Page 101 of Hawk & Sparrow

“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.”