Chapter Text
Keeley Jones always had a bit of a love/hate relationship with the month of May. On the one hand, May was great. It meant the nights getting lighter, the days getting longer and the thaw of the eternal British winter begin its gentle bloom into summer. It meant the Met Gala and nights on Rebecca’s patio with a glass of wine and finally booking her and Roy’s holiday for September.
It also meant, however, that she finally had to sort through the piles of applications that had accumulated in her inbox over the past few months for Bake Off.
Keeley loved her job really. Being a producer for one of the biggest broadcasting channels in the country was a dream come true, and something she’d always aspired to. But she was sure that it was no one’s idea of fun to sift through piles of applications for a few weeks, even for television’s most wholesome show, and even if they had already been narrowed down considerably by her team.
So, when she enters her office on a slightly cloudy Monday morning, she pats Trixibelle on the head for luck before setting down a supersized version of her usual iced latte, booting up her iMac and beginning to sort through the pile of documents that had been left out for her to look over first thing.
It’s the usual stuff: sign-off forms for projects that are about to go to production, a letter from HR about the EDI training day that will be taking place soon, missives from other departments about this and that.
But then - sticking out amongst the plain sheets of white paper covered in Times New Roman - pokes a little blue envelope.
There’s a yellow sticky note on top in her assistant Shandy’s familiar scrawl, advising just how much she’ll want to read this particular application.
Keeley furrows her brow, reopening the lid of the envelope from where it’s been tucked in to keep whatever’s inside safe after Shandy looked it over.
Inside isn’t an official application, it’s a letter. It reads:
Dear
Miss
,
Mr
, Person in charge of Bake Off,
I’m applying for a place in the tent on behalf of my dad, his name’s Ted.
If I could give him a score out of 10, I’d probably give him a 9.5. He’s not quite a 10, because even though he’s a great baker, sometimes his mirror glaze doesn’t come out quite right (and sometimes he makes me go to bed before I’m done reading a whole chapter of Percy Jackson, which doesn’t seem fair to me).
But I think if you guys let him onto your show, he’d totally kill it! He’s been baking since before I was born, which was a long time ago, and Bake Off is our favourite show to watch together. We watched it even before we moved, but now we live in the UK it feels extra special.
Oh, we’re from Kansas, by the way - howdy!
Back to dad. Everyone says he’s such a pro at baking - Mrs Shipley who lives upstairs even though she doesn’t like us that much, the guys my dad coaches for his job, my babysitter Shannon, even Uncle Beardo loves his stuff, and he never says much at all. So I really think he could definitely, probably win it.
Also, I think he’s a bit sad right now. He’s been real strong since we moved here after my mom left, but I think I heard him crying again the other night. I know baking makes him real happy, and it’s super fun when we bake together (maybe when I’m a grown up and talented enough I can get on Bake Off, too!).
Anyway, I think being in the tent would be really fun for him. Maybe he’d meet some new friends there and be a little less lonely. I’d really like him to be less lonely, cos he really is the best ever and I love him. Plus, if he gets to the final I might be able to come to the tent too! I’d love to meet Rebecca Welton and Leslie Higgins - they’re so cool.
Thanks for reading my dad’s application. I hope you pick him.
Best wishes and warmest regards,
Henry Lasso
Aged 9.
The letter is scrawled across a few pages, complete with ink blots and written in the gloriously loopy handwriting of a nine-year old trying to do his best cursive. Keeley doesn’t know whether to squeal or cry after reading something so precious yet so sincere; maybe she’ll do both.
All she knows for certain, is that she’s going to give Henry Lasso’s dad Ted a chance. She won’t be letting that adorable little boy down, that’s for sure.
“You did what?” Ted exclaims, trying to multitask flipping pancakes amidst the total shock that’s overcome him ever since Henry declared 30 seconds ago that he’d signed him up for one of - if not the - most popular baking shows in the country.
“Uncle Beard said it was okay!” Henry exclaims around a mouthful of pancake covered in banana and Nutella. He looks adorable, and admonished, wearing pyjamas with giraffes on them, kicking his feet against the legs of his chair and paying no mind to the impressive bed-head he’s still sporting.
“He did, did he?” Ted then turns to said Uncle Beard, who was flipping through the sports section of the morning paper without a care in the world, raising his eyebrows at him.
“Kid needed help writing the letter,” Beard shrugs at Ted. “What did you want, for him to have bad grammar or something?”
Ted chuckles then, manoeuvring a pancake off the pan and placing it onto the ever-growing pile he’s making for Beard that sits next to his own stack.
“No, we wouldn’t want that, Coach.”
“They want you to audition, dad!” Henry pipes up again, without the addition of a pancake to muffle his voice but still with a plentiful amount of Nutella around his mouth. He’s clutching the letter contained in the envelope that appeared with the morning post and the newspaper Beard’s been leafing through, addressed to ‘Messrs Henry and Ted Lasso’, from the team at Channel 4.
They want him? Ted feels more than taken aback, and incredibly flattered, and it all feels very unearned. He knows he’s a good baker, he’s been practising long enough and gets enough compliments from people, enough demands from folks who don’t even know him that well for more of his bakes.
It’s one of his first memories, in fact. In the yellow kitchen of his childhood home in Kansas, the smell of beer and cigarettes and old spice surrounding him as his dad would stand behind him, explaining the perfect way to knead the dough to get a perfect rise on your loaf of bread. Even now, whether he’s making fairy cakes for Henry’s school fête, mini quiches for Mrs Shipley’s book club (to keep her sweet, so the noise complaints never become official) or hot cross buns at Easter, he still feels close to his dad in some ways. Can still catch a waft of his scent on the breeze, or feel the ghost of his strong, calloused hands over his.
But they only want him to audition because of Henry’s (admittedly adorable) letter. Not because of any real talent they think he possesses.
“Henry,” he begins, pulling away from the stove and bringing the two remaining plates of pancakes to the table before sitting down. “It’s real sweet that they want me to audition, but I don’t think it’s for me, big guy. Can you really imagine your old man baking with some of the best in the country?” He looks between Beard and Henry, who just stare blankly back at him.
“Of course we can, dad!” Henry exclaims, kneeling up on his chair in his fervour. “Please will you go to the audition, please?” He’s pulling out the puppy dog eyes, the ones Ted is always powerless to resist. “You’re always telling me to believe in myself, now you gotta do the same for your self.”
Henry looks at him so earnestly in that moment, big brown eyes just like his own, so wide and guileless and so trusting in his own father’s abilities. Ted ruffles a hand through his hair, chucking him gently against his cheek in a way that makes Henry roll his eyes and squirm away playfully.
“Low blow, using my own words on me, little Lasso,” he jokingly narrows his eyes at the little boy.
Henry just goes back to cutting up his final pancake. “You’re gonna do it though, right?”
Ted turns to Beard, halfway through his own stack of pancakes, drizzled in maple syrup and adorned with bacon, who shrugs back at him.
“What have you got to lose, Coach?”
What did he have to lose? Well, the hope his son had for him getting in, for one, let alone getting so far as to win. Then there was the embarrassment of letting his nerves get the better of him that he messed up even his first audition bake. Or getting in and then flubbing spectacularly every time he spoke to the camera. There was the fear of accidentally spilling something on the judges, or standing on Sandi or Noel’s toes. He could trip whilst carrying his showstopper up to the judges, and have it break spectacularly apart on the floor. His cakes could sink and his biscuits could burn and a million other ‘what ifs’ could happen.
