"Thank you. I've never seen a shawl like it. Daddy's angry," she said softly, picking up her cup to smell the deep dark nutty aroma. "I can feel it from here. He wasn't as angry with the Ministry. That was a calculated choice he made, even though he was angry at Pierce. This is different. He's angry. I would say that James won't gain any more ground. Especially with all they have with them."
She took a sip of her coffee, and as she did, a tall man in a black wool dress coat bent down and kissed her cheek.
"Hello, my darling," the familiar voice said. She glanced up, trying not to look jarred. It was Marcus, pretending, as he'd done many time, to be her husband. Marcus had a brown leather duffel bag on his shoulder. He looked amazingly pressed and clean and fresh. He smelled amazing--with a cologne that smelled like leather, woods, spices.
"How did you find me?" she laughed. "And how do you look so impeccable and smell so good?"
"Its called a shower," he said. "I stopped to clean up and grab my bag."
"And where....oh never mind," she said, frowning. She didn't know he had any other place now but theirs. He hailed the waiter and ordered coffee, pulling up a chair to join them at their table.
"You both alright?" Marcus asked.
"Yes. How are you? And the rest of them?"
"James is gone. The others are fine. They're working on putting out the fire. Your father sent me ahead to you. And--when a French Roast addict is in Paris, where would she go but the closest café? Elementary, my dear Watson," he said.
by 
