Page 164

Not real croissants.

Addy would haunt me for calling them that.

Those are chocolate-filled puff pastries, Sage Baxter. Croissants require patience and approximately enough butter to kill a grown man.

I smile.

God, I miss her.

I spread the filling over the pastry.

“What are you doing?”

I scream.

The spoon flies out of my hand.

Arthur catches it.

I stare at him.

He stares at the spoon.

Then at me.

“Good reflexes.”

“You scared ten years off my life.”

“You're eighteen. You can spare them.”

I grab a dish towel and throw it at him.

He catches that too.

“Stop catching things.”

“Training.”

“Go back to bed.”

He looks around the kitchen.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because there are pastries.”

“They aren't done.”

“I can wait.”

I point toward the clock.

“It's three twenty-one in the morning.”

“I've waited longer for worse things.”