Chapter Eleven
Lennon
We spend the first morning of our week in Paris at the venue, taking a tour and meeting the production team that we’ll work with for the broadcast. They take us up into the balcony so we can get a sense of the size of the stage. It looks small from up here even though I know that the venue, though not the biggest we’ve ever played in, is larger than what we usually play. I lean against the railing and wonder if Haylee has ever played anything bigger then feel angry at myself for thinking about her so much.
“Hey, Len,” Levi says, joining me at the railing. “Karen wanted me to ask you to lunch.”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “Really? You haven’t seen her in weeks, and her first full day with the tour—her first full day in the most romantic city in the world—and she wants to have lunch with me?” I smirk at him. “What’d you do to piss her off?”
He makes a face at me. “Lunch with you isn’t exactly my top choice, bud, but for reasons that I can’t quite comprehend, she says she misses you.”
I grin at that. I like Karen. Like her for Levi. When she came out on tour with us last summer she changed him, transforming him from an uptight worrier (mostly my fault) to someone who could actually have some fun once in a while.
“Sure,” I say. “Lunch sounds good.”
We meet Karen back at the hotel and walk the few blocks to a cafe the concierge recommended. We’re staying in the Latin Quarter, and the neighborhood is littered with restaurants, patisseries, and cafes. The smell of baking croissant is pretty much ubiquitous.
“I can’t believe I’m in Paris,” Karen says, looking around happily. “You know, before I met you guys I’d never been farther away from home than Atlanta.”
“I’m just happy we have the chance to actually spend some time here this time,” Levi says. He has his arm wrapped loosely over her shoulders, and every once in a while he’ll reach up to finger her hair. I wonder what it would feel like to be that comfortable with Haylee. Stupid to think about, I tell myself. She would never want to be in that kind of relationship with you.
“You’re spacing, buddy,” Karen says, reaching for her wine glass.
“Sorry.” I blink a few times to clear my head. “What’d you say?”
“I asked if you had the chance to see much of the city on the last tour.”
“A little bit,” I say, determined not to think about Haylee anymore. It’s nice that Karen is here. Levi looks happy, and God knows he deserves a little happiness. I don’t want to waste the day being mopey. “It’s a really cool city. Probably my favorite in Europe.”
“What’s the best thing to do?”
“If you like art museums, this is the place,” I say.
I expect her to make a face, the way my brothers do when the subject comes up, but she sits a little straighter. “Do you think they have anything showcasing photography?”
“I’m sure they do. Why?”
“Karen’s really getting interested in photography,” Levi says, his chest puffing out a little bit. “She’s great.”
She looks down at the table. Is she blushing? “Karen Simpson,” I say in mock shock. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you shy.”
“Shut the hell up,” she mutters, and I grin.
“That sounds more like you.” I grab another piece of bread from the basket. “I’m sure we can find something.”
“To be honest, I bet Paige already has the entire week planned out,” she says, grimacing at me. “I heard her saying she was picking something special for each of us.”
“Oh, God,” Levi says.
“We have a lot of work to do,” I remind him. “I don’t think we’ll be able to run around the city with Paige every day.”
“I’m sure she’ll find a way.”
Our food arrives, and we eat in silence for a minute. This is one of my favorite things about Paris, even more than the museums. Their culture of food—the predominance of restaurants, the focus on good wine, the way they linger over their meals, talking for hours—I love that.
“So, Len,” Karen says after a few bites. “What’s with this girl you’re in love with?”
I choke on my croque monsieur, and Levi pounds me on the back while I cough.
“Sorry,” Karen says, pushing my glass of water toward me. But she’s smiling.
“Who told you I was in love with her?” I ask when my eyes finally stop watering. “Because I’m not. We barely know each other.”
“You’ve hung out about as long as Sam and Cash did,” she points out.
I scowl, not really having an answer for that.
“Come on,” she says. “It’s just us.”
“I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t want to talk about my love life with the girl who tells Paige everything.”
