Raya wished she’d picked a different workshop, one that didn’t involve unlocking feelings. She glanced discreetly over her shoulder.
The doors were already closed.
The other workshops in this time slot were surely full by now, anyway. She released a quiet sigh and returned her attention to the speaker.
“As I was saying, we will learn to incorporate our intentions into each step of the recipe, from handling the ingredients, to making the batter, to the baking process itself. Since we have already combined the almond flour and the sugar for you, let us begin by beating the egg whites to stiff peaks.”
Raya reached for the bowl and the whisk, determined to do it well even if she didn’t particularly want to do it at all.
While riding the Métro back to her hotel at the end of the day, Raya examined the paper sack filled with her handiwork: a dozen or so slightly misshapen macarons from the kitchen magic workshop. She didn’t dare throw them away. She brought the bag closer and inhaled the scent. They smelled so delicious—even if they were a bit lumpy.
Surely one bite wouldn’t hurt.
Yes, it would. She’d probably confess some deep, dark secret to the nearest Métro passenger.
Raya quickly stuffed them out of sight in her bag before she did anything she would regret.
Out of sight, out of mind. She’d figure out how to dispose of them later. Right now, she had to get ready for the party.
She hadn’t brought anything fancier than her usual little black dress, an all-purpose garment she relied upon for just about any occasion. The leather jacket would dress it up with a bit of an edge.
She examined her nails. Lizzy’s nail polish was remarkably tenacious. Perhaps she could pick up a red lipstick to match from Le Bon Marché.
Raya dropped off the day’s swag, papers, and questionable baked goods in her hotel room before heading out on foot in search of a new lipstick.
The cosmetics clerk, despite not speaking any English, understood Raya’s intention well enough after Raya pointed to her red nails and her lips several times. The contrast was obvious. The clerk pulled a sleek black case from a tray and demonstrated the color of several lipsticks with a quick swipe on the back of her hand.
When she found a close match to the nail polish color, Raya gave her a thumbs up.
The clerk rang up her purchase, and Raya left with her pockets lighter but carrying a pretty little shopping bag with her new lipstick tucked inside.
She opened the door to her hotel room to find Phoenix sprawled on the bed, his red wings flapping slowly as he changed channels with the remote. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you?”
“Thank you. I will.” He stopped on a program of French cartoons.
“You’re watching cartoons, yet you callmea philistine?”
“Like I said, I choose to ignore the contradiction.”
“Suit yourself. I need to shower and get ready for the party. Think you can behave yourself for a few minutes?”
He spared her a brief glance before returning his attention to the TV screen. “No.”
Raya rolled her eyes and retreated to the bathroom with her outfit. She showered quickly and dressed, then set her unruly hair with a little extra mousse and a minute or two under the hair dryer. She applied the makeup she’d brought with her, then added the new lipstick as a finishing touch.
When she emerged, she found Phoenix still sprawled on the bed watching cartoons, but with crumbs all down his front and a crumpled paper bag by his side.
Raya covered her mouth with her hand to muffle a gasp.
He glanced up from his cartoons and eyed her, his gaze traveling efficiently from her bare feet to her styled hair. “You clean up nicely.”
“Did you eat my macarons?”
“Were those yours?”
“They were in my hotel room, Phoenix—who did you think they belonged to?” She picked up the crumpled bag. Empty. “You ate all of them? You don’t even like eating!”
He shrugged. “They were lumpy, but they tasted pretty good.”
