Sinners and Saints: The Complete Series by Veronica Eden

Author:Veronica Eden [Eden, Veronica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-01-26T18:30:00+00:00

I don’t think of my world history class, heading straight for the culinary room, not stopping for anything until I sag against the door. Everything blurs at the edges, tunneling my vision. My chest feels tight and my skin is hot and itchy. I rub at my neck and shove my sleeves up.

Mrs. Horne is seated at her desk at the front of the room. She takes one look at my face, probably puffy and red by now. “Thea? Everything okay?”

It takes two tries to speak. “Yes. Please, can I spend some time in here?”

“Of course. I’ll give you a pass when you’re ready to go.” She waves at the work stations. “Just clean up when you’re done.”

There’s not another class in here until last period, the class I’m in.

“Thank you,” I breathe, on the verge of tears again from her understanding.

I feel vulnerable, like a light wind could blow me over into emotional turmoil. The baking supplies call to me. I’m thankful this school has a thriving variety of courses available, because the cooking class is equipped with everything I need. It seems more like the set of a reality baking show than a high school class, but I don’t care about it right now.

Losing my sweater and washing my hands at the sink in the back of the room, I grab one of the linen aprons hanging from a hook in the corner, looping the bib over my neck and knotting it around my waist. I put my hair up, borrowing one of the fresh hair ties Mrs. Horne keeps on her desk for anyone with long hair since I left the cafeteria with nothing. Maisy will take my bag with her.

My phone pings, but I’m not ready to look. Locking every stray thought behind a wall in my head, I get to work.

Once the ingredients are mixed, I turn out the dough by hand. As I work, my lungs stop burning and I can draw air in without feeling like I might pass out at any second. Kneading the dough becomes meditative as I follow a recipe I’ve memorized for a braided cinnamon sugar challah loaf, my favorite soft bread. I need a comforting bake, and the warm scent of cinnamon will make everything better.

I move on autopilot, and slowly my thoughts creep through the wall after I’ve calmed down from my panic. One by one, they slip free.

I should delete everything—the photos, our messages. And block his number while I’m at it. My breaths turn shallow and I focus on working the dough for a minute.

Sighing, I set it up in the proofing oven so it can rise. I debate mixing another so I can knead something else, brushing my hands off on my apron. My teeth drag over the corner of my lip. I peek at Mrs. Horne, but she’s absorbed in grading at the front of the room.

I’m going to do it.

Pulling out my phone from my sweater, I carry it back to the workstation and put it down, bracing my flour-dusted hands on either side of it.

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