“I do not tell Paige everything. I wouldn’t tell her this.”
“You haven’t really talked about it, man,” Levi adds. “And you’ve seemed a little down about it.”
I sigh, pushing my sandwich away. “Fine. She’s… I like her. We get along and…” I have a fleeting thought of the way her lips felt on mine and swallow. “Anyhow. She’s not interested in a relationship, so it doesn’t really matter.”
“She told you that?” Karen asks.
I nod.
“She didn’t look not interested in the club the other night,” Levi says, and Karen’s eyes light up.
“Flirtations in a club? Details. Now.”
“You really are as bad as Paige and Daisy,” I say. “Fine. We slept together back in England, and it was… it was pretty great.” I rub a hand across the back of my neck, uncomfortable. I was never really the type to share information like this. Probably a reaction to being grossed out by Cash’s oversharing in his really bad man-whoring days.
“Pretty great, huh?” Karen asks, waggling her eyebrows. “You want to elaborate?”
“No,” I say sharply. Then I sigh. “But after that she pulled away. Said we should just be friends.”
“Which still doesn’t explain the club,” Levi says.
“We went out dancing in Barcelona the other night—”
“God, I’m jealous I didn’t get to go to Barcelona,” Karen interrupts. “Was it amazing?”
“You want me to talk about this or not?”
“Sorry, sorry,” she says quickly. “Go on.”
“So we were out dancing and… I don’t know. There was a spark.” I think of the way she felt in my arms, the way her eyes remained so fixed on my lips as we danced. The way her skin felt like it was burning my palms whenever I touched her.
“Definitely a spark,” Levi adds. “They looked like they were gonna go to town on each other in the middle of the dance floor.”
“So what happened?” Karen asks.
“She asked me to take her back to my room.”
“What?” Levi practically yelps, sitting up straighter. “Why didn’t you go?”
I give him a withering look. “You look like a pre-teen at a slumber party right now, Levi. Chill.”
“I don’t even care.” He shoves a piece of bread in his mouth. “You Ransome boys are better than a soap opera.”
I direct my attention to Karen so I don’t have to see my best friend talking with his mouth full. “And then, in the next breath, she told me it would just be a one-night thing.” What words did she use? Friends with benefits. I grimace at the table.
“And you wanted more,” Karen says.
“Well, yeah. But it wasn’t just…” I sigh. “I mean, I’m a guy. She’s totally hot, and you know, the sex was…” I rub my hands over my face. “God, this is uncomfortable. I probably would have hooked up with her, honestly. But…”
“But what?” Karen asks, her voice soft.
I stare out at the people passing the cafe, the city vibrant and crowded around us. “It was like… she wanted me, you know? I could tell. But as soon as that became clear, she started drinking. A lot.”
Karen frowns. “You didn’t want to take advantage?”
“No, it wasn’t… I mean, of course I didn’t want to take advantage but…” It’s hard to describe what it felt like out on that dance floor. “It was like she wasn’t drunk,” I finally say. “Like, I was watching her drinking—really drinking, she could put Cash under the table—but she didn’t really change.” I shake my head, knowing that isn’t exactly right. “I guess she was laughing a little harder, maybe touching me more. But it… it didn’t feel real.”
“She was pretending to be drunk?” Levi asks, frowning.
“I don’t know. It felt like she was using the booze as an excuse.” I look between them. “Does that make sense? Like she couldn’t let herself want me otherwise but once she had some drinks in her, it was okay to flirt.”
“Hmm,” Karen says, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I wonder why she would feel like she couldn’t just be with you if that’s what she wanted.”
I take another few bites of my sandwich, thinking. “When we hooked up, her friend James—the bassist,” I tell Karen, “he came to the door later, woke us up. He wasn’t very happy about the situation.”
“Why? Do they have something going?”
I shake my head. “No. Not that I can tell. But… I don’t know. He told her she could get hurt, and I guess she agreed with him, because when she came back to the room she could hardly look at me. And then she pulled away after that.” I take a sip of water, not wanting to voice the thing that’s been bothering me. “Do you think it’s possible she heard about… August? You think that’s why she doesn’t want to be with me?”