But - something about it was calling to him. The opportunity to really throw himself into something he was passionate about; he was forever baking in the tiny kitchen of his equally tiny flat here in Richmond, after all. There was the chance to meet new friends from all walks of life who loved baking as much as he did. There was the chance to make himself proud, and Henry, too.
“Alright, alright,” Ted finally acquiesces, feeling the dam inside him break and giving in to the hopeful stares of his son and best friend. “I’ll audition, but there’s no promise I’ll get in, alright?” He waves his knife between the two of them, but they barely notice the vague threat over the sound of Henry’s cheers, or the thump of Beard’s hand on his back.
Turns out, a lot of Ted’s worries were - as he could have told himself - for nothing. His first audition takes place in a big corporate building at the Channel 4 headquarters in central London, that has the kind of restaurant quality, industrial kitchens he could have only ever dreamed of cooking in. His genoise sponge is a riotous success, coming out light and springy and perfect, that he completes with a (mercifully, successful) chocolate mirror glaze.
Whilst he waits with the other hopefuls for the next phase of the audition, he quickly checks his phone. There’s a message from Beard containing a picture of Henry, open mouthed and grinning at the camera with the phrase ‘Go Dad!’ written in a pile of flour on the kitchen table whilst he gives a cheesy thumbs up.
Ted smiles, hearting the message before locking his phone and taking stock of some of the other contestants. Reflecting on the afternoon’s events, Ted thinks he did okay. Even if he doesn’t get through to the next round, he’s proud of what he did, knows he can tell Henry he gave it his best shot.
It’s not too long after he’s been passing the time whilst they mill about in the crowded waiting room, talking with an older woman named Mae - hearing about her pub owning stories and trying to make comparisons to some of the bars he used to frequent in Kansas - that the team of producers come out and announce who will be joining them for the next round of auditions.
Imagine Ted’s delight when he finds out they’ve asked him to come back for an on camera interview.
The next two weeks are a blur. When he’s not at the school training groups of teenagers with varying degrees of enthusiasm on how to play football - the American one, not soccer, thank you very much - Ted somehow finds himself at the Channel 4 headquarters.
His on camera interview went well. He can thank his minor experience with coaching college football for that, and the fact that the producers seemed delighted every time he supplied them with a folksy aphorism. “Well, let me tell y’all, I was happier than a clam when my genoise decided it was gonna be bouncier than me in a bouncy house at my little boy’s second birthday party.”
He’s been to two more auditions since, each challenge set becoming steadily more and more tricky as time has gone on. He’s holding his own though, enjoying the way his mind empties when the producers shout “Bake!” Then, it’s nothing but him, his ingredients and the recipe in front of him. His natural loquaciousness means that he’s also able to keep up a steady stream of chatter to the producers whenever they come past, pretending to be the presenters or the judges that will be accompanied by a camera crew if he ever makes it through to the actual tent.
He’s starting to feel quietly confident, more sure of his own abilities as the number of hopefuls get smaller and he’s somehow - by whatever miracle - still there. He’s sad to see when anyone leaves, though, knowing just how gutted he would feel if he were in their place.
His hope for new friends is already working out, though. He’s already swapped phone numbers with a lovely fella named Liam whose incredible laugh had drawn Ted over to him immediately. Unfortunately, his macarons left something to be desired, and he’d not made it through to the final round of auditions.
Before he knows it, Ted’s headed out of the giant, central London skyscraper for the last time with the promise of a call from the producers about the fate of his weekends for the next 10 weeks by no later than the end of tomorrow.
When he opens the front door to his flat that evening, Chinese takeout in hand, Henry is already bounding down the hallway to greet him.
“How did you do, dad? Are you going to the tent? Did we get in?” The little boy bounces on his toes in front of him once he reaches him, hardly able to contain his excitement.
“Slow down, buddy,” Ted grins down at him, ruffling a hand through his hair. “I did my best, and they said they’d call me tomorrow if I got in. Nothin’ left to do but wait now.”
Henry rolls his eyes, running back down the hallway to the living room where Beard is waiting for them, queuing up a movie on Netflix. Ted follows him, the bag of food gently bouncing against his thigh.
“Daaaad, you always say you did your best.”
“And I’ll say it again, big guy.”
But as Ted follows him down the hall, it’s hard not to let Henry’s excitement take him over a little bit, too. He truly and honestly didn’t think he’d make it this far; he didn’t think he’d make it through the first round of auditions when all they had to do was bake a simple cake. But now, the possibility that he could be spending the next 10 weeks of his life baking on one of the most popular shows on television isn’t a far off dream, but something that might be reality - a strange reality, but reality nonetheless.
And it feels pretty incredible.
Even with some of Henry’s excitement and hope coursing through him, when he answers his phone midway through practice the next day to the chirpy, executive producer called Keeley offering him a spot in the tent, he freezes for a solid 30 seconds, not believing what he’s hearing at all.
“Hello, Ted? Are you there?”
“Y-yeah, Keeley, I’m here,” he replies, his brain still whirring with the news. “I just - wow - are you sure?”
The young woman giggles through the phone.
“Of course we’re sure, Ted! You were easily one of the best bakers in all the auditions, you got on well with the others and you were great in front of the cameras. Plus, we think you’ll add a certain American charm to the whole thing. In short - you’re perfect.”
Ted grins, running a hand through his hair for lack of anything better to do, still trying to process everything she’s saying. He walks a little further away from the rabble of teenagers still trying to perfect the art of tackling.
“Heck yeah! I’d love to join y’all for this adventure. Get ready for 10 weeks of American baking and bad puns.”
Keeley’s laugh is like sunshine through the phone.
“Oh God, Ted, the public’s going to adore you.”
“Well, I’m not too sure how they’ll take to having an American on their show but thank you kindly, ma’am. Can I ask a quick question?”
“Of course!”
“Can I tell my little boy? I won’t tell anyone else apart from my inner circle. I know how y’all are about privacy.” He really does, the amount of NDAs he’s had to sign over the past few weeks have been insane, and that’s just for the auditions.
“Oh of course you can, Ted. He’s the one that got you to the first audition, after all.”
“You remember his application, huh?”
“As if I could forget!” Keeley exclaims through the phone. “It’s easily the cutest and most heartfelt audition we’ve ever received. I’ll remember it for a long time. You have a good kid, Ted.”
“That I do, Keeley, that I do. He’s my tiny knight in shining armour. Thanks for everything, it’s the greatest news a guy could get on a Thursday morning - heck, on any day of the week.”
“Any time, Ted. You’ll get info about what’s to come next over the next few days through my team, okay?”
“Sure thing.”
“Oh, and Ted?” Keeley says just before he goes to hang up.
“Yeah?”
“Good luck.”
Between telling his son (and oh boy, is Ted glad he told Beard first and convinced him to secretly film Henry’s reaction), the constant communication of the production team that involved a heinous amount of paperwork, alongside brainstorming and preparing his bakes before the first week, Ted was breathing out a sigh of relief as his train chugged from Paddington all the way to Newbury.
He keeps an eye out for anyone else who looks like they might be on their way to film a baking competition in the middle of the English countryside, but with the eclectic mix of the contestants on the show during any given series, he can’t discern anyone who could or couldn’t be heading to the same place he is.
