Chapter 3: NateFive days into filming the Holiday Baking Showdown, Nate was pretty sure he’d just learned what a heart attack felt like. Well, maybe not exactly. That’d probably be worse. But this was close.
“You could try,” Miranda suggested kindly, “being a tad more, well, more of a judge, sugar? Not that you’re not, of course.”
Nate just nodded, because words weren’t happening. A second ago she’d gently steered him off to the side and told him he’d been great on camera, lovely to work with, but perhaps a just a hair too nice as far as critique and commentary. Praising everyone, she’d said, wasn’t the best for television drama.
Not the best. Too nice. God. Why’d he agreed to do this, again? He was clearly terrible at judging anyone.
He swallowed. The glittery red and green puffballs