“If that’s true, then she’s a bitch and I don’t want you to be with her,” Karen says, her voice harsh.
“I wouldn’t blame her,” I mutter. “I mean, come on. Who wants to date the crazy guy who—”
“Do not finish that sentence, Lennon,” Karen says. “I’m not going to let you talk shit about yourself.”
“Besides, man,” Levi says. “I really don’t see how she could find out.”
“You don’t think there are rumors?” I ask, eyebrows high. “Come on, Levi. We’re on tour with them. Roadies talk. Fans talk. I bet there are a dozen websites dedicated to figuring out what happened in August.”
“There’s a ton of talk,” he concedes. “But none of it has come close to hitting on the truth.” When he speaks again his voice is kind. “We monitor this stuff, Len.”
My stomach sinks at the thought of some intern somewhere whose sole job is to scour the internet to see what people are saying about me.
“I don’t think she could possibly know,” Levi continues. “But even if she did find out somehow… Len, does she really strike you as the type of person who would judge you for that?”
When I met her back in Los Angeles, my very first thought was that this was a girl who understood pain. There was something in her eyes then, something I’d been catching glimpses of ever since, something that told me she would understand what I’d done if I ever came up with the courage to tell her. And then, at the party, when she told me what happened with her stalker, it was obvious in her tone and behavior that the incident had a profound effect on her. And of course there was that night after the show in Glasgow, the way she went to pieces when that fan touched her. What did she tell me in Edinburgh? I’m really fucked up.
“No,” I finally say. “I guess I don’t.”
“Look, Lennon,” Karen says, leaning across the table a little to better meet my eyes. “If she’s someone that you care about, someone that might make you happy, then she’s worth an effort. A relationship like that is worth it, it just is.”
I think Levi must squeeze her hand under the table because she shoots him a quick smile before returning her gaze to mine.
“But if she’s not someone that can be honest with you—or if you feel like you can’t be honest with her—then this probably isn’t what you need right now, you know?”
I nod. Everything she’s saying is true. I worked too hard to get to the point where I am to risk my recovery on someone who can’t be open with me. Even if the thought of shutting her out makes me feel completely numb.
“I hear you’re doing really well these days.”
I glance up at her, ready to laugh, but her face is completely serious. “Who told you that?”
“I did,” Levi says.
“Why?”
The corners of his mouth tug up a little bit. “Because you are. You can’t see that?”
I shrug, feeling uncomfortable. I’ve been playing the role of the fucked-up one for so long now, it’s hard to imagine someone seeing me in any other way.
“You’re obviously sleeping better,” he says. “Because you don’t have those shadows under your eyes anymore. And you’ve put on weight, so you don’t look so scrawny anymore.” It’s his turn to shrug. “And you just seem like you’re enjoying yourself more.”
Am I enjoying myself more? The thought crosses my mind that any positive change he might be seeing in me might have something to do with proximity to Haylee.
“If you think she’s someone that can make you happy,” Karen says, as if reading my mind, “I’m all about you going for it.” Her voice lowers a little, intense. “And if that’s the case, there’s no one more capable of helping you than me.”
“Really?” Levi asks, smirking. “You make it sound like you’re part of some kind of relationship special forces.”
“If there’s one thing Paige and I know,” she says, shooting him a withering glare, “it’s how to get the girl.”
“And how would you know that?”
“Because we have watched every romantic comedy ever made,” she says simply. “We’re experts.” She turns away from a still smirking Levi to look at me. “I mean it, Len. You want this girl, I got some game. That’s all I’m saying.”
I can’t help laughing, she looks so entirely serious. “Thanks for the offer, Karen. I think I would want to try to practice my own game first.” I sigh. “Or not. Because I think you might have been right about this not being the time.”
She nods, looking a little sad as she reaches across the table for my hand. “The time will come, Len. Maybe not with Haylee and maybe not right now. But it will come.”