Luckily, it’s a quick journey that zips by with the combined efforts of Ted’s nerves, checking over his recipes for the millionth time, and texting Beard and Henry about how the journey’s going. Before he knows it, he’s pulling into the station, and is greeted by a car that takes him to his hotel, a nice, country-style manor type place that’s old fashioned and very British and of the like that he’s seen a million times on TV before but never been to in person.
He has no instructions beyond a meeting time for dinner downstairs in the hotel restaurant so the bakers can all get acquainted on their first night, so he decides to freshen up a little with a shower and quickly pulls a fresh burnt orange sweater on before heading down for the evening.
He sees the group before anyone spots him. A gaggle of people that he vaguely recognises from the auditions stand around the bar, drinking and laughing and already getting on quite well from the looks of things. Ted smiles as he spots the older lady - Mae - that he’d spoken to more than once during the audition process and heads towards her.
“Howdy Mae! Boy am I glad to see you again.”
“Ted!” The older woman’s face morphs into one of delight as she spots him approaching, greeting him with a warm hug. The two people she’s speaking to turn to smile at him as he joins them. “Fellas, this is Ted. He’s from Kansas and can make a mean mille-feuille, if my memory from the auditions is anything to go by. Ted, this is Trent and Sam.”
“An American, how unique.” The man Mae introduced as Trent drawls, looking at Ted appraisingly. “Pleasure to meet you, Ted.”
“Nice to meet ya, Trent,” Ted grins as he shakes the other man’s hand. “I gotta tell ya, that’s a fine head of hair you’ve got for yourself. Fancy sharing your hair care routine at some point?”
“Careful Ted, we’ve only just met,” Trent winks back at him.
Mae and the younger man, Sam, laugh at the two of them.
“I think there might be a rule about no flirting before dinner,” Sam supplies, before reaching over to shake Ted’s hand himself. He’s young, Ted and Trent must have about 20 years on him, and there’s a slight nervousness behind his easy going façade.
“How’s it going, Sam? How ya feeling about it all?” Ted lets his coaching instincts kick in for a second, wanting to put him at ease.
“Ah, it’s great. I can’t lie and say that I’m not nervous. I’m here for myself, of course, and for my love of baking, but my dad taught me so much of what I know, so I really want to do him proud,” Sam smiles shyly at the group, pulling the sleeves over his hoodie down over his hands in mild embarrassment.
Mae and Trent make approving sounds, but Ted is struck dumb for a minute at the similarity between himself and the young man in front of him. For a brief moment, the ghost of his own father envelopes him, the smell of cigarettes and baking bread surround him, and his hands tremble ever so slightly.
Shaking out his nervous twitch, Ted refocuses on the group in front of him, letting the moment pass.
“Well how about that? I’m doin’ a lot of this for my little boy, so we got a little bit in common there.” Ted lets a slow grin overtake his face as his heartbeat returns to a normal pace at the thought of Henry, who’s at home, probably dressed in another pair of his animal themed pyjamas, watching cartoons and eating spaghetti with Beard.
“Ah yes, I heard about your son’s application letter,” Trent cuts in, his piercing gaze back on Ted.
“Really? How’d you know that?” Ted raises his eyebrows in surprise. Not judging, just intrigued as to how Trent acquired that information.
“News travels fast,” the other man supplies back, a slight look of mischief about his expression.
Mae rolls her eyes. “That just means he’s a gossip,” she snorts. “Come on, Ted, there’s plenty of other people that will want to meet you before dinner, you were one of the last to arrive,” she adds as she drags him into the throng of people and closer to the bar, for which Ted is glad.
Dinner is a blast. He gets to meet everyone properly, if only briefly, and dine on some seriously delicious Italian food whilst he gets to know them all. Ted spends most of his evening chatting with the people at his end of the table. He’s sat next to Nate, a shy and retiring thirty-something who talks down about himself every other sentence, but whose clear passion for baking shines through everything, and spends a lot of the evening talking to him.
Trent is sat opposite him, and as well as confirming Mae’s assertion that he’s a gossip, Ted learns that he has a husband and 3 year old daughter waiting for him back at home. “She’s my biggest fan,” the other man’s face goes soft at the mention of his baby, and Ted feels his own heart clench at the thought of his own not-so-little one.
Mae is sat on his right, and next to her is a woman named Sharon Fieldstone, who comes off a little cold at first but Ted assumes it’s a mixture of nerves and maybe her general disposition: being a clinical psychologist sounds like no joke. Next to Sharon is Barbara, a deadpan woman in a Juicy Couture tracksuit who bends Sharon’s ear for a lot of the evening, the two eagerly engaging in conversation about something that - to Ted - sounds incredibly boring and psychological, but who is he to judge?
Sam sits at the other end of the table, seemingly having made fast friends with another guy around his age, Jamie. Trent supplies that he’s a hairdresser and looks about as vain as he seems, but the way he’s got Sam doubled over in laughter at whatever jokes he’s making has Ted’s heart softening in fondness. He thinks they’ll make good teammates.
Towards the middle of the table sit Bex, an influencer in her twenties who seemed nice enough - if a little spacey, and a woman who introduced herself as Florence and then immediately asserted that everyone call her Sassy as “that’s what my friends do.” She seemed bold and sarcastic and fun, but the way her gaze lingered on Ted for a beat too long made him feel a little hot under the collar - and not in the good way - before they took their seats for dinner.
The last of the bakers are Isaac and Paul. Ted had briefly spoken to both of them, learning that Isaac was an architect and that Paul mostly baked for his friends, Baz and Jeremy, and for his colleagues in the care home he works at. They’re currently deep in discussion about the latest Tottenham match, is what Ted can gather over the general din of the table.
Once people find out he coaches American football - information garnered after Isaac leaned over for his opinion about the latest Tottenham v Arsenal match, where Ted had to admit that he only knew the American kind of football - the nickname of ‘Coach’ quickly sticks amongst the group. Ted feels an easy warmth spread through him at it. He doesn’t know these people, not really, not yet, but he sees the way everyone is willing to chat to each other, the conversation that doesn’t ease up throughout dinner, and the fact that everyone eventually comes back to baking no matter which direction their conversation meanders.
It feels natural for him to clink his fork against his glass, as he checks the time and feels the evening winding down, rising to his feet and clearing his throat.
“Hey y’all, mind if I say a quick somethin? I won’t be more than a couple o’minutes, Scout’s honour.” He crosses his heart and holds up three fingers, pulling a chuckle from everyone at the table (Sharon and Barbara’s semi amused smirks notwithstanding).
“Speech from Coach!” Sam cheers from the other end of the table, and Ted flashes him a grin in appreciation.
“Now I know we don’t know each other too well just yet, but I’ve gotta say y’all seem like the finest group of people to be on this crazy ride with. Whatever happens tomorrow, I just wanna wish you all the best of luck.” He raises his glass, and everyone mimics him. “To new friends, to new beginnings, and to those who helped us get to where we are today,” Ted finishes, and Henry and his father both flash briefly in his mind before he knocks back the last of his wine.
And the group around the table - even Sharon and Barbara - cheer.
Ted is surprised when he sleeps hard and deep that first night. He’s not sure if it’s the universe cutting his old, anxious brain a bit of slack, the good food and wine he had last night, or the sheer exhaustion of the past few weeks catching up with him, but he’s grateful for it.
