“The hat looked amazing on you last night, sweetie,” she says with a smile.
“It’s officially my favorite hat.”
“I told her she should wear it every day. I think it would vastly improve her style.” Alma winks at me, then turns her dazzling smile on Romain.
He goes crimson and tries to drown his blush by gulping down his entire glass of water.
“It’s not like anyone would judge you. I mean, we live in Brume,” Alma adds.
I roll my eyes. “No offense, but I think I’ll save it for special occasions.”
Gaëlle chuckles. “None taken.”
After wishing a few more people abon appétit, I shrug out of my jacket and hang it on the back of my chair. My knuckles ache, and I stretch them out as I check the chalkboard on which Juda writes the daily offerings. I’m not sure why I do this since I almost always get the same thing: a paper-thin buckwheatgalettefilled with ham, spinach, cheese, and a fried egg followed by a crêpe drizzled in Juda’s homemadesalidou.
“Know what you want, Alma?”
“The usual. And coffee.A lotof coffee,” she says as Nolwenn bustles up the stairs with four pitchers of cider.
Once she’s deposited them on the long table crowded by college kids accounting for most of the noise in the tavern, she weaves through the hodgepodge of tables toward us. Even though she gets up at the crack of dawn and only goes to sleep once the last customer leaves, that woman bursts with energy.
She jots down our order, whispering conspiratorially, “I’ll get yours in before theirs.” She nods to the big table.
After she vanishes back downstairs, Alma leans over. “So, now will you tell me why you were hanging out with the hottie newbie?”
“He had questions about Brumian history.” I unfold my red gingham napkin and place it on my lap. “And he’s not hot.”
“Um. Yeah he is. You’re just too blinded by—”
I kick her shin under the table before she can utter Adrien’s name when Gaëlle is sitting two tables away.
“Ouch.” She leans over and rubs her leg. “I wouldn’t have said his name out loud.”
Better safe than embarrassed.
Her long, copper curls rush around her face. “You’re awfully grumpy today.”
“Might be because someone sleep-screeched Happy New Year at four o’clock in the morning and tossed tissues on me.”
Alma breaks into a grin. “I was wondering why there were so many Kleenexes on the bed.”
As we wait for our food, I study the four-leaf shape stamped on the floor tiles. “Do you think the Quatrefoil really existed?”
Alma’s been in the archives. She’s perused the books, so she knows all about thediwallerswho supposedly confiscated the magic and locked it away for safekeeping.
“Remember all those treasure hunts we went on when we were kids?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“Do you remember all the treasure we found?”
“We didn’t find any.”
“Exactly.”
“So you think it’s all lore to attract tourists?”
I sense Gaëlle looking over at us, but when I raise my gaze to hers, I find she’s staring at her stepson, so maybe I imagined her attention.
