“I sure hope you will! Oh, and just to be extra certain, Audrey and I tested the tree house this morning before breakfast. We walked and jumped in it for a good half hour. It didn’t budge.”
I look at Audrey over my shoulder. “So, you were in on this?”
“Just doing my job,” she replies, suppressing a smile. “That tree house is certifiably safe.”
My chin goes up. “I expected no less of my tree house!”
“Come on,” Henri says to me, gesturing to the ladder. “Let’s go inside before we turn into a pair of wet rats.”
I turn to Audrey. “You can return to the house.”
She nods. The clever girl knows when she shouldn’t push.
I grip the ladder cautiously, feeling the cool, damp wood beneath my hands, as I place a hesitant foot on the first slippery step.
“Go on,” Henri cheers. “It’s just two meters, and I’m right behind you.”
With a deep breath, I begin my ascent. As I reach the top and step into the tree house, a wave of unadulterated joy washes overme. The space is filled with an array of colorful cushions and soft throws, creating a cocoon-like atmosphere. The small windows offer glimpses of the lush greenery of the park. The scent of freshly cut wood fills the air, mixing with that of grass and rain from outside.
It’s like being in a hidden sanctuary within nature’s embrace, where worries and responsibilities fade away… at least for a while.
I sink into a plush cushion, cross-legged. Henri plops down beside me. We talk about the tree house before the conversation meanders to my birthday.
“There’ll be a celebration when you’re back in Pombrio, I hope?” Henri says, a smile dancing in his eyes. “It would be unfair to rob you of a birthday party because you’re trying to save the land.”
“Mother is putting together quite the event.”
“If it’s like the one your family threw for your nineteenth birthday, it’s going to be grand.”
“Will you come? I know it’s short notice?—”
“It would end up in a fist fight between Julian and me,” he cuts in. “I wouldn’t want to ruin your party.”
I nod silently.
He adjusts his position on the cushion. “Is your birthday still your favorite day of the year?”
“Nope, not anymore.”
“What supplanted it? Christmas? New Year’s Eve? A parade of the Knights of the Brassiere?”
“The Pombrio Carnival,” I say, tucking a strand of wet hair behind my ear.
He lifts an eyebrow. “Really? Why?”
“The anonymity of it, I guess… The few hours of freedom afforded by a proper disguise.”
“An illusion of freedom,” he counters. “Those who know you well, can still tell it’s you behind the mask.”
A proud smile touches my lips. “Not this year. I outdid myself for this year’s carnival.”
“The brown-tinted eye lenses were a clever touch, I’ll give you that.”
My jaw slackens.
He tut-tuts. “You didn’t leave a number, Cindy. Not even a shoe!”
“You knew Cinderella was me?” I manage.
