Chapter Text
The week rolls by for Ed in a mess of pastry and fruit and shrimp and edible paint. In addition to his signature strudel, Ed makes and remakes his showstopper, the brief for which is “a highly-decorated, hand-raised savory pie in the shape of your favorite mythological creature.”
Ed can imagine the Discord chat about this one (Jim: who even comes UP with this loco shit? Izzy: a bunch of fucking twats). But he continues to steer clear of Discord, of Instagram, of his phone in general. Tries to keep Stede—and the fact that they’re not communicating—out of sight and out of mind.
So it’s good that the Pastry Week challenges are intense. When Ed first got the list of briefs before filming started, he headed to Bristol Central Library and pulled books on mythology to try to come up with an idea for this week’s showstopper. He spent an afternoon reading myths from around the world before settling on Te Wheke-a-Muturangi, the kraken-like octopus of Maori legend.
Inspired in part by a massive floating sculpture of the creature exhibited this year in Barangaroo, Australia, Ed’s shrimp-filled pastry monster is going to have bulging eyes, eight long tentacles, and geometric patterns painted all over its yellow skin. It’s a big, complicated bake, since Ed needs to make sure the legs don’t burn before the filled body bakes through. So he experiments with pastry thickness and foil covers, trying to get the bake perfect before he cools and paints the octopus to look as frightening as possible.
Bake Off has a grand tradition of octopus bakes—Rob’s bread in 2013, Manon’s pie in 2018, Helena’s custard tarts in 2019—but they’ve come off with varying degrees of success. Ed wants to make sure his showstopper really stops the show, so he practices and practices, spending nearly £200 on shrimp and butter in the process.
Of course, he’s practicing his strudel, too, plus choux pastry when he can. The bakers haven’t encountered it in a challenge yet, so Ed thinks the odds are good that the technical this week will feature choux.
By Thursday morning, Ed never wants to see another shrimp again in his life, and he’s pretty sure he could whip up a batch of perfect choux eclairs in his sleep. The filling for his signature has held fast for his last three attempts, and even Bill’s massive buddy Steak Knife, who’s been demolishing Ed’s practice bakes all week, says he just can’t take another strudel off Ed’s hands.
So Ed packs Jane up and starts the voyage back to Bristol. The few days in Bath have been good for him, though. He always likes visiting Bath, mostly thanks to the city’s strong Jane Austen connections. On baking breaks this week, Ed strolled through streets frequented by characters from her books, and now he thinks about the walk through Bath that Anne and Captain Wentworth took at the end of Persuasion. Thinks about the letter Wentworth wrote Anne in the scene before that, where he described his feelings as “half agony, half hope.”
And, well, maybe it’s silly, but Ed feels like he really gets that letter now, for the first time. Because it’s kind of how he’s feeling about seeing Stede tomorrow. What’s it going to be like? Will Stede melt back into Ed’s arms, his own request for distance (and Badminton’s stupid baker-restraining order thing) falling by the wayside the moment they see each other? Or will he stay away, keeping a mask of indifference pulled tight over his features?
Ed’s kept himself busy practicing—but now, with nothing to do but steer Jane downriver, the feelings he’s held at bay all week come crashing in. He just misses Stede so much, even after only a few days apart. He wants to kiss him, to touch him. To just fucking talk to him for five minutes. But he doesn’t know if any of that will be possible when they reconvene this weekend.
So, yeah, maybe agony’s winning out just a little over hope the next day as Ed packs his bag. As he folds the new shirts he forced himself to shop for in Bath, not wanting to get stuck in packaged tees or in Stede’s borrowed things again. As he plays with his hair in front of the bathroom mirror, contemplating full updo versus half-up, and how many strands to leave hanging.
He wants to look good when he sees Stede again. No nonchalant tracksuit and unbrushed hair this time. No more pretending to play it cool. Stede may think they need to keep their distance from each other, but that doesn’t mean Ed has to make it easy for him, does it?
Still, as departure time draws nearer, Ed grows nervous. He imagines Stede catching his eye at the bakers’ dinner tonight at the inn . . . then choosing to sit far away down the table. Choosing to ignore him.
Honestly, Ed doesn’t know if he can handle that.
He's meant to be on the 4 PM train out of Bristol, arriving in plenty of time to make the bakers’ dinner at 6. But 4 o’clock comes and goes, and Ed’s still sitting on Jane. He’s still there at 5 o’clock. At 6, he opens another can of soup, dumps it into a bowl, and heats it in the microwave.
