II: The Empress

It was a good day. The sun was high and warm. Spring was peeking out from nooks and crannies, flowers were shooting up through the cracks in the pavement, from pots, from the green grass. Birds hummed and chirped in the afternoon breeze, happy to see the golden light after a dreary winter.

Molly sat in the park with a book, waiting. She was perpetually waiting for that man. It was still chilly, and she had her cardigan buttoned up all the way. It was a simple grey, no pattern for this meeting. No patterns or funny clothes. It wouldn't bode well.

"I've kept you, haven't I?" asked the man as he sat beside her.

"Of course you have. You always do." She didn't look up, still drawn into her chapter.

"What are you reading?"

"A book on diseases and epidemics," she said calmly, flipping a page.

"Are you going to look at me?"

She turned to see his face, his perfect face. He wasn't smiling, but his expression wasn't unfavorable. Knowing him, she could confidently say he wasn't in a poor mood, perhaps he was even in a good one.

"You're wearing it." She reached to feel the cashmere scarf that was tied around his neck. She had given him the beautiful red scarf over a year ago, before the whole mess. Before he fell.

"I don't think I ever thanked you for it."

"You didn't."

He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you, Molly."

She was gripped by a boldness budding inside with the spring flowers, tugging at his scarf, bringing his lips to hers. He was hesitant at first, but reciprocated nonetheless.

"How long?" she asked as they broke apart.

"A month, month and a half. Been trying to find the right words."

"The wrong words work in the right situation."

He smiled. "Words such as do you fancy coming over for dinner?"

"Those are never the wrong words."