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Seven

AN: Heya!! I hadn't planned on updating today, but I had a lot of pent-up energy, and I figured it would be more productive to use that energy for writing rather than hanashing hehehe. Besides, I was kind of excited for Nicomaine and Faulkerson to go on their friendly croissant date already. So here's chapter seven, a little earlier than expected. Hope you enjoy it, and as always, thank you for reading!!

PS. Please feel free to tweet me your thoughts/comments/violent reactions @silent_shipper

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This is not what Richard had in mind at all. When he said yes to Maine's suggestion of a friendly croissant, he thought they would be eating croissants, not making them. Somehow they find themselves in the back of a spacious (and intimidating, to be quite honest,) alarmingly modern kitchen with about twenty other people, an irritated-looking instructor pacing back and forth up front, glaring at them occasionally. He is wearing a crisp white apron over his polo shirt—its sleeves rolled up—and slacks, and a small nametag that says Nicomaine. Richard isn't completely sure how this happened.

He arrived at Fully Booked at exactly 5:25pm (he left the office ten minutes early so as not to be late, but there's no need to tell anyone else that. He doesn't want people to think he was super excited or anything.) Maine showed up fifteen minutes later, flushed and out of breath, as if she'd just been running.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," she gasped out. "I was...running errands. Are you ready to go? Saan ka naka park? We have to go now, or we'll be late too, and they do not like it when people are late."

She grabbed his hand and started pulling him out of the bookstore and towards the parking lot. He followed without protest, torn between admiring how soft and small her hand felt in his and feeling slightly bewildered. He didn't know cafés were so strict about what time their customers chose to come in and eat.

As he obediently followed Maine's directions on where to go, however, it soon became clear that they weren't headed to a café. Instead, she had him pull up at a stately-looking building, then practically pushed him down a long hallway, finally skidding to a stop in front of a pair of swinging doors. They entered the room—and all heads turned to stare at them. Richard, who was used to speaking and presenting in front of rooms full of formidable businessmen, suddenly felt small and insignificant.

"Ano to?" He whispered to Maine, his voice barely audible.

"Well," boomed the imposing mestiza woman at the front of the room. She was tall, big-boned, and looked to be in her mid to late forties, with an impressive bosom and slightly graying hair wound up in a tight bun at the top of her head. She also had a big, very noticeable mole on her nose, right at the tip, in the center. Something about her seemed very familiar to Richard—he could've sworn he'd seen her somewhere before.

"So nice of you to join us." The sarcasm fairly dripped from each syllable she uttered. She stalked over to a desk to her left and picked up a couple of white aprons. "I assume you must be Coleen and Nicomaine Mendoza."

Both Richard and Maine opened their mouths to correct her.

"Oh, no, I'm not—"

"No, sorry, his name is—"

"Excuse me," bellowed Scary Instructor Lady. "But I think you've wasted enough of everyone's time. Now would you please come up here and collect your aprons so that we can finally begin the class? You may use the workstation at the back."

Sufficiently cowed, Richard and Maine shut up and sheepishly took the aprons and their places at the back of the room.

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