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return_to_nolaAnother cupcake waiting for Jonah.
It had been happening for a little while now. They were gorgeous little treats: cakes and pastries, all lovingly made and carefully decorated. They appeared as if out of nowhere. They were, he was sure, intended for him.
No one could have really known that Jonah had this particular culinary weakness, which made it even more of a mystery: he ate clean and organic ninety-nine percent of the time, after all, and was mostly seen at the studio with tea and kombucha and a baggie of grapes for a snack.
So who was leaving him these treats? No one in his classes was particularly clingy or affectionate; no one lingered afterwards in any suspicious way.
Were the cakes coming from the outside? But if they were, why would anyone leave them for Jonah? He didn't even quite have a handful of friends, and certainly none who would launch a sweet campaign like this without telling him. It was spooky; it was nice; it was alarming.
So Jonah took his cupcake and sat on a bench outside the studio to eat it, and maybe he was paranoid, but he thought that a woman perched across the street was watching him.
... could these cakes and pastries have been dusted with poison? He paused mid-bite. Was this the culprit? Jonah didn't recognize her. Or did he?
It had been happening for a little while now. They were gorgeous little treats: cakes and pastries, all lovingly made and carefully decorated. They appeared as if out of nowhere. They were, he was sure, intended for him.
No one could have really known that Jonah had this particular culinary weakness, which made it even more of a mystery: he ate clean and organic ninety-nine percent of the time, after all, and was mostly seen at the studio with tea and kombucha and a baggie of grapes for a snack.
So who was leaving him these treats? No one in his classes was particularly clingy or affectionate; no one lingered afterwards in any suspicious way.
Were the cakes coming from the outside? But if they were, why would anyone leave them for Jonah? He didn't even quite have a handful of friends, and certainly none who would launch a sweet campaign like this without telling him. It was spooky; it was nice; it was alarming.
So Jonah took his cupcake and sat on a bench outside the studio to eat it, and maybe he was paranoid, but he thought that a woman perched across the street was watching him.
... could these cakes and pastries have been dusted with poison? He paused mid-bite. Was this the culprit? Jonah didn't recognize her. Or did he?