He resolves to himself as he gets ready that morning - combing his moustache, throwing product into his hair and slipping into his favourite blue sweater as he runs over his bakes in his head again - that he’s just gonna have fun. He’s made it this far, Henry’s already so excited for him, and he knows he’ll never get another opportunity like this swing by ever again. He’s gonna put his all in, sure, but if he goes home today, that’s a-okay with him.
When he hops onto the bus that’s waiting to pick the bakers up and take them to Welford Park - the site of the iconic tent - he plunks himself down next to Nate, who looks like he barely slept and is white as a sheet.
“You okay, Nate?” he questions the younger man, nodding and smiling at Trent as he meanders onto the bus and takes a seat near the back, hair tied back into a ponytail for filming.
“Yeah great, totally mellow and chill,” Nate’s voice shakes as the blatant lie leaves his lips. Turning to Ted, his huge brown eyes are full of fear and Ted is so starkly reminded of Henry on his first day of school.
“Ted, what if I’m shit?” Nate whispers.
Ted smiles as kindly as he can at the younger man.
“Nate, I sat next to you for 3 hours last night and barely heard you quit talkin’ about baking for even a minute. I’m not sure there’s a person on this coach who’s as passionate as you about what we’re doing here. I know I haven’t seen you bake yet, so it’s easy for me to say, but you gotta have a little belief in yourself, man. It can go a long way, trust me.”
For his part, Nate does seem to absorb his words. He’s quiet for the rest of the journey, happy to listen to Ted’s (nervous, not that anyone here would know) babbling about the time he had to chase a naked two year old Henry around his cul-de-sac when it definitely should have been bath time until they pull up onto the grounds of Welford Park.
They’re here. It’s happening.
Being inside the tent is, frankly, bizarre. He’s watched hundreds of bakers make their way through the exact place he’s standing in, seen the triumphs of Star Bakers and the devastations of failed Technicals, witnessed unforgettable creations be made week in, week out.
And now he’s here. He’s behind a bench and he’s going to spend the next 2 days baking biscuits that are hopefully good enough to send him through to the next round. He takes a breath. In and out, nice and easy.
“Okay bakers,” Sandi claps her hands together. “Before the cameras get rolling and we set you off on your first bake, we want you to meet two of the most important people here.”
“They’ll be the ones sealing your fate for the next several weeks, so make sure you treat them nicely,” Noel winks and Sandi playfully elbows him in his ribs.
“Okay Noel, bloody hell, don’t scare them out before we’ve already begun,” she ribs at him, and Noel giggles in response.
“Please give a warm welcome to Rebecca Welton and Leslie Higgins!” Sandi continues, starting the round of applause that they all take up as the judges make their way into the room.
Ted has seen them both a million times on his television before. Leslie Higgins, a slightly older man in his mid-sixties, had a kind face and a round body and a seemingly constant cheery disposition. Fairly dressed down in a shirt and jeans, he gives off the comforting energy that he was known for in his cooking and baking shows, as well as in the tent.
In stark contrast to Leslie’s warmth and friendliness, Rebecca Welton has been made infamous for her ‘Ice Queen’ persona for the years she’s been judging Bake Off, a sentiment that’s often been parroted by the media. Ted had always thought that it was a little harsh, he’d never seen her be anything other than firm, perhaps a little curt at times, but fair. There had been instances of a sharp and witty tongue when commenting on bakes that had certainly made him chuckle, but worthy of the title of ‘Ice Queen’? Absolutely not. The press, however, are never fair to women, especially when you’re the ex-wife of the head of the television channel that hosts the baking show you work for.
Rupert Mannion and Rebecca Welton’s divorce had only been made public in the past year, but sources had slated that Rebecca had been unhappy for long before then. Ted personally tried to ignore gossip as much as he could, but when Mr Mannion’s affairs had been splashed about in the newspapers that adorned every supermarket and newsagents in the UK for the past year - a new, tawdry bit of gossip seemingly revealing itself every week - it was hard to miss the basic details.
Here and now, though, Rebecca looked nothing like the embittered ex-wife of a TV mogul that the papers had tainted her as. She looked regal in a form fitting blue dress, her hair curled to perfection, her makeup precise and sharp on her beautiful face. She looked exactly like the inimitable and infamous patisserie chef Ted knew her to be from watching the show for so long, and from treating himself to a box of macarons or another delight from one of her many stores around London when a day had been tough on him.
“Welcome, bakers!” Higgins announces as the applause stops, giving the group a cheery, two-handed wave. “We’re so excited to have you here, and to see what you have in store for us this year. We won’t stay too long as we’ll need to get started soon, but Rebecca and I just wanted to wish you both the best of luck before we officially begin.” He turns to his counterpart. “Am I missing anything?”
Rebecca had been looking at each of the bakers around the room assessingly, flashing them all a carefully crafted and enigmatic smile. Her gaze briefly lands on Ted as Leslie addresses her, who meets it, feeling something shift pleasantly in his chest when coming face to face with her properly. He smiles at her, but her eyes slide quickly away from him to her fellow judge.
“I think you’ve summed it up perfectly, Leslie.” Rebecca is polite, and smiles kindly at her colleague, but Ted can’t help but notice that there seems to be a little stiffness between the two of them. However, the thought flees as quickly as it arrives.
“All I will say is,” Rebecca addresses them this time. “Even though this is a competition, don’t forget to enjoy every second. And good luck!’ She smiles at them all, clapping her hands together before looping her arm through Leslie’s and guiding them both back the way they came and out of sight.
After a few final checks, touch ups on make up and establishing shots, it’s not long before Rebecca and Leslie are back in the tent. Ted feels a little more comfortable having seen them for longer, a little less starstruck now that Sandi and Noel have had to do a few takes of introducing the first week’s theme - biscuits - to the group. It does still feel a little weird to have two people he’s always looked up to stood in the same room as him, but Ted feels like he has no time to even begin to process any of the stuff that’s happening to him, as before he knows it, Noel is crowing “Bake!” in a silly voice, and they’re suddenly off.
The tent is a flurry of activity, bakers flicking on their ovens, grabbing their bowls and measuring jugs and beginning to weigh out their ingredients. Ted isn’t far behind, taking a look down at his recipe as he pulls sugar, butter and flour towards him.
He’d decided weeks ago to go with a classic people pleaser for his first signature. As the theme was biscuits, his first instinct had been shortbread. He’d mulled it over with Beard a few times, wondering if it was too simplistic, but as always his friend had been calm and reassuring, reminding him that Ted’s shortbread wasn’t just any shortbread, so he’d gone for it.
He’s shelling a vanilla pod when Rebecca and Higgins approach his bench.
“Ted,” Leslie greets him like they’re old friends and not as if they’ve met for the first time this very moment. The producers must have briefed the judges on who everyone was a few days ago.
“Howdy, y’all!” Ted flashes them both a smile, catching their gazes briefly before looking back down at his work, making sure he doesn’t accidentally chop his fingers off whilst there are 2 separate cameras and two minor heroes of his standing right in his face.
“How are you feeling?” Leslie asks.
“You know what, Leslie? I feel fresher than a daisy on a summer’s day in Kansas,” he smiles at the older man. He means it, too. His nerves are there, bubbling under the surface, but they’re keeping him productive rather than overwhelming him.
“You certainly seem it,” Leslie chuckles. “And please, call me Higgins, everyone else does.”