Before I can respond, her phone rings.
“I thought we had a no phones at the table rule,” Levi complains as she reaches into her purse.
“We do, but this is Paige,” she says, as if that changes everything. “Hey, what’s up?”
I can hear Paige’s excited squealing from here. “That was today?” Karen asks, grimacing. “I thought—no, of course I trust you to keep track of your own schedule.” She sighs. “No, I did not mean to imply that you’re bad at planning. Fine. We’ll be right there.”
She hangs up and looks at us apologetically. “Guess who made plans for us today?”
“Why do we have to go?” Levi asks.
“Because she made plans for all of us,” Karen says, her voice turning dangerously sweet. “And you don’t want to be rude to my very best friend in the world, do you?”
“Of course not,” Levi sighs, reaching for his wallet.
“I got this,” I say, throwing down some bills.
“You know that paying for my lunch isn’t going to get you out of coming with us, right?” Karen asks.
“I wouldn’t dream of trying to bribe you.”
Karen grins, standing. “Good. ’Cause Paige said Intrigue is coming with us.”
***
Half an hour later we’re crowded into the tiny lobby of a building right across from the Seine. The amazing smells of food cooking drifts up to us from the basement, but my enjoyment of the atmosphere is dampened by the fact that there are thirteen people in a room obviously built for a much smaller number.
“What are we doing here, Paige?” Daisy asks, rubbing her swollen belly. “That smell is making me hungry.”
“You’ll get to eat soon,” Paige says happily. “Just wait!”
We don’t have to wait much longer. A woman Reed’s age enters from the basement and greets us. “Oh, good, you’re here,” she says in accented English. “Welcome to Paris Cuisine. I’m Marie, and I’ll be getting you set up today.”
“We’re taking a cooking class!” Paige explains excitedly. Suddenly the aprons hanging behind the desk make a lot more sense.
“We’re cooking?” Daltrey asks, sounding skeptical.
“Baking actually,” Marie tells us. “We have you signed up for our French pastry class. You’ll be learning to make a variety of breakfast pastries as well as fillings.”
“We’re going to make croissants!” Paige says, clapping her hands. “Yummy, buttery croissants! Doesn’t that sound like the perfect French experience?”
“Paige, I don’t know how to cook,” Cash groans. “Can’t we just go out to eat if you want croissants?”
“Don’t you want a French experience?” she asks, sounding shocked that he might disagree. “Croissants, Cash!”
“We could eat croissants at a restaurant,” he mutters.
“Don’t be silly. This is going to be fun!”
“And you will get to eat everything you make,” Marie says. “If everyone would just follow me downstairs…”
“You’re going to light the entire building on fire,” Daisy tells Daltrey as we begin to make our way down the stairs. They’re twisting and narrow, and I have to duck in order not to hit my head.
“I can’t promise anything,” I hear Daltrey say.
“Maybe this time you’ll make sure your pregnant girlfriend is out of the room before you run for your own life,” Daisy adds.
“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
“Not if I can help it,” I say, jabbing him in the back.
Once on the lower level, Marie leads us to a large room filled with counter-high tables. The far wall is lined with ovens and stovetops. In the front of the room is a pair of sinks and a man in a white chef’s coat standing beside them. “Here’s your group, John,” Marie says before turning back to us. “John will take good care of you. Enjoy your class!”
The chef, a tall, dark-haired man, greets us in an American accent. “Take a seat, take a seat,” he says, gesturing at the tables. “There should be a spot for each of you.”
“Holy crap,” I hear Daisy mutter. “That guy is hot.”
“Hey!” Daltrey cries, and she shushes him.
“I’m sorry, but there are some things a girl just can’t help but notice.”
From the way Layla practically throws herself to the front of the room to grab the table closest to John, I don’t think Daisy is the only girl who noticed. Karen and Paige are looking at the chef with open mouths even as they take their seats, and Reed shoots him a glare, apparently picking up on the object of his girlfriend’s fascination.
