People Like the Way Dreams Have of Sticking to the Soul

How do you write like you're running out of time? Write day and night like you're running out of time? Ev'ry day you fight like you're running out of time ... Are you running out of time?

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The sounds of Emelia's laughter caught Oliver's ear despite the fact that his door was closed so he could focus on his writing. It was the weekend, which meant that he had time to work on his own projects rather than putting together the report for the Ministry's latest research project. It was lucky, he mused sadly, that Thalia had convinced him to go to university for Literature, given he could now format papers of pretty much any sort. Copy editing was easy enough, despite how little time it left him for his own pursuits. What had started out as a freelance, almost-hobby situation was now a requirement.

Luckily, it gave him the time to look after Emmy before he found those extra minutes to get the words down.

But, back to the present. She was calling out to Eric, and - not for the first time - he laughed to himself at their names. Emelia and Eric. The dream team. She loved the idea of it, and beamed at him every time he mentioned it. If things went poorly at school that day, he was sure to bring it up. She was nearly seven, but sometimes she seemed older.

One year. Five weeks. Two days and seven hours. A glance at the clock. Forty-two minutes.

He wouldn't trade those minutes and hours and days away for anything, unless it meant bringing his sister back. His brother-in-law. Emelia's parents.

It was probably for the better that she broke into his thoughts. He had promised to take her shopping today, after lunch, and it was about time to make that meal now. Capping his pen, Oliver pushed his chair back and let himself out of his bedroom.

"Eric, sit!" She said a bit too loudly, holding out a bit of cereal. Seeing Oliver as he walked in, she showed it to him. "It's a cheerio. No sugar, like you said."

He smiled in return, gesturing towards the dog, who had indeed settled his back half down on the floor. Emelia dropped the treat to the floor, then crouched down to give the puppy an additional scratch behind his ears.

"He's learning quickly," Oliver observed proudly, looking at her over the bar of their kitchen, washing his hands in the sink there.

"He isn't so small anymore," she pointed out, shrugging. He conceded that she was quite right, and told her that she would have to show Ariel the things her dog had learned when he got home from wherever he had wandered off to that day. Emelia looked at her uncle oddly, coming around into the kitchen to join him. "I'm not sure Ari likes him."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he was kidding about that," Oliver returned. "You know he can be sarcastic a lot of the time."

She nodded, shrugging to parallel the one he had just given her. Then it was time to make something decent, food wise. It wasn't much of a surprise that Oliver had very quickly learned not to be awful at cooking anymore, particularly because Emelia wanted to learn, too. She was climbing up the kitchen stool when Oliver looked over at her again from the door of the fridge. She had her mother's hair and her father's eyes, and the slight French lilt that she had picked up from her parents as much as her grandparents. They had enough cousins to reinforce it. After a couple of years in introductory Muggle lessons, however, it was beginning to fade. Her classmates, of course, didn't have one.

Oliver, himself? He had an almost posh English accent from years at English schools, then Hogwarts and then University. It had taken time, but they were starting to sound more alike. That, of course, helped when they went out into town. It made it less likely for them to get funny looks as they chatted with each other.

"Oliver, this one, this one! Oh, please, uncle?"

Following her gesture with his eyes, Oliver saw a quaint-looking bookshop and lifted his eyebrows a bit. She grabbed hold of his hand and started tugging dramatically, laughing as he pretended to be thoroughly uninterested. "Oh, c'mon, Ollie!"

Giving in, he opened the door for her, letting her lead the way. Almost immediately, he searched out the books that would be around her reading level. Oliver was fairly convinced that Emelia might be dyslexic, as she was struggling to pick it up, but if she was interested, he wouldn't comment on it in front of her. Instead, it gave him the chance to try to discern how best to help her along. She didn't follow him, though. She was trying to figure out what each section of the store contained.

"I bet I can find your book before you!" She declared, appearing suddenly at his side.

