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I bought a ball of red yarn to knit but I keep twisting my fingers. As expected, I am no good at ladylike pursuits. But I must persist. You see, my mother loved knitting. I wanted to try it out for myself and see what she liked so much about it.
He stood up, heart thudding with anticipation. The woman looked much younger than he’d expected Mrs. Dane to be. However, he had yet to get a clear look at her face.
The woman’s gaze fell on his table. At the same time, he said, “Mrs. Dane?”
She looked up from the stack of letters she was eyeing, pasting a smile on her full lips.
The first thing he noticed was her dark hazel eyes. They were large and round, filled with irises the color of molten fire that made something spark in his belly. He’d seen them before. A small nose and a pair of full lips completed the portrait of her slightly tanned, round face, and he realized with sinking dread that he knew who she was. In fact, he’d seen her just yesterday.
Felix forgot to breathe.
Amara raised her gaze to him, and her smile vanished at once. Tendrils of curly, dark hair framed her forehead. She was holding his letters in her right hand.
“Felix!?” She yelped. “I mean…s-sir…” She tried to compose herself, but she was too sharp to misread the situation. His blue shirt, the black ribbon, and the letters that he was carrying were a huge giveaway. The stack of papers on the table revealed his false name written in Mrs. Dane’s messy scrawl.
Dear Mr. Garett,
Good god, he never thought this would happen.
“W-what are you doing here?” She was trying hard to salvage the situation but they both knew what was going on.
Amara was Mrs. Dane. In fact, now that he saw his letters in her hand, he was sure of it. His subordinate had been writing letters to him for three years, pretending to be a war widow. Felix was pretty sure Amara had never been married, let alone widowed. She was nowhere near forty-five in human years, as her letters indicated. This is why he’d never been able to find her—she’d been under his nose all along.
“You’re…Mr. Garett?” Amara’s eyes were as large as saucers. Shakily, she extended her stack of letters to him, too scared to meet his eyes. “Please tell me I’m wrong.” When he remained silent, she asked, “How?”
“Why don’t you sit down?” he suggested. “It seems that we’re both surprised.”
“Shocked, more like,” she said, pulling a chair out.
Amara sat down on the chair facing him, her fingers fisting the tablecloth. She eyed the cold tea and biscuit crumbs. “You arrived early.”
She knew of his habit. Most of the spies did. Felix went everywhere early because he didn’t want to be late.
Oblivious to the awkwardness coloring the air, the server arrived with a pot of tea and placed it on the table. “Your tea, sir. It looks like your companion has arrived.”
Companion. That is what she’d been. Until he’d found out her real identity. His friend, his companion, his soulmate, the woman who had brought him immeasurable peace over the last three years was his colleague. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t know much about her. He’d heard that her mother had died shortly before she moved to Sigilis. Amara was a half-demon. According to her letters, she didn’t know who her father was. None of that changed the fact that this was very different from what he’d expected this morning. He’s always pictured Mrs. Dane as a mature woman, someone much closer to his age.
Amara poured herself some tea and dumped four cubes of sugar into it. After silently churning her spoon in the teacup, she downed it in a gulp.
“So…let me get this straight…you’re Mr. Garett, the widower who has been writing letters to me for three years.”
“It seems that way.” He leaned back on his chair and realized that his heart was thudding.
“You used a false name.”
“As did you,” he pointed out.
It was a spy’s instinct to use false names to avoid getting caught. His life was a procession of roles, of wearing masks until nothing remained of his true self. Amara must’ve thought the same thing for she said, “Occupational hazard. I never use my real name. I guess the same applies to you.”
He nodded. “I didn’t know what to expect going into the City Friends Program. I thought it best to use a pen name.”
“As did I.”
Amara poured more tea and drank while he watched her. She had been so upbeat when she arrived at the tearoom. Now she had shut down. Though she tried to mask her nervousness, Felix knew that the truth made her uncomfortable. He had come here expecting someone else, too. In fact, he’d fashioned himself half in love with Mrs. Dane. Too bad she was nothing but an imaginary creature. For there was no way he could feel that way about Amara. She was far too young for him, too warm-blooded.
“So, am I to address you as sir from now on?” she asked.
“No. Outside of work, you may call me Felix.” He poured himself some tea and drank. It tasted bitter without any sugar, but he needed the bitterness to get him through this awkward conversation. He wished he’d never agreed to meet her. When they walked out of this tearoom, Felix was sure they’d be strangers once again. He’d go back to his lonely life, and she’d go back to mourning alone.