“Pathetic,” Haylee murmurs, and I turn to see that she has taken the seat next to me. My stomach drops. I’m not sure I have it in me to sit this close to her for the duration of the class, not when I know how she feels. Or, rather, how she doesn’t feel.
“I wanted to apologize,” she says. She’s looking at me sheepishly, and it’s an unfamiliar look on her. She’s usually so confident, so brazen. The complete opposite of me, I think, feeling even worse.
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“I do.” John starts to speak at the front of the room, and she drops her voice. “Lennon, I don’t know what got into me the other night—”
“Don’t worry about it.” I know I sound short, but I can’t help it. Being this close to her is another reminder of how beautiful she is—as if I needed one. At the table in front of us, Cash and Sam are sitting close together, laughing about something. I’ve barely seen them since she arrived yesterday. The sight of them, so happy and comfortable with each other, sends a dull shot of pain through me. I’m not going to get that with Haylee, I remind myself. And sitting here with her is just another reminder of what I don’t have.
“Lennon.” Her voice is soft, and she sounds pretty miserable.
“Let’s just…” I sigh, turning back to John at the front of the room. “Let’s just take this class.”
She doesn’t say anything else, but when John instructs us to grab our ingredients, she complies.
“Today we’ll be making the classic French puff pastry dough,” he explains from the front of the room. “With this dough you can make a variety of pastries including croissants and pain au chocolat. We’ll be making both, as well as a few others. But first we need to make our custard so it can set. This custard can be used as a filling or a sauce for the pastry.”
He passes a few vanilla bean pods around the room and shows us how to scrape the insides to collect the seeds. He has Paige add the vanilla to a bowl of milk and instructs her to crack a few eggs into the mix. “Very good, Paige,” he tells her, and she beams at him.
“Paige is crazy competitive,” Karen mutters from the table next to us. “So watch your back. She’s not beyond sabotaging someone.”
“For a cooking class?” Haylee asks, leaning over me so she doesn’t have to raise her voice. I try not to wince as her arm brushes mine. Why does she have to smell so good? Why does my skin have to feel like it’s burning—in the best possible way—every time we touch?
“Cooking class, scrapbooking, sandcastle building. Doesn’t matter. Paige takes these things very seriously.”
“Let’s divide our custard into two pots,” John says. “And then we can gather around the stoves.”
Once we’re standing in front of the cooking top, John hands a whisk to Cash. “Here you go,” he says. “Let’s see what you can do.”
“Oh, I can’t cook,” Cash says quickly, trying to hand the whisk back, but the chef only laughs.
“Which is why you’re taking the class.” He holds out another whisk. “I need another volun—”
Before anyone can respond, Paige is grabbing the whisk and walking to the other stove at Cash’s side.
“Okay,” John says, sounding slightly bemused. “The goal here is to keep the custard in constant movement. If you allow the mixture to be still in any one spot, we’ll get burns. We want zero burns.” He grins at Cash. “So you’re going to have to use all your arm strength.”
Cash snickers. “Dude. I play guitar. I think I’ll be fine.”
“Let’s get started then.”
John turns the heat on under the pans and instructs Paige and Cash in how to stir the custard. “Good,” he says. “Now you only have to do that for two more minutes.”
“No problem,” Cash mutters. But after thirty seconds or so, his face starts to tighten.
“What’s the matter, babe?” Sam calls cheerfully. “Your arm getting tired?”
“No,” he says, his voice tight. “It’s just… a repetitive movement.”
Daltrey snorts. “Then you should be really good at it.”
Daisy smacks his arm. “Don’t be crude.”
Now that Cash has hinted that he might be having difficulties, the guys have no choice but to trash talk him. Paige happily joins in. Her face is smooth and unlined as she whisks her custard, apparently having no issues with her arm aching.
“Okay, twenty more seconds,” John says.
“Think you can handle it, Cash?” Reed calls.
“You look tired, buddy,” Levi says. “Sure you don’t want to give up? There’s no shame in losing to a girl.”