"Is that so?" He returned, lifting his eyebrows. He could admit that he was a bit amused. "Game on, belle."

She grinned and bounded away, but Oliver didn't go out of his way to find the thing. She would be happier if she discovered it first - if the place even had it, mind. He instead continued looking for something up her alley. Emelia, however, was cleverer than her uncle sometimes realized. She went right up to the counter, plopping her hands on top and waiting for the blonde woman there to notice her.

"Hi," she offered, lifting one hand to give a little wave. "I need to find my uncle's book. We're racing," she confided, leaning forward a bit. She was too short for the top of the desk, so she lifted herself up onto her toes. Much good it did her. "It says, um, Gresham Conrad on it," she added, nearly tripping over the pseudonym. "Do you have that one?"

“You’re looking healthy, baby sister.”

The smirk on Jean-Jacques’s face was enough to make the irritation that his sister had been trying to keep bottled flare just a little bit. She dropped her bag down angrily on her desk and he lifted his shoulders as though to show her he was half-spooked. His smirk turned into a goofy grin and he let his eyes flick over her clothes, wondering how she could be so like their mother in that despite the fatigue behind her eyes and the sore redness of her nose, she was still dressed to kill.

He and their brother, Remy, would have been huddled under blankets at home, pleading sympathy form their wives and only really getting it from their toddlers. And even if they had to be in work they would have been in trackie bottoms and their designated sad hoodie. Their little sister, by contrast, was wearing a pretty spring dress and pumps. Her hair was curled nicely and she’d taken time with her earrings and necklaces that morning. Her only bit of what they would call sickness slobbery was a rustic brown cardigan with large green buttons that was on the too-big side of fitting her and it allowed her the reprieve of being a bit snuggly.

Alice brought her hands together and Jean-Jacques hastily pulled his glasses down from their roost in his nest of sandy curls. His eyebrows rose curiously as her hands moved, creating familiar symbols that made his smile widen all the more. So, she’s lost her voice, he thought, chucking down his pencil. He got to his feet and pulled a box of soups off of the shelf above his desk and grabbed a clean-ish, looking orange mug off of the stand next to it.

“I’ll make you something to drink, shall I?”

Alice nodded gratefully and sank down into her chair, absently flicking her eyes across her computer monitor which was, much to her dismay, already alerting her to far too many emails. In the Muggle world, they were a book delivery company. They did bulk orders for libraries or schools but also delivered to individuals. Marie-Elise, their mother, and Remy had recently decided to dabble with publishing, leaving Alice and Jean-Jacques to run the magical store and deal with the online orders.

Almost all of them had gone into books. Only Marianne was the exception, with her and her husband, Stephen, going into the restaurant business with their father, Paul-Henri. As a result, that ‘half’ of the family, as it were, could often be found in France. Their half was almost exclusively in London. It was rare, these days, for them all to be together at once but that didn’t mean they didn’t see much of each other, thankfully. They were all too close to drift apart.

“I’ll deal with the orders, Allie,” Jean-Jacques returned from the kitchenette, stirring the soup as he went. “Why don’t you handle the floor today?”

Alice looked up at him and scowled, waving her hands at him testily.

“No, you don’t need to be able to speak to deal with the customers. Look, it’s quiet. It’ll be fine. Just put up a nice sign and let them know you’re suffering. They might even pity you and buy something.” He winked and set down the cup for her. “Go on.”

I’m terribly sorry! I can’t speak! Ursula the Sea Witch stole my voice!

Alice capped her pen and propped up the sign in front of the bookmark and badge stands that were meant to tempt people at the till. Putting the pen back into the pot behind the desk, Alice plopped herself down forlornly in the chair and pulled a tissue from the box, sorely wishing that the cold would hurry up and muddle through her. She’d already eaten all of her throat sweets that morning. An old lady who had bought a book on Potions had even given her some. Those had long been gone, too, in the bottom of her bin. She was on her second soup, by the way. Needless to say, she wasn’t a very happy witch.

