Leor Dawsen was having trouble getting the spirals right.
He held a piping bag over a tray, carefully squeezing out a long strip of dough.
And guided it into a circular pattern, trying to keep each turn evenly spaced.
The result looked more like a tangled rope than the neat spiral pastry he had been aiming for.
He sighed and set the piping bag down.
He had been working on the same pastry for nearly twenty minutes, but his attention kept wandering.
Talia Veloria.
It had been several days since he last spoke to her properly.
Whenever they crossed paths in the academy, he found some excuse to leave or became terribly interested in whatever happened to be in front of him.
He knew it was rude.
Actually, calling it rude was probably being generous.
He was beginning to feel like a complete asshole.
Leor rubbed his forehead.
How was he supposed to explain himself?
