Chapter Thirty-Three
THIRTY-THREE
The air was crisp and the sky gray as steel by the time Vesper realized it was snowing.
She rolled an old pen between her fingers, relishing the smells of fresh ink and worn leather as she sat at her desk in the Globe’s office.
Tiny white snowflakes had already begun to collect on the window.
Beyond the front stoop, children were racing down Pierce Street in makeshift sleds made from old crates and dodging snowballs as they flew through the air.
Vesper smiled. She could remember when she’d dreaded this, the exchange of one season for another.
Now, for the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel dread as she lifted her gaze and watched the snow continue to fall.
For the first time, she wondered what a new season might bring—new challenges, new hopes, maybe even new adventures.
She looked up as the door to the main office creaked open. Tom marched in holding an armful of bags and stomping the snow from his boots. His eyes found Vesper, and he smiled.
“I can remember another morning like this one—cold, quiet. I was at that very desk.” He pointed to the one where Vesper was sitting.
“Couldn’t say what drove me to do it, but I had the thought to check the front stoop for our mail.
Imagine my surprise when I found a little girl instead, curled up and asleep on the second-to-last step. ”
A hard lump rose in Vesper’s throat.
“Well, of course I brought her inside.” Tom placed the bags on one of the empty desks and brushed his hands.
“Nell found a spare coat to wrap you in, and we put you right in front of the woodstove to try to warm you up. Both of us were sure you’d have hypothermia, or at very least frostbite, but once you’d had a few sips of hot chocolate, you came right back to life.
As soon as you could talk, you were asking questions about the office, wondering how it all worked and how old you had to be to work as a reporter.
” He chuckled. “I knew then that you belonged here, that you’d always belong here. ”
Vesper smiled. Tom was right. New seasons would come and go, but the Globe was and always would be her home.
“I checked the mail earlier,” she noted. “Have you gotten anything from Mr. Burbank? We should be caught up on our rent now.”
“I did.” A furrow appeared in her editor’s brow. “He sent a note, but … there was something odd.”
“Odd?”
Tom reached into his jacket’s pocket and held up a folded paper. “He said that the Globe’s rent has been covered for the next five years.”
Vesper went still. “Five?”
“Five.” Tom nodded. “The note says it was an anonymous donation from a friend of the newspaper. Wouldn’t tell me who.”
Vesper blinked quickly, trying to hold back the tears welling in her eyes. There were many people in Basalton with the means to make that sort of donation, but there was only one person she knew of in this city who would.
“That was … kind,” she whispered.
“I’ll say.” Tom leaned against the desk opposite her and crossed his arms. “Now, I know you’ve already got work, but I wondered if you had a moment to talk shop?”
Vesper pretended to rub at her eyes. “Of course.”
“It’s about an assignment,” said Tom. “Guillermo Crivello wrote to me yesterday saying he wanted to buy some ads for the holiday season, but he needs help with the write-up. I know ads aren’t your favorite, but…
” He gave her an apologetic look. “I wondered if you’d mind swinging by the coffeehouse to help him get everything sorted? ”
“Sure.” Vesper closed her notebook. “When do we need it?”
Tom looked out the window again. “Better go soon. This snow’s not showing signs of stopping anytime soon.”
Vesper rose and shouldered the strap of her satchel. “I’ll head there now.”
Guillermo’s was a bright spot of cheer in the midst of early winter’s drab gray colors.
The familiar tinkle of a bell sounded overhead as she swung the door open, and she was at once greeted with a wave of warmth.
She ducked inside, and was surprised to find that the entire coffeehouse was empty.
She felt it then, the shift from ease to wariness.
Even in the very worst weather, Guillermo’s was never empty at this time of the day.
Her gaze panned the room, and she noted that, in the middle of the coffeehouse, a single table had been covered with a white linen cloth.
On it was a small, slender black box. Vesper approached it, then narrowed her eyes in confusion.
The words inscribed in the box were written in elegant silver lettering:
Henry & Lewis Artisan Pen Makers, Est. 1801.
Vesper opened the box slowly, trying to keep her hands from shaking.
Inside were two fountain pens set in a bed of black velvet, both gilded.
Vesper picked one of them up in wonder. A small inscription had been added to both of them: V.
L. EVANS. Her heart began to pound in her chest. Artisans pens from Henry & Lewis cost a fortune. Who would—
The kitchen door swung suddenly open. Vesper looked up, expecting to see Guillermo Crivello, but it was someone else.
“Max?”
“Ah, Miss Evans.” The sorcerer came around the counter.
He wasn’t dressed in his usual attire. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled to his elbows, and he was covered in powdered sugar.
“Right on time.” He gestured to the table.
“I see you’ve already opened your second Christmas present.
If you’ll indulge me, I have one more. Please, sit. ”
Vesper could do nothing but sit down as Max reached her, holding a small silver tray. He placed it on the table, then lifted the cover with a dramatic flourish. Vesper stared in astonishment. On the plate was a single raspberry tartlet, dusted in powdered sugar.
“It won’t win any culinary awards, but I’ll have you know it’s divine,” said Maximilian. “And I would know. This is my third attempt to bake one.”