The only upshot of the whole thing was that Lemon had come to work with her today. The kids who visited always loved Lemon. The corgi was a happy little soul. She matched the children exactly in that regard. She was also doing her mistress a favour in that, currently, she was sat on Alice’s feet, keeping them warm in a way that she hadn’t realised she’d been missing. She was lying, actually. There were two positives. The second was the book she was reading. Those two paired with the soup did quite a bit to lift her mood.

What really brightened the witch, though, was the little face that appeared on the other side of the counter. Alice smiled, unable quite to help herself. She warmed instantly to the chatty little creature before her. Alice nodded, surprise lighting up her face. She lifted the book out of her lap, hastily slotting her bookmark in between the page leafs, and held it out to the girl, unsure what she intended on doing with it, since Alice supposed that she and her uncle must have had a copy, but content enough to indulge her.

An early sneezing fit had made the customers steer a bit clear of her and had asked Charlie, their cashier, to ring up their purchases instead. This was the first person Alice had spoken to – spoken being the inoperative word – since.

Lemon was keen on doing all of the speaking, instead. Excited to hear the bell-like voice of the little girl, the corgi abandoned Alice and scurried out form behind the desk to greet the girl excitedly. Alice dashed out and caught hold of Lemon – round the middle rather than by the collar – and lifted her up off of the floor before she could get near the little girl. The last thing Alice wanted was for her to have an allergic reaction to Lemon’s fur or something.

“Are you—” Alice’s voice barely crackled out and she brought her lips together again as she brought a hand to her throat. Wincing a bit as the skin smarted under her touch, Alice carefully set Lemon down and tapped her on the fluffy bum end, encouraging her to sit down and wait to see if the girl would come to her, scratching her behind the ears as a thank you for doing so. You couldn’t fault Lemon for one thing – she definitely loved people.

Emelia was in the midst of allowing surprise to slip onto her features when a clattering made her jump and turn to the side, and her eyes widened almost comically. But the blonde lady picked up the puppy, so it was alright, really. When she was set down again, she seemed a bit calmer and Emelia leaned down to pet down the dog's back. She did offer a bit of a pout for the lady behind the desk, though, because something was wrong with her voice, but Emelia popped up onto her tip-toes again to look at the book that had been held out to her.

She reached out to point her finger along the name at the bottom, trying to make sure the blonde hadn't misunderstood her. When she was sure it was the right one, Emelia bounced down onto the pads of her feet. Quite suddenly, she turned and called out, "Uncle! I found it!"

A moment later, Oliver came round with a slight frown on his face. "You needn't shout, love. I'm right here."

He lifted his eyes from his niece to the blonde behind the counter and paused in his approach for a moment. Reaching out to nudge one of Emelia's little braids, he came up alongside her and turned his attention to the note set there. Oliver offered the woman an apologetic frown, but followed his niece's pointing towards the book.

"I found it," she repeated. "I asked and she had it right here and showed it to me."

"You're right, Em. You win. Why don't you go pick something out and we'll start reading it tonight, yeah?" He suggested, smiling down at her and turning to watch as she positively scurried off towards the stacks again.

Turning to the woman who either worked there or, perhaps, owned the place, he gestured to the note. "I'm not sure she could read it. Sorry. She gets quite excited about games," Oliver explained, smiling rather proudly. Emelia was doing well, considering everything that had happened to her.

He leaned one hand on the top of the counter and looked down at the book and the fact that it was marked. Emelia had said the woman had it on her already, and he found himself pretty amused by the way it had worked out. His free hand nudged the text back towards her.

"I'm glad someone's reading it," he admitted, reminding himself not to ask questions if she couldn't answer them with a shake or nod of her head. He lifted his gaze to hers again, unsure what else he had intended to say. When it did register again that the poor woman was ill and had just been a bit ambushed by his dependent.