Beside him, Rebecca just watches Ted’s work, her hands clasped behind her back. “Tell us a little bit about what you’re making?” she asks.
Ted explains his recipe to both of them as he moves on from shelling his pods to grating a lemon. It’s simple but effective: all the biscuits will be made with his personal special touch - proper vanilla pods - but the mixture will be divided in two, one half to be baked with the zest of a lemon, and the other half with homemade chocolate chips. Guess which ones Henry is the biggest fan of.
“Shortbread is a little simple, is it not?” Rebecca questions, raising her eyebrows at him, her arms still crossed under her chest. Face to face with her unwavering gaze, Ted can see properly for the first time why people are so intimidated by her.
“Maybe,” Ted shrugs, not agreeing, not disagreeing either. “But you gotta go with your gut and your heart sometimes when it comes to baking, know what I mean? Besides, you haven’t tried ‘em yet.”
Rebecca raises her brows again, this time in deference, and purses her lips.
“I suppose I haven’t,” she agrees.
“Good luck, Ted,” Higgins wishes as the two of them and their cameras head behind him to Paul’s bench.
He’s heard previous contestants say it a million times, but time absolutely whizzes by in the tent. Luckily for Ted, he’s an old pro at this recipe, and he’s plating his two types of shortbread as artistically as he dares with a good few minutes to spare. There’s a pause for a few moments for shots of the bakes, and he makes some questioning faces at the other bakers. Jamie and Sam give him thumbs up from their respective benches, Mae catches his eye with a wink, and even Nate gives him a genuine, happy grin before the judges are walking back into the room.
And heading straight for him.
Oh crap, he’s first.
Ted tries to keep his face pleasantly neutral, a placid smile on his face as Rebecca and Higgins approach the bench, but he can feel the anxiety swirling in his gut, his heart beginning to pound in his chest. He clenches and unclenches his hands as surreptitiously as possible.
“Well, nothing like being thrown in at the deep end, eh Ted?” Leslie smiles kindly at him. “The first American contestant we’ve ever had and the first to be judged for this year’s competition!” He claps his hands together excitedly.
“You got that right, Higgie-Smalls,” Ted gently ribs him, pleased when Higgins laughs lightly, a delighted grin showing up on his face at the nickname. Rebecca watches on from her place next to her fellow judge, eyes bouncing between the two of them amusedly, and perhaps a little wistfully.
She breaks the moment, pointing down to each batch of shortbread.
“These are the lemon ones, yes?” She clarifies.
“Yes ma’am, and the other cookies - sorry, biscuits - still getting used to y’all’s language over here, those are chocolate chip.” Ted confirms.
Rebecca picks up a lemon one as Higgins chooses a chocolate chip one, breaking it in half.
“Good snap,” she compliments, before taking a bite.
There’s a beat of silence, Ted’s heart leaping to his throat, waiting for her to deliver her verdict when -
“Fuck me!”
His eyebrows leap up to his hairline just as Rebecca’s hand comes to cover her mouth, and the whole tent bursts into laughter. Ted just lets out a pleased little hum, unable to fight the goofy grin that covers his face.
Rebecca Welton, one of the most renowned pastry chefs in the world, just said that about his biscuits. How about that.
“I’m glad you like ‘em,” Ted chuckles, trying to hide just how glad he is. Rebecca still looks vaguely horrified at her outburst, but recovers good naturedly enough.
“God, I’m so sorry Ted. They’re just … they’re very good.” She looks at him almost shyly now, from underneath her lashes a little, one hand still hovering awkwardly near her mouth as she finishes chewing and still tries to hide from her own outburst.
“Hey, no problem here. You’re looking at one delighted and problem-less fella right now. Like I said, I’m glad you’re enjoying ‘em”. He really is. He thinks he could get booted off the show right now for all he cares, he’s never seen any judge on the show have a reaction quite like that. And something about the elated look on Rebecca’s face gives him the sudden urge to shove the whole plate into her hands and declare that she takes them all, if they make her that happy.
“Well that’s going on a blooper reel,” a gruff voice calls from across the room that signals another round of chuckles from everyone else, breaking Ted and Rebecca’s gaze from each other and bringing Ted back into the room from wherever his brain had just gone.
It was Roy, the director of the show who - as Ted had learned through the incredibly short time of knowing him - communicated mostly in grunts and the occasional ‘fuck’ - not what he would’ve expected from television’s most wholesome show, but he can appreciate the irony. Roy calls for a reset, and Rebecca and Higgins move back to get another shot of them reapproaching his bench and trying the biscuits, hopefully sans expletive this time.
Luckily, their do-over goes very well. They praise his gentle balance of flavouring that combines seamlessly with the richness and melt-in-the-mouth quality of the shortbread. Higgins does suggest it to be a ‘little simplistic’ for his first signature, but Rebecca wholeheartedly disagrees, telling him that it’s “the best shortbread I’ve ever eaten,” giving Ted a smile that reaches her eyes. Higgins playfully combats her, noting that he doesn’t think “anyone likes Ted’s shortbread like you do,” which makes Rebecca good naturedly roll her eyes and causes a few of the bakers to snicker.
They move on, heading to Jamie at the bench across from Ted, but he stays stuck still in the moment, revelling in it for just a little while. The compliments he received from both of them, the way Rebecca’s eyes had lit up as she’d first bitten into one of the biscuits, and the smile she’d given him as she’d so sincerely complimented them, warming him right through to his chest long after they break for lunch.
The rest of the day passes by in a similar blur to the Signature challenge. Between lunch and the Technical bake, Ted is pulled away for a few talking head interviews, and he enjoys sampling the other bakers creations. Mae’s ginger creams go down a hit, as they had with the judges, as do Trent’s orange and cardamom snaps. Bex, however, hasn’t done so well. Her jam and cream viennese swirls didn’t land right at all - the jam didn’t cook in the time constraints and her cream unfortunately curdled whilst the biscuits were a bit underbaked - it’s just all round bad luck, but Ted still tries one and gamely compliments the flavours used in her jam even if it is a little gooey for some, which makes her smile.
The Technical challenge, as revealed when they all pull away their gingham cloths later that afternoon, will be to make 12 identical garibaldis. Ted struggles to hide the displeasure on his face at having to make biscuits that contain ‘husky little old grapes’, as he explains to Sandi and Noel when they come to see how he’s getting on about halfway through the challenge.
Luckily for him, he’d spent enough time brushing up on all the classic English treats (although he uses the term ‘treats’ incredibly loosely for some of them) since Keeley had called him to invite him into the tent, and so he has a fairly good grasp on what he’s doing. He’s relaxed enough to even joke around a little with Noel, who does a hilariously poor attempt of mimicking his accent when he announces that they only have ten minutes of their challenge remaining.
The hour passes by in a flash, and before long he’s sat back on his stool, watching with baited breath as Rebecca and Higgins re-enter the tent and commence their judging. They begin announcing positions: Sassy comes last, proudly admitting that she “hates the bloody things”, and so doesn’t mind at all. Ted chuckles, he can agree with her on that for sure. Bex doesn’t fare much better than yesterday, managing to scrape tenth place as her “chocolate was far too thick and your biscuit didn’t have the snap we were looking for,” Rebecca informs her fairly.
