LeahIsolde poured the tea with a steady hand, but I could tell it was taking effort.The flat above the bookshop was small and warm. The ceiling sloped, the chairs didn't match, and there were books on every wall. Odile, a tall woman with flour on her sleeve, took one look at Kieran in the doorway, said nothing, and went to turn on the oven. I liked her right away."I don't know how this is supposed to go," Isolde said, putting a plate of shortbread on the table. "I practiced this for years. None of it works now that he's here.""He doesn't know either," I said. "He's been holding that cup for ten minutes and hasn't taken a sip.""I can hear you," Kieran said from the window."You were meant to."Isolde laughed, surprised, and looked from him to me. She didn't look suspicious. She looked relieved, like someone who expected a disaster and got a normal afternoon.Odile called us to dinner an hour later. The table was full: roast chicken, a big dish of potatoes, a salad nobody touched.
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