"You don't... need anything do you?" Oliver asked, almost surprising himself. "We're out for the day anyway so if you're stuck 'round here, it wouldn't be an issue."

Sitting back on her haunches, the blonde witch kept one careful hand on her dog, all to aware that, in spite of being a tiny little fluff-ball, if she put her mind to it then Lemon could have quite the leap. The last thing Alice wanted was for the girl to be felled by her corgi. Her mother would never forgive her if they ended up being sued by an irate parent for canine-related negligence. It wouldn’t be an ideal end to the week. Well, it couldn’t get much worse by the standards that had already been set by the dismal health she seemed to be keeping at the moment. Still, it would be unappreciated.

The witch smiled, watching as the little girl traced the indented text on the front of the book. It was an odd feeling, parting with one’s book. In truth, Alice thought that a child was the best person to relinquish a book to. Alice looked up when the girl called after her uncle, the writer of the book. She hadn’t had the foggiest idea of what he looked like. Needless to say, she hadn’t expected the man that appeared, replying to his niece with gentle, guiding reproach. He was, well …

Alice knew that had she been in charge of her voice, it would have been taken away by the sight of him – or something as equally romantically clichéd as that. She dropped her gaze, trying to push away the heat from her cheeks that had spontaneously risen to the surface of her skin. She couldn’t believe she was meeting him. Sort of. Gresham was a wonderful writer – though she couldn’t help but think he didn’t really look like a Gresham. That said, she didn’t know, really, if she looked like an Alice. But he really, really didn’t look like a Gresham.

No, Merlin … he was beautiful. So handsomely cut in this slightly brooding light that was belied by the tenderness with which he treated his niece. So captivated was she that she allowed Lemon to dart out from under her hand. The corgi scampered away after the little girl before Alice could even think to grab hold of her. Rising to her feet, the witch sent a mute, despairing look in the dog’s direction as her fluffy bum disappeared behind the shelves that led to the children’s section.

Rising slowly to her feet, Alice cast an exasperated look in the general direction of the children’s section, hoping that Gresham wouldn’t think badly of her because of her dog. She brushed her hand absently over the front of her dress and chanced a glance up at Gresham, telling herself not to stare. She nodded in understanding when he referenced her sign and she smiled shyly, reaching up to rub at the back of her neck.

She shrugged a little as though to say it was fine and took the book back, hugging it against her chest. She fiddled a little with the bookmark peeking out of the top and looked up at him as he spoke about it. A smile crept softly over her features and she opened her mouth, sorely wishing that she could have actually spoken to him.

Holding up her hand, Alice set down the book and pulled a pad and pencil off of the desk. Carefully scribbling down what she wanted to say, the witch held it out to him, smiling regretfully. It was terribly embarrassing – though she had no idea whether or not he could sign. Her face lit up, sparking like a proverbial light bulb at that thought, and she wrote down that very question.

It’s fantastic! You’re a very gifted author.

Do you know any sign language? It’s quicker than writing.

At his offer, her blush returned with full force. She couldn’t believe he was really open to getting her something to help her limp through the day. She brought the pad back and scribbled on it that he was sweet, though she quickly scored that out. Not all men appreciated such a sentiment. Instead she tucked the pad under her arm and smiled at him.

She shook her head gently and reached to pick up her soup, hoping to show him she was well provided for. She realised as soon as she curled her hands around it that it was stone cold. Her last one, too, and soup never tasted good reheated with magic. She looked down at it and pouted gently before reaching around and setting it back down. She shrugged as though to say ‘oh well’ or ‘c’est la vie’. It happened. Still, she was a little bit bummed about it. Back to cough sweets it was – at least until Jean-Jacques went to the shop.