Paige smiles at him over the stove. “No shame at all.”
“Will you all please shut up?” he growls, right as John calls time and pulls the two pans from the heat.
“Okay, here’s the moment of truth,” he says, pouring the custard from the pans into two glass bowls. “If we see any scorch marks on the side of the pan we’ll know that we have some burning.” As Paige’s mixture fills the bowl, he smiles at her. “Good, Paige. Very little scorch mark right here, but nothing major. This will be a good custard.” She beams and turns to Cash, eyebrows raised. “Now, Cash,” John says, pouring his custard into the next bowl. “Well, look at that. Not a single scorch mark. That’s just about perfect.”
Cash gives Paige a huge smirk. “Don’t worry. There’s no shame in losing to a rock star.”
She’s still glowering at him when we return to our seats. “He’s asking for trouble,” Karen mutters.
John gets the custard in the cooler to set then instructs us on how to mix and knead our dough, a process which consists of rolling the dough into a ball before slamming it into the counter top. Soon the room is filled with the noise of dough slapping against marble. “Your brothers seem to enjoy this part,” Haylee says. It’s the first thing she’s said to me since her attempted apology earlier, and I feel a flash of guilt for being so cold. But then I follow her eyes around the room, and I have to laugh. She’s right—my brothers are taking great glee in slamming their dough around.
“Dylan and Lance are into it too,” I say, nodding at their table.
She smirks. “Guess it’s a guy thing.”
Once our dough is properly elastic, John shows us how to layer it with the butter we rolled out earlier. It’s an involved process including a lot of rolling and layering. To keep our dough from sticking, he teaches us a method of flinging flour to the counter surface. It involves a little flick of the wrist to get the flour to spread evenly, and I’m terrible at it.
“No, like this,” Haylee says, laughing. She has the flicking movement down pretty good, and I try again, attempting to copy her, but my flour lands on the table in a clump.
“Daltrey!” Daisy squeals. “You’re getting flour all over me!”
She isn’t exaggerating. She has a huge swath of flour down her shirt. Daltrey takes one look at her and starts laughing, causing Daisy to take a handful of flour and flick it right into his hair.
“Hey!” he cries, his hands patting his hair.
“You’re making it worse,” she says, laughing so hard she has to bend over. “Your perfect, rock star hair!”
“I’m so sorry,” I hear Reed telling John at the front of the room. “We can’t take them anywhere. I’ll make sure they clean up.”
“John doesn’t seem too worked up about it,” Haylee says.
“I bet Paige paid a pretty good bonus for putting up with us.”
Haylee laughs. “Reed wasn’t joking about not being able to take you guys anywhere.”
The layering of dough and butter isn’t as easy as it sounds. John explains that touching the dough too much will cause the butter to melt, but layering it correctly requires a lot of folding and rolling it into precise rectangles.
“Good shape, Cash,” John says as he walks up and down the aisles to examine our work. “Paige, you need to even out those corners a little.”
“I’m pretty sure there’s steam coming out of her ears,” Haylee mutters, and I snort.
Once we have the dough layered, John shows us the shapes to cut it into to create our pastries. We roll up several croissants, pain au chocolat, a pinwheel, and a little basket shape that Haylee cuts in two accidentally. “Oops,” she says, trying to piece it back together. “Does that look okay?”
“Uh, you want the polite answer or the honest answer?”
She laughs. “I guess that was answer enough.” She points at my tray. “But look at your croissant!”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s wonky.”
“I’d rather it be wonky than cut in two.”
“Okay,” John calls. “Let’s get these into the oven.”
Our tray, wonkiness and all, is one of the better showings in the room. Daisy and Daltrey appear to have given up shortly after the flour incident. “We’ll try yours,” Daisy says when Paige protests. “I’m pregnant, Paige, I didn’t feel like rolling out all of that dough. Sue me.”
