arity. The memories of the crash, of their betrayal

ry genius who had taken me under his wing. In my first life, I had been so excited. I broug

loud. It lacks subtlety." She had dissected it with the authority of someone who thought a box of

. This time,

melized sugar and possibility. He was as kind as I remembered, his praise

elegant box. "A little something for you

heart steady. Th

chen, which meant rearranging my spice rack alphabet

said, wiping her hands on a tow

ting the box on the counter

ight smile that didn't reach her ey

ervousness. "He said it was one of his new creation

as the

said, her "know-it-all

ed out my phone. "He sent me a pro

the world-famous rose, lychee, and raspberry macaron dessert by the legendary French pastry chef, Pierre

her eyes narrow

"Well, I don't want to hurt your feelings,

, a cold smile p

unnatural. And the way the raspberries are just plopped on top? It's messy. There'

in-starred chef' would put his name on something so ga

r coffee, were now listening intently. I could see the smirks fo

ing the silence hang i

y face a mask of wide-ey

my voice filled with fake panic. "I showed you

ake." I showed her a photo of the a

s a picture of a dessert by Pierre Hermé. He's like, the most f

he bakery. One of the food bloggers

ke it's from a bake sale!" he

drained from her face, then rushed back in a hot, humiliating wave. She lo

ut no words came out. She was utterly

practically fled the baker

ew came home, his f

er?" he demanded, throwing

about?" I asked, calml

up, that you made everyone laugh at her. How

It was small, but it was sweet