Oliver couldn't help the way his eyes darted over her when she stood and her hand drifted down her dress and pulls his gaze. Propriety reigned, of course, setting him back to rights and re-directing his focus. She looked back a second later, and he had to remind himself to not stare at this stranger, no matter how pretty she was. He felt naive for thinking it, but he almost couldn't fathom the fact that this was her when she felt under the weather. It was actually rather lucky for him that he hadn't come in when she was feeling tip-top, because he wasn't sure he would have found any words at all.

She brought the book back to her immediately, as though protective of it, and he had to keep a bit of surprise off of his face. Oliver's lips turned down into a concerned frown when she looked about to speak but then started reaching about. His smile returned, though, when she passed the paper over. It was a rather humble and embarrassed smile, belying his feigned confidence about it beforehand.

"Thank you," he replied quietly. He nearly misread her second bit but he caught himself. "I know a bit. The beginnings," he clarified, "though I'm better at reading than signing, I think."

Oliver leaned back, then, looking around to make sure Emelia wasn't coming back. "I picked a bit up about a year after my niece was born because Em's- well, her parents thought perhaps she had a bit of trouble and we'd need it. She's quite alright, though, as you've seen," he joked, chuckling a little to himself.

She lifted up her meal but seemed oddly disappointed by it. Leaning his hands on the counter, he gave her a rather knowing look. "If you need, something, honestly-"

"Oliver?"

He turned over his shoulder to look at the little girl, bemused. At her heels was the corgi who had darted off earlier. She came round, careful not to step on the dog, carrying a book with her. She held it out to him and he was bemused to find that it was one that featured a little dog that looked rather like the one at his feet. A laugh lifted from his chest as he showed it to the woman across the counter.

"I think your shop has made quite an impression on this one, miss," Oliver informed her, tempted to call her something a bit more endearing. But he didn't even know the woman's name. "She'll be sorry to leave, I think."

Emelia looked up at him, affronted. "You mean we can't come back?" She asked, gesturing towards the dog as if the blonde couldn't see her.

Oliver smirked. "Well, darling, if you aren't careful," he glanced towards the woman as though her name would just come to him, "she'll be afraid you'll take her dog with you. Plus, your pup will get jealous. But if you're nice, I wager she'd let us come back."

The sniffly witch had a feeling that the little girl was what her mother would call more of a ‘do-er.’ She was as bright as sunshine and cute as a button. Alice knew that if uncle or niece stayed for much longer, she might become permanently attached. Well, only emotionally. She had a feeling, with the little one, that Lemon was already miles down that particular road. When the said little one returned, Lemon affirmed that thought in her mother’s mind by staying close to Em’s side. Alice’s eyes glinted with amusement.

It seemed that the witch and wizard tacitly understood each other in that both strongly suspected she’d be waiting for a while for an advance on the now-cold soup. She decided not to pay the pointed look and the knowing smile any mind and focused instead on the girl and corgi – and the book that the former had selected. If her throat hadn’t hurt so much, she would have let out a genuine laugh, a clear sound of delight that could bring a smile to even the stoniest of faces. Instead, she found a bright smile – it hurt far less.

Her mind did turn curiously, though. Oliver. She had long suspected that the lack of interaction with the public from Gresham Conrad might have meant he was writing under a different name. The call of the girl confirmed that for her and her smile widened with the pride that came with knowing that she’d been right all along. Plus, he suited Oliver much more than he did Gresham. Not that that mattered, really. It had little to do with her.

Alice found herself nodding eagerly, hoping, indeed, that the duo would come back. Lemon sat down, a look of concern passing over her fluffy face as though she, too, could sense that there was a chance that they wouldn’t be returning. Alice wanted to tell Oliver that they’d always be welcome but she’d set down the pad and suddenly felt awkward about picking it up again. It was a preposterous feeling, she knew, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to reach for it.