More and more contestants keep raising their hands as Rebecca and Higgins place them, until it's just between Ted, Sam and Nate. Sam shyly raises his hand with a smile as Higgins declares his biscuits “almost perfect,” earning him a very respectable third place. Ted applauds him along with everyone else, genuinely thrilled for him, but he can’t ignore the feeling of his heart in his throat. The possibility that - no, it will be Nate who wins, it has to be, he’s a far better baker than Ted is - he can’t have done so well in the Signature challenge and the Technical, no way.
“And in second place is this one!” Higgins says, standing behind Nate’s plate. “Nate, it was very close, but your fruit distribution wasn’t quite as varied as we’d hoped. Very, very good job though.” The older man praises Nate after he raises his hand, who’s so shocked to have done so well that he doesn’t appear to have registered what he’s saying, nodding dumbly and accepting the pats on the back and applause of congratulations from other bakers, Ted included, whose brain has emptied of all thought.
Because, because if Nate came second then it means -
- It means he came in first.
Grinning at him, Rebecca stands behind his photo.
“Congratulations, Ted,” she tells him, her voice soft. He’s mostly successful at ignoring the happy little bolt that shoots through him at the way his name sounds coming from her mouth like that, instead directing all of his attention on her feedback.
“It’s a truly superb bake,” she continues. “The fruit is distributed evenly, there’s a brilliant bake on the biscuits, and the chocolate coating is light and covers the biscuit nice and evenly.” Rebecca finishes up.
Higgins hums in agreement. “In short, it’s a pretty near perfect bake, Ted,” he adds. “So, very well done.”
For the second time that day, Ted feels a huge smile spread across his face without him realising it. He finds himself in the centre of a million armed hug from all the other bakers on their benches, some leaning over to pat him on the back as he laughs and tries to hug them back as best he can, but his arms are a bit awkwardly pinned, bless all of these wonderful souls.
He vaguely registers the cameras on him, the delighted crowing of Sandi and Noel and the burst of sunshine he feels in his chest at all the pleasant, heady mix of emotions. When he looks back up from all the joy and laughs and praise, the first set of eyes he meets are the piercing green of Rebecca Welton’s, who nods at him in approval, a small smile on her face. He just smiles at her, nodding back, feeling any ice between them well and truly broken.
Whilst the first day was dedicated to both the Signature and Technical challenges, the Showstopper has a day dedicated all to itself.
Even though he slept badly - still riding on the high of newfound friends, the excitement and giddiness of the day before, the way everyone good-naturedly cheered “fuck me!” when Ted had climbed back onto the coach to take them back to the hotel that evening, and the dinner that had gone on late into the evening the night before - he’s riding on enough adrenaline that when he steps behind his bench he feels good, excited, prepared.
“Good to see you back, bakers.” Sandi welcomes them all in, standing next to Noel, Rebecca and Higgins. “And welcome to your first Showstopper Bake of the series!”
“Now, the judges would like you to make a replica of one of your favourite places, all entirely made out of biscuits,” Noel takes over. “It can be anywhere, anywhen or anywhat you like, but it must be entirely made out of biscuits.”
“You have four hours,” Sandi announces.
They count them down, and on Noel’s classic and ridiculous cry of “bake!”, the tent is a similar flurry of activity as it had been the day before.
Four hours feels like a long time, but Ted had known he’d be running to a tight schedule from his practice sessions at home. There have been complaints from viewers for a while now that contestants weren’t getting sufficient time to complete their bakes, switching the show away from the light hearted nature it was known for and more into a stress-inducing competition. Rupert Mannion, the head of the network, had declined to comment on the issue, or any issue raised against his channel.
But Ted’s always enjoyed a challenge, and he feels like he’s prepared enough over the past few weeks; he’s got this.
The judges mill around as everyone bakes, occasionally stepping up to a table to ask someone about what they’re making when they spot the opportunity to. As he mixes cinnamon and other ground spices into his gingerbread mixture currently whirring away in the Kitchen Aid, Ted can hear Higgins’ chuckle and the gentle cadence of Rebecca’s voice as they chat to Trent.
As he pops his gingerbread in the oven and starts mixing up two more batches of biscuits, he feels what is slowly becoming the familiar presence of the two judges approaching his bench, cameras in tow as ever.
“Hey, y’all! How’s it going?” He flashes a smile at both of them as he continues to measure out ingredients and throw them into respective food mixers.
“Morning, Ted.” They chorus back. “Tell us about your favourite place in biscuit form,” Leslie smiles at him.
“Well, when we first moved over here my little boy wanted to really submerge himself in the UK way of life, so we started goin’ to soccer, sorry, football games,” he corrects himself, and doesn’t miss the way Rebecca blows out a breath of a laugh. “Turns out,” Ted continues, “I’ve got myself a little football aficionado for a kiddo, and any free weekend is pretty much always spent at AFC Richmond’s stadium, so that’s what I’m makin’. Seeing him happy makes me happy, so I had to make it, really.”
His plan is to make the stadium out of gingerbread, as that had been the biscuit he’d found had the best stability when it came to building structures. He’s then got all kinds of icing planned: red and blue for the stadium, and a green that he’s going to pipe in little bursts to cover the pitch. He’s also planning to make sugar cookies in the shape of the players kits that he’ll also decorate with their names and numbers, alongside some mini chocolate chip cookies that will serve as footballs.
“Ambitious,” Rebecca says, and whilst Ted can’t tell if that’s a compliment or a warning, he does chuckle when she turns to Leslie and playfully barters: “You certainly won’t be accusing his bake of being too simplistic today, Higgins.” The other judge chuckles before the two of them meander away, a “good luck, Ted” thrown back at him which he thanks them before he cracks on: he’s got a lot of biscuits to make.
Luck is definitely on Ted’s side this weekend. Although he’s very tight for time, and doesn’t stop for even a second, flitting from piece to moving piece of his bake, his gingerbread stadium comes together nicely. The structure stands tall and secure, the sugar cookie shirts only look slightly wobbly with his slightly above average icing skills, and the mini chocolate chip cookies-slash-footballs sit cheerily in the middle of his bright green pitch. He’s absolutely roasting in his jumper, he’s certain he’s got flour on his face - confirmed when Jamie turns from his bench and playfully wipes it away from Ted’s cheek with a spare cloth - and his hair is flopping in his face, but he’s never been prouder of a piece of baking he’s ever done.
The others all look incredible, too. Sharon has done a recreation of Shakespeare & Co. in Paris, the bookstore where she met her wife, she reveals, intricately iced biscuit books spilling across her shelving structure. Paul has recreated a beach scene in Split, a favourite holiday destination, and has cleverly used biscuit crumbs to form his sandy beach. Bex has also done herself proud, after a wobbly start at the beginning of the weekend: her biscuit recreation of her double bed is bright pink and looks positively delectable.
One by one, the contestants bring their creations up to the bench, and one by one the judges shower praises, Ted and everyone else all applauding each other. Everyone’s truly outdone themselves, creating gorgeous pieces that mean so much to them, and it shows. He’s delighted for each and every one of them, flashing Mae a thumbs up as she walks back to her bench with her woodland forest replica made from variations of chocolate biscuits.
He’s so caught up in how everyone else has done - in his delight of them and their mutual delight of each other - that he almost forgets he’s in a competition and is momentarily startled when Higgins calls him up to the front.
He scrambles a little, not quite sure how he’s going to get an entire stadium over to Rebecca and Higgins even from the short distance of his front bench, when Noel swoops in with a “fancy a hand, Ted?” that he gamely accepts, and the two of them shimmy the structure in tandem over to the waiting judges.
