Lucy paused, her eye caught by a particularly beautiful display of lettuces, and found she had to hurry to catch up to the others, who were now gathering on the sidewalk outside the market. She was intent on the group and didn’t notice a man who was also approaching the narrow opening between the stalls that served as an exit, and bumped into his shoulders. She glanced at him, expecting him to yield, perhaps with a charming French version of “Ladies first.” Instead, he glared angrily at her, giving her a fleeting impression of dark eyes beneath a flourishing unibrow and a three-day beard, then rudely brushed past without an apology. She watched, stunned, as he charged ahead and went straight for Chef Larry, yelling something at him and giving him a shove. Chef Larry staggered but managed not to fall, the apples spilled, and she heard Bill shouting, “Hey, there!” Then the guy was gone, running down the sidewalk, and they all scrambled to gather up the apples, which were rolling every which way.

“What was that about?” she asked, handing Chef Larry an apple that had rolled in front of her feet.

“Nothing, nothing at all,” he said with a dismissive shrug. “I guess he was in a hurry.”

Lucy wasn’t convinced the assailant was merely in a hurry. She thought he’d attacked Chef Larry on purpose. “Do you know him?” she asked.

“Why would I know him?” he countered. “He probably saw his girlfriend with another man or something. He’s just some thug, a sale mec. This sort of thing happens all the time.” He was taking his time, concentrating on inspecting the apples as he replaced them in the bag. Finally, when the last one had been retrieved and stowed in the bag, he declared, “No damage done. Allons-y.”

The group trailed along, exchanging glances but avoiding discussing the incident, following Chef Larry back to the cooking school. They clustered together outside a door squeezed between the patisserie and the neighboring beauty salon while Chef Larry dealt with the security keypad, then continued on up three long flights of dusty stairs to the school. Lucy shrugged out of her jacket and tied on a starched white apron, which boasted an embroidered version of the same Le Cooking School logo that was on the sign. As she tied the tapes around her waist, Lucy decided that the classroom resembled the home ec classrooms of her youth, with a modern upgrade: the instructor’s demonstration area boasted a huge video screen. The rest of the room was divided into six separate mini-kitchens for the students, each equipped with a generous counter, a sink, a stove, and a tiny refrigerator. The couples distributed themselves around the classroom and waited while Chef Larry got the video system running.