By now, Archie’s texting him, wondering why he hasn’t shown up at the inn. Ed replies, lying that something came up at work and delayed him. Apparently she then goes hunting for train schedules, because she texts him back that the last train with a connection to Newbury leaves Bristol at 7, and that she and Evelyn really hope he’ll be on it.
That train plus an Uber would get Ed to the inn around 9 o’clock—a time when he could realistically check in and go straight to bed. Avoid seeing any of the other bakers before morning. Which, okay, is a bit of a cop out, but also might be the only thing that could save Ed’s sanity tonight. So he rouses himself, grabs his weekend bag, and heads to the train station.
It'll be better, Ed tells himself, to see Stede for the first time tomorrow. At breakfast, or on the minibus. That way, if Stede does ignore him, does keep his distance, at least Ed’ll have his upcoming bakes to focus on. Somewhere to channel all that frustrated, pent-up energy.
So Ed executes the new plan. Gets his arse to the inn (not the Crab & Boar this time, but a less quaint, more modern property a few miles away) and goes straight to his assigned room. Meets quickly with Archie, who approves a silky lilac button-down shirt Ed bought this week for the shoot, and who drops him a sticky toffee pudding she saved from the group dinner. Ed wolfs the dessert down the moment she leaves, then takes a long, hot shower (no bathtub at this inn, alas).
He's getting ready to slip into bed when his phone buzzes.
Stede Bonnet – Bake Off
Good luck tomorrow, Ed ❤️
Ed feels the grin slide across his own face like butter on toast, warm and slow and melty. He runs a finger over the phone screen, over this proof of life, this proof of . . . everything, really. Because Stede’s here, he’s somewhere behind one of those closed doors in the hallway, and he’s thinking about Ed right now. Rooting for him, even as he’s got his own competition to prepare for. And that? Well, it makes Ed want to win this whole weekend even more. Makes him think he can really do it, too, because Stede believes in him.
good luck to you too, mate ❤️ Ed texts back.
He could write so much more—what room are you in or i can’t wait to see you in the morning—or send a selfie, shirtless (he imagines Ruthie’s eyes rolling right out of her head at that). But, instead, he powers the phone down before he can let himself get carried away.
Because it’s enough, for now. This little morsel. An amuse bouche, or a petit four, he thinks as he turns out the light and rolls over. One perfect little bite to keep him going.
***
The next morning, Ed’s the first baker down to breakfast. He’s got a couple of buttons open on his new shirt, and his hair’s up in an artfully loose bun. He parks himself at a table for two facing the doorway and runs his finger slowly around the rim of his teacup, shamelessly playing the sexy card.
And it works . . . on Lucius.
“Edward!” Lucius stops in his tracks in the doorway and executes the old, familiar once-over. “Now how is it that the rest of us—most of whom are at least twenty years your junior—are all in our haggard, burnt-out baker eras while you can show up at six in the morning looking like sex on a stick?”
“Um . . . thank you?” Ed replies.
“Seriously.” Lucius grabs the seat Ed was saving for Stede and plunks himself into it. “What is your secret? You must tell me. Do you have anti-aging potion in that teacup? Or is it collagen peptides?”
Ed laughs. “Just seven sugars, mate.”
Lucius scoffs, and Ed can tell that he totally thinks Ed’s joking about the sugars. But Ed lets it lie. “So, how was the dinner last night?” he asks instead, fishing just a little. “You said everyone’s looking haggard?”
“Oh, we’re all exhausted,” Lucius drawls. “Pastry week practice, my god, it’s the absolute worst. I never want to rub anything that feels even vaguely like butter between my fingers again—which is an absolute tragedy because, well, I’ve got a hot date on the horizon and—”
“Ugh, Lucius, he doesn’t want to hear about your date with Pete.” Jim’s here now and they grab a chair, pulling it close to the tiny table and straddling it backwards. “Seriously,” they say, poking a thumb in Lucius’s direction, “this one can’t wait to get eliminated so he can get down and dirty with that camera guy without, like, violating twelve contract terms.”
“You’re one to talk,” Lucius retorts saucily, “speaking of camera guys.”
“He’s just my friend,” Jim mumbles. Suddenly, they seem quite eager to change the subject. “So, viejo.” They turn back to Ed. “Where you been all week? We’ve been missing you and Stede in the Discord chat.”
“Stede?” Ed asks, and he hopes his voice didn’t sound as high and tight to Jim and Lucius as it just sounded to him. “Stede hasn’t been in the Discord chat, either?”