Instead, the witch took a stamp card out of the little holder on the front of the desk in amongst the free bookmarks and other strange book-related knick-knacks that Jean-Jacques found charming. She leaned over the counter and picked up her stamp and flicked back the lid of the ink pad so that she could press the stamp into it. The little green-ink image was just what you’d expect it to be, reader. It was a little elephant. The stamp was one she’d designed herself and she’d imbued it with magic so that they moved. Often, loyal customers would want to keep their old cards just for the delight of seeing the elephants playing with each other.

Turning it over so that Oliver could see what the card was all about, Alice handed it over. For every ten books bought, the shop would give out a voucher that would contribute to the next one the customer wanted. With every book bought and stamped for, they would give a quarter of profits to either a children’s charity that distributed books to orphanages and underfunded schools or to an environmental charity that would see a tree planted for every book. Which it went to depended on the customer, though Alice had a feeling that Oliver would want the latter so plucked the purple card from the stand.

Then, the witch took a bookmark and knelt down, ignoring the whining of her muscles that so sorely wanted to be taken back to bed, holding it out to Em. Like the stamps, the bookmarks were magical, too. This one, in a blatant reference to Lemon who was as much a part of the furniture as Alice was, was covered in bouncing corgis which Alice had also carefully drawn out. That way, she could take a little bit of Lemon with her if she wanted to.

Once she had given the bookmark to Em, Alice rose back up to her feet and got a little brown bag out from behind the counter. It had their logo on it – again, designed by her. Can you see a theme here, reader? This one had a pair of orangutans on the front, hanging from tall trees with one hand, large books in the other. On the forest floor, another orangutan was reading to a handful of gathered babies who were listening with rapt attention. Beneath that, in swirling script, was the name of their shop.

She held the bag open for Oliver and once the book was inside she took the bag by the handles and leaned down to give it to Em. Free of charge. It was something that Jean-Jacques would probably lecture her about later once he caught her righting the books with her own gold. She’d worry about her brother’s opinion later, she decided as she rose back up to her full height. The gift of giving a book to a child was a far greater reward than any exchange of product and gold. And maybe making a few friends, too … that topped everything.

Miss Elephant Stamp, the letter read.

You'll have to forgive me; I didn't ask for your name as I should have. However, you'll also have to forgive me for being forward, as I am about to be. You see, Emilia wanted me to send you something. She copied your bookmark's style for this, I believe. I'm a bit surprised, actually. She's never been all that interested in art before, but I fear you've given her a bit of an obsession with elephants and corgis. At any rate, I've rolled it in with this scroll, so I hope it hasn't gotten lost in transport.

I think it's good for her, though. She's asked me to say thank you for her, but I felt I ought to as well. Particularly because you have given her things for free, which you didn't need to. But I do appreciate it, deeply. As much as I am grateful for it, however, I do feel rather like I ought to pay you back. After all, you were not well, yet were so lovely. But I never did manage to get you anything or help out in any way, so I would like to remedy that.

Perhaps I should start with explaining some of the happenings at your shop yesterday. My name is not Gresham Conrad, though I'm not sure if you realized. I should have introduced myself properly, but I think I was so surprised with Emilia's actions and your generosity that it didn't register in the moment. My name is Oliver Connolly, though Gresham is in fact my middle name, so it isn't too far from the truth, I suppose.

As for Emilia, she couldn't read your sign very quickly. She's about to turn seven, so I've teased that you've given her a birthday present early because you know things. I'm afraid she's quite possibly taken that too literally. But I'll clear that up at some point. I am seriously considering having her tested for dyslexia, because her reading level is.. well, shockingly low for how much we have read together over the past few years. This last one in particular. That said, I was hoping to ask if you might have some suggestions for things she might enjoy but perhaps are a bit easier for her? She's already pressing me about when we'll go in next to see the puppy. I forgot to ask your dog's name, too. Merlin, I'm sorry.

My point, after all of that beating around the bush, is that I would very much like to bring her by again to see what you think would be best. As much as she loves her puppy, she's calling yours her new friend, which I wager can't be a bad thing. Particularly for someone like her. She's been through a lot, and I want to make things as easy for her as possible.

