Ryan’s POV
On the other side of the kitchen, Ashley moved like she belonged there.
No panic, no wasted motion, no frantic pretending for the cameras. She was sweating, everyone was, but her hands stayed steady, her shoulders relaxed, her eyes locked on the pan like nothing else in the room mattered.
Tevin noticed her first.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes bright with the kind of interest he usually saved for drama.
“Okay,” he said loudly, pointing with the end of his pen. “Whoever that is, she’s cooking like she’s not afraid of anything.”
Maxwell followed Tevin’s line of sight, quiet as ever. Then he gave a low hum.
“She’s not performing,” Maxwell said. “She’s just… doing it.”
Tevin glanced sideways at him, amused. “Look at you. Suddenly you’re a food critic.”
Maxwell