Jim makes a face. “Yeah. You two coordinate that or something? Like, a protest against the fact that Archie’s in there now, keeping an eye on us all? You know, she’s really not that bad.”
“She’s not bad at all,” Ed agrees.
“Still, if you guys decided to boycott Discord in protest, you could’ve at least told the rest of us.”
“Truth,” Lucius agrees. “Though the situation did lead to a couple of wild rumors in the chat this week. That the two of you were off somewhere, shacked up together.”
Ed tries not to choke on a sip of tea as Lucius waggles his eyebrows. “What?”
“Yeah, me and Zheng kinda started that one up, just to mess with Archie,” Jim admits. “Pretty sure she saw right through us, though. Especially since she’s got friends on the crew that was out at Stede’s this week filming BTS, and no one saw you there.”
“Oh,” Ed says, still completely flustered. “Well, right. Of course I wasn’t at Stede’s this week.”
“Man, I’m gonna miss that doof,” Jim says with a sigh. “The Zumba King of Norwich. Never in my life thought that was an Insta handle I’d end up following, ya know? Much less that I’d ever look into teaching Zumba myself! But Stede sent me all the info, and he said I was a natural. Turns out my nana’s a big Zumba fan too, who knew? Life sure takes some weird-ass turns sometimes.”
“You can say that again,” says another voice, and then Zheng’s pulling up a chair. “Hey, Edward, good to see you. We missed you at dinner last night. Ugh, I don’t like how small the group’s getting now. Though maybe they won’t eliminate anyone this week, given the circumstances.”
Ed stares at Zheng. “What circumstances?”
“Oh—no one told you last night?” she asks. “Stede—he’s not coming back to Bake Off. He quit.”
Ed’s throat goes instantly dry. “Wh-what?” he manages to stutter.
“Yeah.” Zheng’s face scrunches into a sad expression as she twirls the end of one of her ponytails around her finger. “Evelyn wouldn’t say what happened, exactly—only that he’d reached out and told her he was sorry, but something came up and he wasn’t going to be able to return to the competition. We figured it had to do with one of his kids, or . . . I dunno, has to be some kind of family emergency, right? Because people don’t just drop out of Bake Off in week seven for no reason.”
“We actually hoped you’d have the tea,” Lucius says to Ed. “Since you two camera sluts are such close friends. Especially after you both disappeared from Discord at the same time. We figured he was still talking to you, at least.”
Ed still feels like he can’t swallow. “Talking to me . . . ” he echoes as his brain scrolls through Stede’s texts.
I’m rooting for you.
we need to keep our distance
Please don’t try to change my mind.
Good luck tomorrow, Ed.
This—THIS—was what all of that meant?
“No,” Ed murmurs, and he’s talking to himself as much as he’s talking to the three bakers around the table. “No, he . . . I . . . ”
There’s a sound in the doorway then, and everyone looks up to see Izzy stride into the breakfast room.
“Greetings, all!” he cries, sounding uncharacteristically chipper. “Looks like everyone’s in fine spirits this morning!”
“Nah, that’s just you, bro,” Jim says, deadpan. “Rest of us are fuckin’ tired, depressed, or both.”
“Depressed?” Izzy’s already at the buffet table, loading a plate up with beans and sausages. “What, because our resident ray of sunshine is gone?” He shakes his head. “Good riddance, I say. Maybe now we can stop with all the shenanigans in the tent and actually focus on baking again.”
Ed’s standing before he even realizes he’s moved. “What did you just say?”
Izzy turns from the buffet toward Ed, plate still in hand. “What, that I’m glad Bonnet’s finally out of this competition? It’s true, you won’t catch me shedding a tear over that clown. Though—”
“No,” Ed growls, cutting Izzy off. “The word you just used. Shenanigans.”
Now Izzy looks completely nonplussed. “Well, yes, I suppose I did say—”
“It was you.” Ed’s voice sounds dangerously low now, even to himself. “You sent Badminton the screenshots from our group chat.”
“He what?” Now Jim’s on their feet, too. “Iz, is that true?”
Izzy’s face is contorting, eye and lip and brow positions swapping out like a Mr. Potato Head cycling through all the pieces in the kit. Finally, his expression lands on defiance. “And so what if I did?”
Lucius lets out a high-pitched noise of shock just as Zheng sucks in a breath. “Izzy!” she cries. “How could you?”
“And more importantly,” Jim says, their voice now humming with fury, “why?”
