Page 27 of Saving Saul

SISTER, SISTER

TESSA

My kitchen smells like heaven—warmoil and sweet dough mingling with powdered sugar in a way that calms me. My hands move automatically, rolling out the beignet dough while my mind races about my visit with Grandmère.

I tried to listen to the whispers of my dreams last night, but I swear they were mute.

Across from me, Carissa sprinkles powdered sugar over a fresh batch. Her movements are efficient, but her mouth is as sharp as ever.

“You’re looking a little less like a zombie than you did two days ago at Café Amaretto,” she says, her tone teasing, though her eyes are all concern. “Grandmère must’ve said something to pull you out of your funk.”

I pause for a moment, pressing the rolling pin into the dough. “She always knows what to say,” I admit, my voice soft. “But I still don’t have a lead on Saul. I’m stuck. It’s like chasing smoke.”

Carissa sets down the sifter and leans against the counter, studying me. “Forget Saul,” she says firmly. “Seriously, Tess. That man’s a ghost and a headache. Come to that party tonight at Crescent Hall, which I told you about. You need to get out of your head for a bit.”

I stop rolling and glance up at her, skeptical. “Crescent Hall? Isn’t that neighborhood still a little... rough around the edges?”

Carissa snorts, throwing me a look. “Rough around the edges? Girl, please. If it was, would the official British Comic Con after-party be there? Nothing but geeks and bougie people are going to that.”

A laugh escapes me despite the knot in my chest. “A British Comic Con after-party? And you thinkthat willmake me forget about my British ex-rugby star? Be serious, Carissa.”

She lets out a dramatic huff, grabbing her sifter like a mic. “I’m tired of hearing about dreams and that negro, Saul! One night, Tess. Let’s forget about your so-called fated love and have some fun.”

Before I can respond, powdered sugar flies in my direction, dusting my arm. I gasp, my mouth falling open as I hold up my rolling pin like a weapon. “Oh, it’s like that?”

Carissa doubles over, laughing, clutching her sides as I approach her with slow, deliberate menace. “Tessa, don’t! You’re holding a whole rolling pin—I’m unarmed! This isn’t fair!”

We’re laughing so hard that I have to put the rolling pin down to catch my breath. “Okay, okay,” I say, waving her off. “But don’t we need costumes for something like this? Comic Con isn’t exactly casual.”

Carissa grins, triumph written all over her face. “Already figured it out. We’re going asBondGirls. One of the five Black ones. Iconic, right? I’ll be Rosie Carver, and you’ll be Thumper!”

I can’t help but laugh, shaking my head as I toss a bit of flour onto the counter. “Okay, I love it. I have a yellow bikini I’ve been dying to wear. And that’s her iconic look. But if we’re doing this, we have to invite Selene.”

Carissa groans, rolling her eyes. “Why? She’s such a buzzkill! Do we have to bring her?”

“Hey!” I throw a handful of flour in her direction, hitting her shoulder. “That’s my sister. And besides, it’s our weekend to hang out—it’s on the calendar. So if you want me, you have to take her too.”

Carissa sighs dramatically, brushing off the flour like it personally offended her. “Fine. But if she starts lecturing us about ‘making good decisions,’ I’m blaming you.”

“Deal.” I laugh, shaking my head as I shape another round of dough. “Now finish sugaring those beignets so we can eat. I know your greedy behind only comes here for the snacks.”

Carissa grumbles, but a smile tugs at her lips as she picks up the sifter again. “You’re lucky I love you—and your bossy sister.”

“And you’re lucky I let you in my kitchen,” I shoot back, smirking.

Maybe Carissa is right. One fun night might not fix everything, but it couldn’t hurt.

* * *

“I’m not going to that party at Crescent Hall,” Selene declares, her voice sharp enough to cut through the static. “That old sugar refinery is cursed, Tessa. You know it is. Something foolish and dangerous happens at an event there every year. And the Warehouse District? It’s still the hood to me, no matter how many coffee shops and art galleries they cram into it.”

Sitting on my comfy couch, I bite into my fourth beignet in ten minutes as Selene’s words pour over me like ice water. Her voice threatens to douse any lingering warmth from my visit with Carissa. I was finally excited about something, and Selene is trying to kill my vibe.

I never should’ve invited her.

“Selene,” I say, sighing, drawing out her name. “You think everything fun is a bad idea. If there’s even a sliver of joy to be found, you find a way to kill it. It’s your superpower.”

“That’s not true!” she snaps, her tone defensive.

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