To my great surprise, the pastries on Cash’s tray look perfect. He’s beaming as he slides them into the oven while Sam stands next to him, arms folded. “He didn’t let me do anything,” she complains. “He’s obsessed.”
“Maybe we found his calling,” I say.
She shrugs. “I guess it’s my gain if he turns out to be some amazing cook.”
The only pastries that come close to Cash’s are Paige’s, of course. Reed is suspiciously free of flour and has his phone out—I have a feeling Cash wasn’t the only one who refused to let his partner help.
“While those are baking, let’s get our stations cleaned up and finish this custard,” John says.
“This was kind of fun,” Haylee tells me as she wipes flour from the counter.
“We got to see Dalt covered in flour,” I say, nodding in agreement. “I couldn’t ask for a better way to spend a Tuesday afternoon.”
Since Paige and Cash appear to be locked in mortal combat to create the best pastries, the rest of us hang back while they help John finish the custard. “What else do you have planned for Paris?” Haylee asks.
“I’m not really sure. Probably Paige will have some ideas.”
She nods, looking away.
“What about you?”
“I don’t know. I never really thought I’d end up in Paris, you know? It wasn’t really a dream of mine.”
“Where did you dream of traveling?”
She shoots me a little grin. “Somewhere warm and tropical. Probably sounds lame to someone as cultured as you.”
“Cultured?” I bark out a laugh. “I’m hardly cultured. Have you met my brothers?”
“You’re not your brothers,” she says, and something in her voice makes my chest feel tight. “I was with you in Edinburgh,” she continues, sounding more like herself. “I heard you going on about the castle and the Royal Mile and all of that stuff. You obviously knew what you were talking about.”
I feel a little uncomfortable. It’s a strange feeling, knowing someone was listening to me, paying attention. I’m usually the one who stands in the back, unnoticed, especially when my brothers are around. You’re not your brothers, her voice seems to whisper in my ear.
“Okay, these should be ready to come out,” John says. “If someone wants to—”
Cash and Paige are across the room with oven mitts before he can even finish. They pull out the pastries, which smell pretty amazing, and place them on the front counter. “These look great,” John says.
“Which ones would you say are best?” Paige asks.
John looks taken aback. “I don’t… they’re all very nice.”
“Yes, but which are best?” Cash presses. “If you had to choose.”
“Oh my God, you guys,” Karen snaps. “Sit down so we can eat.”
John divides the pastries onto plates and passes them around as Marie joins us again, bearing a tray of coffee and tea. “You all did very well,” John says as we start to dig in. “So now you can enjoy the fruits of your labor.”
“Except for Daltrey and Daisy,” Levi calls out. “Who did virtually nothing and shouldn’t be rewarded.”
“Except for Daltrey and Daisy,” John agrees, smiling. “But we’ll let them eat as well.”
“Holy crap,” Haylee mutters, mouth full of pastry. “That’s good.”
“It is good. I kind of can’t believe I made this.”
“I helped,” she says, poking my arm.
“You did. Even your pathetic little basket turned out okay.”
“It turned out delicious is what it turned out.”
She’s smiling at me, and I can’t help but smile back, even though a little voice in the back of my head is warning me that this isn’t smart. Sharing food and coffee with her, both of us tired and messy, our guards down… what good could come of this?
As if sensing the direction of my thoughts, Haylee looks away. “Thanks for this, Lennon.”
“For what?”
She looks back at me, and my breath catches. Her eyes are wide and pleading. “For being so nice to me, after… well. After I was so awful.”
“You weren’t awful,” I say automatically, wanting to make her pleading look disappear.
She smiles sadly. “You don’t have to say that. I know what I did.”
“Haylee…” I trail off, not really knowing what to say. “It’s like you said,” I finally continue. “We could both use a good friend, right?”
She’s quiet for a moment, watching me. When she finally responds, her voice is wistful. “Yeah. Good friends.”
As we finish our pastry and thank John, I can’t help running her words over and over in my head. Good friends. It was what she asked for, what she says she wants. So why did she sound so sad when she said it?