As for paying you back, I would very much like to help out your store in whichever way I can. If that's signed copies or something along those lines, I would be more than happy. Whatever you feel would be beneficial. Let me know what would work, and when it would be best for you to have her round again.

Yours sincerely,
Oliver

It took a great deal of effort for Oliver to convince himself not to reply straight away. She was tired, he reminded himself. She expected them Saturday, and that was more than fair as far as he was concerned. He did read the letter twice, though, before setting it on his bedside table. Two days. Why he was so anxious for those days to pass, Oliver himself couldn't say. He attempted to train his mind, telling it that Emilia's happiness was the important part in this. Even though the blonde was - indeed - quite lovely, even whilst ill.

Alice. Yes, that sounded right, now that she'd said it. And she wasn't wrong about his name, either. As a middle one, it was fine. But it didn't quite match him, as she had cleverly pointed out.

If it weren't for the fact that Emilia had school, Oliver got the feeling that one - or both - of them would have been asking the other if it were the weekend yet. Of course, she did. And so they didn't need to ask, but he could sense her impatience. A part of him was thrilled, though the other part wasn't one hundred percent sure why he felt that way. He had 'spoken' to her for all of five minutes, and although she had written a lengthy reply and he could very well have sent something back the next day. But it was strange, he felt, to write a letter to the woman whose shop he would return to in just a couple days' time. She had to know they would come by, didn't she?

And indeed, come Saturday morning, they did just that. Although Emilia had asked multiple times if she could bring Eric with her, Oliver didn't think that Alice would necessarily appreciate it. Eric, after all, was well-trained as far as Emilia was concerned, but the same was not true for strangers. Oliver feared that her nice shop would be torn to bits before he was calmed down, and that was hardly a way to thank someone after they had been so kind.

In her arms, Emilia held a little box that she had wrapped surprisingly nicely, in glittery gold paper despite the fact that it was summertime, almost, and not remotely close to the Christmas season anymore. She had started off in front of her uncle, somehow remembering just how to get to Alice's shop. Oliver hadn't been sure exactly what time Alice meant when she said that they met in the morning, but he realized as they walked in that they were indeed a bit late.

He closed the door quietly behind him and turned to find Emilia lingering by his side, eyeing a group on the other side of the shop curiously. Oliver reached down to pass his hand over her hair before starting towards the folks gathered near Alice, who he thought looked a great deal brighter and better, though he wasn't really sure. Emilia held the box behind her back as they approached, stopping a little ways off.

Oliver stopped, leaning one shoulder against a sturdy-looking bookshelf and crossing his arms over his chest casually as he waited for her to catch sight of them. Although Emilia was fidgeting, her uncle was just smiling as he watched the bunch, entertained to know that he was quite right. Alice at her best was not something he had been fully prepared for, despite expecting that he would feel that way.

"Ollie," Emilia whispered, reaching up and poking him in the side. She waited until he had pulled his gaze from Alice to continue. "Do we need to come back later?"

"Not sure yet, darling. Do you want to go look for the dog? Her name is Lemon."

Emilia's eyes widened excitedly before she nodded, shoving the box towards her uncle and turning to wander through the shop. Unsurprisingly, she aimed for the children's books section, which he supposed was well enough indeed, so he turned back and resumed his patient stance until Alice was free to chat with him.

Saturday. The day every ounce of her being had eagerly been anticipating. As she rose that morning, half falling out of bed with eagerness and spooking Lemon, who had been snoozing on the other side, in the process, she found herself filled with an energy and hopefulness that she had not felt for a very long time, indeed. She knew what it was, too, and she tried to dash it from her mind and tell herself that she was being presumptuous at best and downright mad at worst. Still, she found herself taking extra time with picking a pretty dress and making sure she looked a little more than alright. A nagging feeling in the back of her mind warned that all of it would be for embarrassing naught if he and his niece didn’t turn up but she decided to try and forget about that and focus on the shop and the day ahead.