“Why?” Izzy has the audacity to laugh, and Ed can practically feel his own blood heating up. “Because I got sick and tired of everyone on this show thinking with their dicks! Or their twats, or whatever. Lucius always flirting with that camera guy, Pete. The two of you”—here he points to Jim and Zheng—“in your little crush square with Oluwande and Archie. And”—he turns now to Ed—“ugh, you and Stede—you were the worst out of everyone from day one! Making goo-goo eyes at each other over your bakes, fucking helping each other all the time. It was like I was the only one left around here who remembered that this is supposed to be a competition!” He snorts. “And then, like you weren’t all already far enough up each other’s arses, along came that stupid fuckery plan.”
“You said you were in on the fuckery,” Ed says darkly.
“Yeah, well, I was at first,” Izzy snaps. “But then I got strategic. Which you used to be, in our first few weeks here. But that was before you started to let your feelings distract you. Before you all started getting wrapped around each other’s little fingers like sheets of strudel pastry.”
Ed’s shaking. “So, what—Badminton showed up, and you decided to throw Stede under the bus? Even though the fuckery was my idea?”
Infuriatingly, Izzy just shrugs. “I figured that if that useless ponce got kicked out, it’d be like a warning shot for the rest of you. A reminder to get your heads back in the game, to stop mooning around over all your little showmances. And we all know Bonnet had no shot at winning this thing anyway. You, on the other hand—” He thrusts his chin at Ed. “You might actually have a shot if you can just figure out how to focus again. So you’re welcome for the second chance.”
Ed takes a lurching step forward, and Izzy flinches back, fumbling his plate of food. “What?” he spits. “You gonna punch me now or something?”
“No,” Ed says, and it’s true. That’s a line he wouldn’t cross, not after the kind of teenage years he lived through himself. But still, he has to acknowledge that, for a split second, he felt an instinct to.
He backs up and takes a deep breath. Reminds himself that Izzy is just a kid.
“Stede beat you last week, Izzy,” Zheng points out.
“On a fucking technicality!” Izzy spits at her. “If he hadn’t had those extra fifteen minutes, he never would’ve gotten that handshake, and he never would have won Star Baker.”
Ed shakes his head. “You have no clue,” he says to Izzy. “No clue yet what’s important in life. That there are things more—”
“More important than winning?” Izzy interrupts with another laugh. “Please, old man, save your life lessons. I’m not looking for a mentor. I just want some worthy opponents in this competition. Bakers who, no matter which way the last few episodes shake out, I can say I was honored to compete against.”
“You’re one to talk about honor,” Lucius mutters, but his words seem to sail right over the pissy teenager’s head. And Ed can’t help think that Stede would be better at this than all the rest of them. Would know just the right words to get Izzy to reconsider his terribly flawed position—to imagine himself as a member of their pack of bakers, instead of as a lone wolf.
“Not cool, Iz,” Jim mutters. They’re still staring daggers at the kid, and Zheng is shaking her head. The atmosphere in the room—which will surely carry over into the tent today—is completely fucked.
Still, Ed tries one more time. “You have a real chance here,” he says to Izzy, “to connect with people. To make friends for life. Do you know what I would have given, at age sixteen, to have a chance like that?”
“I’m seventeen now,” Izzy snarks. “Just had my birthday last week. Got my driving license and everything.”
Of course he’s choosing to correct Ed on a technicality instead of actually engaging with what he’s just said. Ed sighs; he tells himself to let it go. But that’s hard to do, considering the fallout Izzy’s betrayal has caused. Maybe Badminton, acting on Izzy’s info, didn’t straight-up kick Stede off the show like Izzy wanted. But he apparently got under Stede’s skin enough that Stede’s now gone ahead and done the job for him.
Which breaks Ed’s fucking heart.
He eats his breakfast in a daze, hardly tasting anything. He lets Archie and Evelyn herd him onto the minibus with the others. He’s halfway to Welford Park when he remembers that he left his phone in his room, turned off. He’d been thinking he wouldn’t need it today, so why even bring it to the shoot? Now he desperately wishes he had it so he could text Stede.
how could you QUIT, you lunatic?
did you really think THIS was the best move for everyone??
On second thought, maybe it’s good Ed doesn’t have his phone. Maybe his feelings are a little too raw to be texting.
All he can do now, he figures, is channel those feelings into today’s bakes. Izzy wants a proper opponent? Ed’ll give him a proper opponent.
Pastry week is on.