Without warning, Kopi grabs a fistful of red paint and flings it against the glass while making a haunting, tormented sound. All of us, except Amy, jump backward in fright.
I’ve always known I’d never be the next Monet or Matisse. But I didn’t know that one day my lack of artistic aptitude would send one of the most well-trained primates in the world into a full-blown meltdown.
CHAPTERTWELVE
“I’m so sorry,” Amy says after directing us to turn our attention away from Kopi so we don’t encourage his behavior, “Nothing like that has ever happened before.”
“Please don’t apologize. This is my fault.” Humiliation scorches my skin, making me sweat beneath my thick coat. “I feel terrible that I upset him. I hope he’s okay.” Flushed, I loosen my scarf. I have a lot of experience dealing with embarrassing moments, but this one is proving more difficult to shake off.
“He’ll be fine.” Amy offers a gracious smile. “Just like us, they can occasionally have outbursts, and it’s important that we remain calm and don’t reward them with a reaction or they might learn to repeat the behavior. I’ll quickly check to see if Travis needs help redirecting Kopi, then I’ll walk you guys out.”
She politely excuses herself for a moment, and I stare at a crack in the ground, wishing I could slink inside and disappear. After yesterday’s high point with Wes, this feels like a record-breaking low, and I’m not sure how to recover from the fall gracefully.
Oliver, sweet guy that he is, steps in and says with slightly exaggerated cheeriness, “Can I treat you ladies to dinner? There’s a great Italian place not too far from here.”
“Thank you, but we can’t.” Despite her best efforts, Brynn fails to mask her disappointment. “We’re meeting a friend for a cooking class after this.”
“Another time, then.” Oliver maintains his chipper tone, although I sense he’s equally crestfallen.
Clearly, these two want to spend more time together, and after today, I owe it to Brynn to make dinner with Oliver happen. “You go,” I tell her. “Harper and I can take the cooking class.”
“Oh, I couldn’t—”
I have a feeling she’s about to say something along the lines of “I couldn’t abandon you in your time of need,” albeit a bit more tactfully, but I interrupt before she has the chance. “I insist. You two go and have fun. I wouldn’t mind spending some one-on-one time with Harper, anyway. Your two besties can bond over our favorite Brynn moments.”
“Well…” Brynn chews her bottom lip, mulling it over, but I can tell she’s softening to the idea. “I suppose it would be nice for you two to get to know each other better. That is, if you’re sure you don’t mind—”
“Go. Have a good time.” Somehow, I manage to force a brightness into my voice that Brynn, thankfully, finds convincing. “Harper and I will have a great time together,” I add for good measure.
The words of assurance are meant for Brynn’s benefit, but when I check into the French cooking class in a trendy area of Brooklyn a short time later, I start to believe them myself.
The highly rated culinary school is located in an industrial-looking brick building that could’ve been a warehouse or factory in a previous life. But once inside, I’m dazzled by the sleek, bright, stylishly modern interior. Each cook station is equipped with individual ovens and gas ranges, and the ingredients neatly assembled on the pristine quartz countertops look like they’re fresh from a farmers market.
Eager students are already milling about, chatting over the sort of soft, instrumental music you might hear in a Parisian café. An older couple fawns over our instructor, Chef Julia Blanchet, begging her to sign their cookbooks.
Although she’s a New York native, the prestigious chef studied in Lyon, the gastronomical capital of France, and I was thrilled when Harper used her PR connections to snag us three spots in her class. Brynn must really like Oliver to miss out on this opportunity. Even I’m a tiny bit excited, although I can barely boil an egg. I remind myself I don’t have to bake the best salmon with béarnaise sauce in the class. My one goal: don’t traumatize Chef Blanchet with my shoddy culinary skills and send her into a Kopi-esque conniption.
Oh, and don’t burn the place down.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket, and I suspect it’s Harper telling me she’ll be a few minutes late. Which honestly doesn’t surprise me. The woman is nothing if not fashionable.
When I read her text, my heartbeat falters.
I’m so sorry. I hate to bail at the last minute, but I’m finally having dinner with Ethan! Please don’t mention it to Brynn. I’ll tell her at brunch tomorrow. You two have fun. And wish me luck!
She ends her text with a winking emoji, and never has a coquettish cartoon been more soul-crushing. I at once feel winded and overwrought, which leaves me breathless and a little light-headed.
Harper is having dinner with Ethan? And I’m stuck here. Alone. Could this day get any worse?
“Quincy?”
My blood freezes at the sound of a familiar voice.
Oh, please no. No, no, no….
Every fiber in my being revolts as I slowly turn around. “Hey, Sebastian.”
“What are you doing here?” He doesn’t hide his surprise.