By the time mid-morning rolled around and the shop had been open for a few hours, that nagging feeling started to return but she managed to put it out of her mind again – albeit haphazardly. All manner of family units wandered in through the door and Lemon was eager to see many of them, although retreated to her bed underneath Alice’s desk after a particularly handsy pair of toddlers for whom their parents apologised profusely. Sliding off her shoes, Alice let her feet settle gently on the Lemon, reassuring her pup that it was okay. The parents shuffled off after purchasing their books, scolding their children all the while for scaring the corgi. Half an hour later, just before the book club arrived, the father returned with a worried expression and an array of presents to placate both witch and puppy.

So, when the book club arrived, Alice was amusedly arranging a bouquet of sunflowers on the end of her desk while Lemon was snacking away under the desk at the treats the man had bought her. When the door opened and the array of neighbours flooded in, immediately seeking out their chairs and setting it up in their usual fashion, no longer needing Alice or Jean to help with logistics, Lemon’s mood had brightened once more. She peeked out from under the desk and bounced out excitedly to extract some much desired fuss from a pair of elderly ladies she particularly adored from the book club. They would often walk Lemon, too, arriving in the shop on weekdays with cream cakes for Alice and Jean and a ball and a long walk ahead for the corgi. Alice would never begrudge them that joy, even if it did unsettle her to see Lemon go off with people who weren’t really strange anymore – that was still her baby.

“Better get the teas on, then,” Jean-Jacques joked, emerging wearily from the back office with one hand furrowed through the front of his sandy hair. Alice nodded, smirking at him, and he chuckled before turning on his heel and wandering back in to fuss with the kettle and the many teacups they would inevitably need.

“Alice, darling!” Helen, one of Lemon’s ladies, hurried over and wrapped her up in a bone-crushing cuddle. “You look so much better.” She pulled back and pinched her cheek affectionately, earning a wry smile from the blonde.

“I feel much better,” she admitted with a shrug of one shoulder, her cheeks colouring with the attention.

“Well good because Lemon was frightfully concerned. She didn’t enjoy our walk as much this week because she was worried about you. Don’t do it again,” she added the last bit in mock reproach before squeezing Alice’s upper arms.

“I have cake and tea!” Jean-Jacques announced, returning once everyone had settled down and had begun to take their books out. Alice was grateful for his reappearance, having been caught between fielding questions from the club members about how she was and dealing with the other customers. She’d also been showered, confusingly, with coins in membership payments and had sufficed with getting them to put it in a mug she had just finished drinking from, having gotten a bit overwhelmed with that amongst everything else. Jean would take over and Merlin knew how they adored him.

As they fussed over Jean, Helen rising out of her chair to help him distribute treats, Alice backed out of the book club circle and turned around, exhaling to herself, not quite having realised quite what a whirlwind they were. She still wasn’t one-hundred percent, of course. Feeling a bit fragile was the leftover symptom of whatever it was she’d had. The local Healer who had popped in interestedly the other day, having heard – from Helen – that Alice was sick, seemed to think it might have been a bit of a touch of dragon flu – “Dragon pox without the pox, you see, dear. Beastly stuff!” Alice quite agreed. She had a feeling a cup of coffee was in order but all thoughts of that disappeared when she looked up to see who was leaning against one of the shelves.

Oliver.

“Hello,” a smile lit up her face as feelings of vindication surged through her. “I wondered if you had changed your mind,” she admitted ruefully, coming to stand before him. A happy bark sounded off towards the back of the shop and Alice passed a look over her shoulder, gathering that it meant Lemon and Emelia had found each other. “Would you and Em like something to drink? I’m not sure what mugs are left,” she smirked a little in the direction of the book club, shaking her head fondly, “but there’s fresh lemonade from the café down the road if you’d like some?”