“You … baked this?” Vesper asked. “On your own? Without sorcery?”
Maximilian grinned. “Guillermo gave me some pointers, and Bexley quite bravely offered to try the first batch.”
“He did?”
“Yes.” Maximilian beamed. “He’s currently indisposed!”
Vesper blinked, looking around. “But I don’t understand,” she said. “Tom sent me here because he said Mr. Crivello wanted an ad write-up, he—”
Max began to laugh. It was a musical sound.
Suddenly, Vesper understood. The assignment, the empty coffeehouse: Max had been behind it, all of it. He had planned this, and heavens knew how many people he’d had to employ to accomplish it.
“Max…” Her voice was soft. “I—”
“Did you know it takes four hours to make a raspberry tartlet?”
“It does?”
“Well, it does when I make them. Everything takes longer without sorcery, I suppose.” He nudged the plate toward her. “Please, humor me.”
Vesper took a slow bite and closed her eyes.
She tasted buttery crust, sweet berries dusted in powdered sugar.
And she remembered. The sounds of the farmer’s market, the feel of Ethel’s hand in hers.
Her father’s laugh. Maximilian had given that back to her, a piece of a memory she’d thought was lost forever.
She glanced at the box of pens still beside her.
All of this, Max had done all of this because, inexplicably …
he cared for her. She didn’t realize she was crying until she opened her eyes.
“Vesper?” She looked up. Max’s face had changed. Gone was the smugness from before. There was only alarm. He looked from her to the plate, worried. “I’ve switched the salt and sugar again, haven’t I? Or is it the crust? The berries weren’t in season, but—”
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why did you do this for me?”
A wrinkle appeared between Max’s brows. “Vesper—”
“I thought you didn’t want to see me.” Vesper shook her head. “I thought you’d been avoiding me.”
A shadow passed over Max’s face. “Not avoiding you,” he murmured. “After what happened at the holiday party, I wasn’t sure what to say. I…” He stared at his feet. “I wasn’t even sure you wanted to see me.”
It all came back to her: the two of them in that den, their kiss, the bright flicker of hope that had been instantly doused by the anxious voice that always crept in.
That voice had told her that she would always be the odd girl, that boys like Max didn’t end up with girls like her.
That voice had insisted that Max had been avoiding her because deep down, he’d known they could never be together.
“I must have started a hundred letters,” Max continued. “I even thought to come to the Globe’s office, but that’s your place of work, your home. It didn’t feel right.
“I got the idea when Guillermo told me he needed to put an ad in the paper. Then I asked Tom for his help too.”
Vesper stared up at Max, trying to understand.
“Ah, that reminds me.” He went over to the counter and returned with the book of her clippings. “I think this belongs to you.” He placed it on the table, then paused. “Miss Evans, I’d … I’d like to ask you something.”
Vesper stilled.
“Well, I know that our investigation has concluded, and I know that the terms of our original agreement dictate that we end our ruse once our business is done. However…” He cleared his throat. “I’d like to propose a new plan.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” Max took a deep breath. “I was wondering if … perhaps things didn’t have to end here. I wondered if, maybe, I could court you properly.”
Vesper saw it then, a whole new story with Maximilian on every page, in every chapter. She realized with an acute intensity that she wanted that more than anything. But …
“Society wouldn’t approve.” Vesper forced the words aloud. “You know as well as I do that I’m not the kind of girl you’re expected to court. Sarah would be more—”
“I’m not interested in Sarah.” Max’s expression was suddenly serious.
“Nor am I interested in anyone else. I’d like to court you, Miss Evans, because…
” He combed his fingers through his dark curls.
“Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the first time I saw you in this coffeehouse, glaring at me with whipped cream on your lip.
I want to court you because you’re the smartest, kindest, and possibly most stubborn woman I’ve ever met, and because I can’t imagine life without you in it.
I don’t want to.” Maximilian still looked nervous.
“Of course, if you don’t want to, I understand. If I’ve misread—”
“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate. “I would like that, very much.”
Maximilian beamed, and the whole world seemed to stand still. “I love you.”
Love. He was in love with her. Vesper felt the word more than she heard it, buzzing through her like a current of electricity.
Maximilian Kite was in love, with her. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, waiting to wake up from whatever dream this was.
But when she opened them again, Maximilian was still smiling at her, a question in his eyes. The words came to her unbidden.
“I love you too.”
Maximilian’s smile broadened. He came around the table and knelt, so that their eyes were level. He leaned in, and her pulse quickened.
“I’d like to kiss you now, Miss Evans,” he whispered. “May I?”
Vesper didn’t bother nodding her head. Instead, she closed the last few inches between them, took his face in both her hands, and kissed him.
They’d kissed before, but this time it was different, slower.
She felt something unfurl and realized that, for the first time in a long time, it seemed like everything would be all right.
They broke apart, and Max grinned. “Well, now that that’s done.
” He pulled out a chair and sat down across from her.
“You can tell me how your morning’s been.
But first, do try a little more tartlet. I’m working on my technique.”
Vesper smiled, then took another bite of the best raspberry tartlet she’d ever tasted.