A lamp flickered overhead. The stalls were closing down, supplies were being stored for tomorrow, and people were returning home or to the bars for the night.
Then there was music.
Laughter.
Joy.
Fernand made her face him. “You’re sad.”
“I know I did the right thing,” she confessed, “and I don’t regret a single moment, but…” She extended her palms. Magie had been hers. No matter the rules or roadblocks, magie hadalwaysbelonged to her.
Fernand threaded his fingers with hers.
“Let me show you something.”
He walked with her, careful to take their steps slow when she needed to catch her breath.
It was down their second turn she found the courage to ask, “Where’s Nik?”
Fernand’s grip tightened for a second. “Tremblay asked to deal with him directly.”
“She arrested him?” It shouldn’t surprise her. He’d been complicit in his father’s attempt to rig the Objet d’Art, and he’d… Well, he hadn’t known much of anything else. The plot to poison the Restes had belonged only to Lafontaine.
He’d given up the rebels to his father, but that wasn’t illegal no matter how much it hurt.
“Not quite,” Fernand said. “I’m sure you’ll see him soon enough. He demanded to check on you every day.”
“Every day?” she asked.
Fernand rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
The thought warmed her even though she should hate him.
“You ready?” Fernand asked as he took her down one final, familiar bend. It was a crooked, forgotten alley to a run-down, abandoned store.
Except it wasn’t anymore.
Café Divin was real.
The boards had been stripped from the windows, and warm light flooded across the cobblestones. The building’s exterior was covered in scaffolding, but she could see part of it had already been painted a dark plum. The tables and chairs were outside in the process of being refinished in red stain. The canopy above the door was brilliant yellow with fringed tassels.
It wasn’t ready yet, but it would be soon.
Every inch of it was exactly as Nik had promised in his blueprints. Room for poets to meet outside, a cozy dining hall for conversation, and a rooftop community garden.
He’d done this… for her.
It was her shop.
Her dream
Her home.
EPILOGUENIK
The leaves shivered in the cold evening breeze, their oranges and golds burning in the dying sunlight. Autumn had descended upon Anespérer with an exhausted sigh a few weeks ago, and soon the trees would be bare and snow would fall.
Nik was grateful for the break in heat, but he missed the lavender blooming on his windowsill. The beautiful stalks had been his only company these last few months. At least, during the nights he made it home.
