Page 59 of Rescue

“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 youwillget 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 includingcroissantsandpain 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.”