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“Looks like we are all here now. Welcome. Everyone please take a seat. We are going to take a few minutes, go around the room, and introduce ourselves. I’ll start first. My name is Evangeline. I have twenty-five years’ experience teaching others how to make world class pastries. I’ve traveled and studied pastries all over the world. I’ve trained in some of the best restaurants in Paris, Italy, Texas, and Hawaii, just to name a few.”
She was about to go on when the door flew open. I glanced over and immediately buried my face in my hands. It was the guy from the coffee shop. After the morning I’d given him my number, he had called a couple of times, perhaps three; however, both times I was occupied and unable to get to my phone. The calls had stopped after that.
“Sorry I’m late. Took forever to get across campus. You can carry on now.” He chuckled, looking around the room.
Evangeline just stared, probably unsure what to say, and I rolled my eyes. How rude of him to be like that, I thought. I looked in his direction, and that was when he made eye contact with me. I could tell he recognized me right away. Evangeline just stood there, staring at him with a frown on her face. She seemed to be at a loss for words at the way he’d interrupted without a care.
“Next time you’re late, you’ll care to knock first before you barge in here and interrupt me. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Uh…. Mr….”
“Ryan, Tristan Ryan.”
“Mr. Ryan, take a seat, would you.”
I was still staring at him, disgusted with the way he’d interrupted the class. He glanced around the room, and that was when I noticed there were only two empty seats available. One at an empty table and the one beside me.
I practically shouted out loud for him to sit at the other table, but thankfully, I only said it in my head. I looked down at where my hands were crossed on the tabletop in front of me, praying he took the other empty seat. When I glanced over again, he looked directly at me, walked across the room, and slid in beside me, placing his arm across the back of the bench.
“Well, if it isn’t the girl from the coffee shop.” He leaned over and whispered in my ear, “The very one who never returned my calls. Hello, Lila.”
He smelled so good, and the sound of his voice caused a chill to run through me. I never should have given him a fake name. In a few short minutes, he would know who I really was—a total liar—and I already wanted to die of embarrassment. I couldn’t use a fake name here.
The instructor moved on as if nothing had happened, going around the room to each student so they could introduce themselves. I listened, fascinated as I heard some of the accomplishments from some of them. Then Evangeline set eyes on me.
“You must be Brooke Kinley. Why don’t you tell us about yourself,” she said as she leaned against her desk.
I looked up and glanced around the room. Everyone had their eyes on me, including Tristan. I tried to avoid meeting his eyes, but it was impossible. He looked shocked, and I felt as if I were on fire. I swallowed hard and smiled nervously, feeling as if everyone knew me as Lila.
“Tsk tsk tsk,” I heard him whisper. “You lied to me about your name,” he said, staring up at me.
I swallowed hard, my stomach full of butterflies as the class looked at me. “I’m Brooke Kinley. I’m here to complete the pastry chef program and plan to continue on to the culinary once that is completed. I moved here from the small town of Willow Valley. My parents own a small diner there, and since it’s been in the family for generations, my parents would like to see me take it over once they retire. It’s always been my dream to open a small bakery, and I hope to be able to add that aspect of the business to the small diner once I return.”
“Whoa, wait a minute,” Tristan said, interrupting me.
I glanced to Evangeline, who crossed her arms in front of her chest and leaned up against the desk, waiting for Tristan to speak.
“You’ve come to take a culinary course and pastry chef program to waste the talents you learn here in some small-town diner?” He laughed.
“Excuse me?” I bit out.
“Well, I mean, I’m sure you know how to bake and cook. That should be good enough for the small-town diner. I mean, most of those types of people won’t even have a clue what cronut or a zeppoli is. In my opinion, you’re wasting your time and money.”
I looked around the class as all eyes were on me. Some sat with a smile, others were shocked. Was he doing this over the name thing, I wondered? I sucked in a deep breath, and even though my stomach was now swirling, I swallowed hard and did my best to keep my composure. “That’s your opinion.”
“It should be yours too. You’re wasting your money here if you don’t plan to go to New York or to Paris. It’s completely pointless.”
At his words, somewhere inside of me a fire was brewing. “Oh let me guess. I’m just some small-town hick who should learn how to bake in my grandmother’s kitchen, is that correct?” I said, holding my head high. There was no way I was going to let this cocky, arrogant jerk get away with putting me down, and in that moment, I was glad that I’d never called him back or told him much about myself.
“If the shoe fits, Lila.”
There it was, and there was that grin. The same grin he interrupted the instructor with when he’d come through the door, and the same grin he’d given me when we ran into one another out front of the coffee shop.
Every fiber of my body was on alert, and I couldn’t clench my fists any tighter.
“Well, it so happens that as it stands right now, I could probably bake you right underneath this table. You may happen to know names of fancy pastries, but you’ve probably only ever ate them. You’ve probably never had to make them.”
He chuckled. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that it’s entirely different. It actually takes some sort of skill to make them. It doesn’t take any skill to shove them in your face and chew.” The class erupted into laughter at my rebuttal, but Evangeline quickly quieted down the class.