“Well,” Rebecca begins talking after Noel steps away. “Ambitious was what we called it, when we heard you first describe your favourite place, Ted, and that ambition has certainly paid off, at least in looks, don’t you think Leslie?”
Higgins looks delighted at Ted’s biscuit stadium, but he can still notice the critical eye he possesses underneath the expression.
“Honestly, Ted, it’s absolutely gorgeous. You should be more than proud of it. I’m a little sad to have to break it and try the biscuits!” He compliments, and Ted feels a pleasant blush spread across his cheeks as he thanks the older man.
They do break bits off eventually, sampling everything he has to offer, and offering their praise on all of them.
“God, that gingerbread is gorgeous,” Rebecca mumbles around a mouthful. “You have a knack for baking biscuits, Ted.” She tells him, and Ted feels his cheeks turn even more pink.
Higgins more than agrees, and Ted returns to his bench with his stadium, trying to stay present for the remaining few bakers who are to be judged, but finding it hard when he feels like he could float away at any moment at all the praise running through his system.
Before long, they have to break for judging, and for lunch - it’s been a long and tiring morning, after all. As the bakers file out, the camera crew and the rest of the production team rush in, all producing forks and spoons from their back pockets, or diving straight in with their hands and picking off portions of everyone’s biscuit creations to sample themselves. As he files out behind Sassy, Ted turns back once, and spots Rebecca heading straight for his bench, snapping off another piece of gingerbread from his stadium, the sight making him grin and shake his head.
By the time they all file back in once the judges have made their decision about who will be crowned Star Baker for the week, and who will be leaving them, Ted feels his anxiety slowly begin to creep back in, and he shakes his hands out a few times for good measure so the cameras don’t pick up anything.
He’s not stupid, he knows he’s done well this week, and more than well enough to go through to the next round, but he feels sad. Sad that a week is already over, and that there’s going to be one less member of this gorgeous group of people here with them all for the next round.
He hops up onto a stool, and takes the hand of each baker either side of him - Sam and Sharon - out of instinct, but when he looks up and goes to pull back they both tighten their hands in his, and he notices that most of the others are doing the same.
Sandi and Noel file in first, welcoming them back for the last time this weekend, and the cameras begin rolling as Higgins and Rebecca join them not long after.
“Now, bakers, I have the absolutely fabulous job of announcing who has won Star Baker this week,” Sandi grins at them all. “This baker has become infamous over their first week, causing one of our judges to have a rather interesting reaction to their Signature.”
Ted’s mind whites out, and his mouth drops open in shock.
“They’re also known to make a mean garibaldi biscuit, and took home the cup when it came to their football stadium creation for the showstopper challenge. Our Star Baker this week is, of course, Ted!” She finishes, and the whole tent erupts in applause, everyone leaping up and crowding around him for a hug.
He can’t believe it. Star Baker? On his first week? He thought he’d been doing alright, doing well, but not enough to deserve this. He clings on to the arms around him, not even really sure who they actually belong to, and lets the tears gather in his eyes, particularly at the thought of getting to tell Henry later.
“Are you sure?” he laughs, wiping his eyes with the back of one of his hands as he takes his seat again.
Rebecca rolls her eyes, and somewhere in the distance behind a camera he can hear Keeley cackle, clearly replaying in her mind the moment she offered him his spot in the tent to begin with.
“Yes, Ted, quite sure.” Higgins smiles at him. “Congratulations, it’s very well deserved.”
As the applause and congratulations for Ted dies down, the tone of the tent turns a lot more sombre. They all know what’s coming next.
Noel looks pained as he begins to speak, it’s clear the presenters hate this part as much as the contestants. From the way Rebecca and Higgins look, professional and calm as always but with something else lingering behind their eyes, it’s clear the judges hate having to send someone home every week too, no matter how early in the competition it is.
“Now, bakers, I have the awful job of announcing who’s going home this week,” Noel takes a breath, looking at his shoes before addressing the bakers again. “The first person to leave us - is Bex.”
Bex, bless her, doesn’t look surprised, although she’s crying, clearly frustrated with her poor performance. Ted and everyone else gathers around her for a hug, and he feels the presence of the judges and presenters crowding around them too, the cameras rolling as they capture the end of the first week of the competition.
From there, it’s a bizarre mix of celebration and commiseration. He makes his way over to Bex as soon as he can, wrapping her up in a tight hug.
“I’m sorry to see you go!” He tells her affectionately, rubbing his hands up and down her shoulders.
“Me too,” she sniffles, still smiling but clearly upset with herself. “It was a shit week for me.”
“Hey, we all have ‘em.” Ted consoles. “It could have been anyone, truly.”
Something about the truth of that statement that seems to comfort her, and Ted’s glad to see an actual smile on her face as she’s pulled away by Paul, who lifts her up into the air with his hug, making her giggle.
Ted finds himself back in the fold, being passed from friend to friend, receiving congratulatory slaps on the back from Jamie and Sam, alongside a chorus of “Go Coach!”, a squeeze of his hand that comes with a wink from Trent, and a tight hug from his beloved Mae - she’s one of the best.
He’s still in the thrall of it all, talking to Higgins about the more technical aspects of his bakes when he feels a hand on his arm, pulling him out of the conversation. It’s Rebecca.
“I just wanted to wish you congratulations,” she smiles at him. This close to her, it’s impossible for Ted not to take in just how pretty she looks today. Her hair pulled back into a magnificent ponytail that sweeps behind her, complimenting the two piece suit she’s wearing.
“Well thanks, Boss” he shakes her hand that she’s offered out to him, her palm cool against his.
“Boss?” Her eyebrows raise.
“Sorry,” he breaks their hands apart, running a hand over his moustache self consciously.
“I’m a nickname kinda guy, and I guess you kinda are my boss, right?”
“Right,” Rebecca huffs another one of those breathy laughs. “I suppose I am.”
The tent is beginning to thin out, some of the bakers spreading out onto the lawn next to the tent, chatting with Sandi and Noel and sipping on drinks that the production team have provided them. He’s only just noticed how quiet it is in here now, Higgins having also disappeared to join most of everyone else, bar a few people quietly chatting in the corner.
“Ted, there’s actually something I wanted to ask-“ Rebecca begins, but is abruptly cut off by the appearance of Keeley.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she heads towards them, apologetically raising her brows at Rebecca, who waves her away. “Ted, we need you for your talking head.”
“Ooh, Keeley’s a poet and she doesn’t know it,” Ted grins at her, and both women roll their eyes at him. He just grins back, delighting in their reaction.
“Come on,” she affectionately tugs at the sleeve of his sweater as she pulls him out of the room.
As he’s leaving, Ted calls back to Rebecca, “I’ll catch you next week, okay Boss? Don’t forget whatever it was you wanted to tell me, alright?”
“Sure, Ted” Rebecca calls back, and for a moment he feels oddly bereft at leaving her just standing there, all alone in the tent, but it’s not long before the thought is gone from his head, Keeley chattering excitedly in his ear about his win.
“Ted! This is so exciting!” She squeals as they meander down and away from the tent so that they’ll have a bit of quiet to film his last interview for the week and his call to Henry.
Ted just shakes his head as they rapidly approach their destination.
