn’t cut his finger off at the sudden vision of Shiro so close. “Tell us about your quick bread?”

“Er…” Keith kicks himself internally. He is not going to be the deer-in-headlights, the guy who can’t get a sentence out in front of his accidental celebrity crush. “I really like Mexican flavours, so it’s kind of a bread taco.” Looking at Shiro and talking is too hard, so Keith dices the rest of the chilli in record time and smiles at Coran instead. Their host twirls his enormously bushy orange moustache around one finger and gives him a reassuring wink. “So, I have jalapenos and roasted peppers, which add to the moisture – not too much though!” he reassures the judges quickly. “And then dried oregano, garlic powder, onion powder, and cumin in the dough itself.”

“Sounds strong.” Sanda arches an eyebrow as she speaks, and Keith feels fear trickle down his spine.

“We like punchy flavours,” Shiro says with a broad grin. A moment later, a wide, warm hand lands on Keith’s shoulder. Shiro is touching him, Keith’s practically fucking ascending just from that. “What’s this for?” He waggles Keith’s jar of smoked paprika between two black and silver prosthetic fingers.

“Oh, for the dusting after the shaping! Every time I tried cheese toppings it just overpowered everything else.”

“Very nice.” Shiro smiles.

“It’s not really a Mexican quick bread without cheese.”

Keith turns to glare at Lance across the aisle. His bench also holds a similar collection of spices, though he is using dried chillies and flaked red peppers instead of roasted. He does however have a massive chunk of Manchego cheese in front of him. Keith feels a muscle in his cheek twitch – there’s no way that combination is going to work with such a high volume of ingredients.

“Oooooh!” Coran is instantly at Lance’s bench, fingers itching to taste things. Both hosts are just walking appetites, Keith is sure. “The battle of the Mexican quick breads.”

Lance puffs his chest out, and Keith returns instantly to his spices. There’s not any spare time in this challenge, even though these breads won’t need to prove. Hopefully the cameras are now trained on Lance anyway; he is more charismatic. It’s not that Keith hates attention – he did apply to be on a nationally televised baking competition after all – it’s just that’s not the main reason he’s here. The only thing he has to prove to is to himself after all. When he glances up, Shiro is still watching him – as is a camera – and Keith knows he’s blushing.

“We are rivals, after all,” Lance is saying to Coran in a conspiratorial, theatrical faux-whisper. “And he copied me!”

“I doubt that,” the guy behind Lance – Griffin – says, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah he did. You can tell with the way he hides behind his mullet.”

“Who still wears a mullet these days?”

“Boys, no picking on Keith,” Ulaz commands from his bench near the back. For a guy who never had kids, he could not sound any more parental if he tried. Ulaz uses a bench scraper to cut his nicely formed cardamom and poppy seed quick bread, and smiles lovingly at the camera. “The cross on top lets the devil out. That’s what my grandmama always told me.”

Kolivan attracts the attention of the lens with a smirk and folds his arms over his impressively purple shirt. He hip-checks Coran as the smaller man comes to join him.

“I dunno, I kind of like a little devil in my bread.”

The camera techs laugh so hard they have to take a break and let another team frame up the next shot of Ulaz putting his loaf in the oven.

*

Bread, nothing but the interior texture of a loaf of bread filling the viewscreen. And then the soft crunch and crackle of the crust, as it’s gently squeezed. The sound is too close, weirdly intimate considering that it is bread, but intoxicating nonetheless. Coran’s voice is smooth and low when he speaks.

“We all know that really good bread begins with the crunch, the sound of flavour, the symphony of crackle. All the best bread sounds this way.”

The camera pans out to show Coran holding a baguette up to Kolivan’s ear, squeezing it gently. Kolivan stares directly at the camera with a dead-pan expression as he speaks.

“What? Not everyone uses a bloomer for a pillow…”

In the background of the shot, Hunk nearly faints from stifling his laughter.

*

It’s the afternoon, their second technical challenge is underway, and Keith’s greatest sadness is that all technicals are judged blind, and so Shiro isn’t there. Talking to him is kind of terrifying, though his praise is like warm honey down the back of his throat. Thankfully, Sanda isn’t there either.

Their dough is proving in the drawer, and at each bench, numbers are being chanted and whispered in and out of sequence. It sounds like some kind of weird long division summoning ritual.

Keith is not partaking in the ritual, because plaiting with eight strands is something he already knows how to do. He sits with Romelle and her yard-long blonde hair, passing eight over five, then two under three and over eight and so on. After a while, he realises that everyone in the tent is staring. Hunk is slack jawed with wonder, Griffin and Lance are wearing twin expressions of sheer bewilderment, and Lotor is winding a lock of his own silvery hair around his finger with a mournful expression.

“Don’t worry Lotor, I’m sure Keith will do yours whilst the loaves bake,” Romelle says with a bright smile.

“Where did you learn to braid like that Keith?” Ulaz sounds full of wonder as he watches.

Keith swallows nervously.

“Keith, go on.”

“My mom taught me. It was important to her.”

“You don’t braid yours though?” Lotor asks gently. Keith smiles. Bless Lotor and his soft manner, asking questions without prying, even if he is six hours into caffeine withdrawal.

“My hair doesn’t seem to want to grow out properly. Maybe one day.”