Ryan’s POV
The host hovered close to the tasting counter, microphone in hand, his voice dropping like he was about to confess something scandalous.
“You can feel the tension, can’t you?” he whispered dramatically. “You can taste the tension!”
The audience chuckled, but nobody clapped.
They were too invested now, too hungry for a mistake.
From where Ryan sat with Eve and the Rodrigos, he could see the contestants lined up behind their plates like they were waiting for a verdict in court. Not one of them looked like they could breathe properly.
Tevin rolled his shoulders like he was about to walk onto a red carpet instead of tasting risotto he didn’t understand.
Maxwell stayed quiet, eyes roaming the table the same way he studied a boardroom, calm, observant, impossible to impress.
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