“Keeley, I can’t even tell ya, it feels like all my hopes for what I could achieve on this show have already come true, and we’re only on week one. Week one ! Tell me, how does stuff like that happen to a guy like me?” They reach the spot where they’ll film, and Ted lets Keeley manoeuvre him into the position that will make him look best on camera.
“It’s talent, babes. I know the reason we got in contact was because of your son’s letter, but it’s all you that got you here. You’ve gotta believe in yourself more! God knows I’ve been hearing you telling everyone else to believe in themselves during all the challenges this week. Take some of your own advice, yeah?” She smiles kindly at him.
“Ya got me there, Keels,” Ted chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck at her gentle admonishment.
“Good,” she nods decisively. “Now, we’re going to get you to answer a few questions about the week, your showstopper, and then you can call your little boy, sound good?” Ted nods wholeheartedly in the affirmative.
The cameras get rolling, and Ted breezes through the questions they ask him about his first week in the tent, the camera crew all chuckling when he declares that “turns out, Biscuit Week and I go together like cookies and cream.”
Then it‘s finally the moment he’s been waiting for since the moment they announced him as Star Baker. He rushes to get his phone out of his pocket, calling Beard’s number and popping himself on speaker.
Henry answers, as he knew he would.
“Hey, dad!” His anxious excitement palpable through the phone, knowing Ted will be delivering his review of his first week in the tent.
“Hey buddy, I needed to call you to let you know something,” Ted carefully keeps his voice as neutral, even trying to sound a little disappointed.
“Dad? What happened? Did you not get through?” Henry’s voice goes from excited to despondent in seconds.
“Not quite, big guy. In fact, they actually only went and made your old man Star Baker!”
“Oh my god, DAD!” Henry screams into the phone. There’s a sudden clatter, and Ted looks confusedly into his phone. “Henry? You still there?”
“He dropped my phone on the floor when he jumped into my arms in excitement,” Beard’s voice now crackles through the speaker. “And now he’s running around the living room like a maniac.” He’ll sound deadpan to anyone who watches the show, but Ted can hear the affection for his godchild that laces his voice.
“Oh boy, I’m sorry, Coach.” Ted giggles into the phone, picturing the scene of Henry zooming around his flat like a maniac, vaguely hearing the shouts of his son and the scuff of his feet on the floor of the hall in the background. “I’ll be back tonight to relieve you of your duties.”
“No worries, Coach. Congrats, seems like you very much belong in that tent after all.”
“Thank you, Coach. I appreciate you,” Ted finishes before he hangs up, only just then remembering he’s still being filmed and Keeley is still stood behind the cameras, hands clasped over her chest and grinning madly at Henry’s reaction that’s just been caught on film.
Ted chuckles a little self consciously, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck.
“Did y’all get what ya needed? I’ve got a very excitable little boy to get home to, if that’s alright with you.”
“God, Ted!” Keeley rushes forward and gives him a hug. “That was gorgeous and perfect. Get home and give that boy a squeeze - that’s an order!”
Ted returns the hug, and salutes her as he pulls away and begins heading back towards the other bakers.
“Yes ma’am.”
Despite Ted’s eagerness to get home, there’s another half an hour of milling about on the lawn, sampling all the bakes from today and enjoying the rare British sunshine before everyone starts to wend their way to the bus that will take them back to the real world.
Ted takes a moment though, as everyone else moves away to head to the bus, just to soak in the sight of the tent. This weekend was the boost he didn’t realise he needed. He’s happy in the UK, despite the drastic nature and the huge upheaval behind moving, but it hasn’t been easy. He’s finally made peace with Michelle leaving, even though the wound still rubs raw on occasion, and Henry is coping well despite it all, settling in easily to his new school and social clubs. Ted’s sure that the therapist he pays an arm and a leg for for him most likely has a huge part to play in that, but he’d do it all and a lot more if it meant his boy was happy.
Ted himself, though? Well, at heart, he’s a people person, and a good old fashioned romantic. He loves his time with Beard - he’s his best friend and he owes him the world and more for the way he’s helped him to set up his life over this side of the pond - but for the first time in his life, Ted’s struggled to settle in somewhere, struggled to make new friends. He’s not sure what it is, but this weekend has felt like a taste of something new. He’s met people who have warmed to him instantly, he’s bonded with them more quickly and easily than the few friendly acquaintances he has beyond Beard. Maybe it’s their mutual love for baking, maybe it’s something else, but it all just feels so special, so rare, and he wants to soak in every second whilst he can.
So he takes a good look at the tent, the sun just beginning to dip behind it, and takes a breath, before turning back and heading for the bus.
Except he’s barely taken a few steps when he suddenly hears his name being called from the distance.
Walking over as quickly as her six inch heels will carry her towards him, is Rebecca Welton.
“Hey, Boss!” He jogs over to her to save her the full trip, for which she smiles thankfully at him.
“This isn’t particularly professional of me, cornering you after a show like this, but that thing I wanted to ask earlier, I just wondered if-” she stammers out, awkwardly playing with her hands.
Ever the problem solver, Ted tries to put her at ease.
“What’s up, Rebecca? What can I help you with?”
Something in her demeanour softens at that, a little bit of her awkwardness melting away. Like she’s realised he’s being genuine, he really does want to help her, in whatever way he can.
“I had to ask,” she starts again, “if you wouldn’t mind sharing your recipe for those delicious biscuits you made yesterday?”
For what feels like the millionth time that day, Ted feels a delighted grin spread across his face.
“Hold on a second,” it’s his turn to start stammering now. “For real? You, - the Rebecca Welton - want Ted the football coach from Kansas’ cookie recipe?” His mouth hangs open a little as he keeps grinning at her. Rebecca rolls her eyes, the soft look from seconds ago disappearing but a fond exasperation at his reaction covering her face instead.
" Biscuits ”, she corrects, “and yes, I-“ she’s suddenly all sweet and self conscious again. “I really enjoyed them,” she admits, still playing with her fingers. “And I’d very much like the chance to recreate them myself, if that’s alright.”
Ted feels something warm spread through him at that, that she’s baring a part of herself to him, being vulnerable with him of her own volition. He’s been playing her reaction to his shortbread over and over in his mind since it happened, second guessing the validity of it in the darkness of his hotel room. But the way she’s looking at him here - vulnerable and a little anxious and very charming - not at all like the persona she’d inhibited when the cameras were on - reinforces how genuine it was. He tucks it away inside of him, this little piece of the real Rebecca that she’s showing him, even though they don’t know each other that well at all yet.
Fighting against his natural instincts to just give her what she wants, he decides to have a little fun, to see if he can ignite the playful spark he’d seen in her over the past few days, turn her wistful gaze that had flitted between his and Higgins’ banter into something more concrete, more genuine.
Maybe alongside his fellow bakers, he can make a friend in her, too.
“You know what I think? You’re a pro, you don’t need me to just give you the recipe. I think you need a challenge, Ms Welton. I’ll bake you some of those biscuits for next week, and then you can figure out how I made them by testing them yourself - how about that?”
And oh, is Ted glad he took a gamble, because Rebecca’s face transforms. One delicate eyebrow raises in response, a sly grin appearing on her face at his obvious attempt at a game.
She holds her hand out, wanting to shake on it, and when Ted slips his hand into hers, he’s greeted with the familiar feeling of her palm against his.
“Okay, Coach Lasso,” she confirms. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”