Chapter 2 - The Warmth Inside the FrostThe steam from the hot chocolate curled against the glass window of the little café, blurring the neon lights of Fifth Avenue into soft smears of red and gold.
Inside, the air smelled of roasted cocoa beans, cinnamon, and baked pastry. Mave sat in a red leather booth that swallowed her small frame. Her hands, red and chapped from the winter freeze, wrapped around a heavy ceramic mug overflowing with miniature marshmallows.
Silas Mercer sat across from her. He hadn’t ordered anything for himself; he only watched her with quiet, steady intensity, his dark overcoat draped neatly over the back of his chair.
“Drink slowly,” Silas advised gently, his voice smooth and low. “Or you’ll get a stomachache.”
Mave took a small, cautious sip. The sweetness flooded her mouth, warming her throat and chasing away the bitter chill that had settled deep in her bones for hours. She looked up through her tangled brown bangs, her gray eyes filled with a mixture of wonder and suspicion.
“Why did you give me fifty dollars?” Mave whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the café. “The flowers weren't worth that much. They were dying.”
Silas leaned his chin on his knuckles, his expression softening.
“Sometimes, Mave, things aren’t priced by how long they’ll last,” Silas said softly. “They’re priced by how hard they tried to bloom in the first place.”
Mave blinked, not fully understanding the grown-up words, but understanding the safety behind them. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the crisp fifty-dollar bill, sliding it across the table toward him.
“You forgot to take the flowers,” she said.
Silas looked down at the basket filled with tired daisies and crushed violets sitting on the empty seat beside him. He didn’t push the money back. Instead, he reached out and gently slid the bill back toward her small hands.
“Keep it,” he said firmly. “And keep the basket, too. But leave the crushed violet right here on the table.”
May you like
Mave frowned. “Why?”
“Because,” Silas replied, his eyes flashing with a sudden, unreadable resolve, “some things deserve to rest where they fell, so we can remember never to let it happen again.”
