January, 19th - Import Store on High Street

Alexandra’s week had been made a little more enjoyable with the secret letters to Mr Koch, yet she couldn’t understand why. Perhaps it was the fact he returned them or that she learnt something from them. Either way, she had been disappointed when no more turned up. A part of her wondered what her father would do should he find out, she didn’t want the man to loss his job, but then father probably wasn’t smart enough to comprehend that she would have done it anyway.

Like every Saturday morning since starting at PSYR, their governess came a collected her (and her sister) from the school to spend the night at home. Unlike most mornings, she had pulled along Eleanor and Gareth for the trip, which ended with them in Hogsmead. Apparently the woman had been convinced by Nadia that Eleanor needed to pick out her own German book to practice with. Why the baby had to come, Alex wasn’t sure.

The group made their way along High Street, stopping where need be. Alexandra, with an annoyed looked from her sister and governess had picked up a book on flowers and their uses while they had been within the book story. Not that the young woman had paid them much mind, keeping it tucked to her chest as they continued.

About halfway through the import shop, Gareth had started to make a fuss. With a sigh, the governess had taken him and Eleanor outside after telling Alexandra and Florence to come out when they had finished. Florence had nodded and continued to look over the stores ribbons and silks. Alexandra however ventured deeper into the store, taking the chance to look at things she wouldn’t be able to otherwise.

She rounded the corner into the food section, and into a person. The book she was holding went tumbling to the ground.

  

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He had idle time in the day. Idle time that he best look busy for, but idle time nonetheless. Idle time, coin to spare... room to let his mind wander. To things like his family. His reputation, and his future. It was one matter to be one of the invisible hands that prepared food for elite mouths – it was another thing entirely to visibly exist to some posh legitimate bastards and their pampered family.

It wasn’t the first time that week he found himself debating burning a certain unwed daughter's letters. He doubted they were particularly incriminating on their own, but an ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure.

The best prevention would have been disregarding the first letter entirely. No matter.

It was a strange sort of dread that settled in his stomach, like he’d left a beautiful candle somewhere precarious and just saw the first line of embers catching irreversibly aflame.

He had a basket in hand when someone walked straight into him, sending it flying. A bag flew to the floor, bursting open on impact in a puff of off-white powder. He coughed into his hand and looked to the offender.

“Sorry ma’a-”

His sentence died abruptly, brow raising in confusion only to furrow in recognition. Of course.

  

Alexandra was to busy staring at the man to react to the powered in the air and not doubt covering the bottom of her dress. Of course it would be him. She had never considered he would actually be the one to have to buy the things he cooked with... probably a fairly stupid belief if one actually thought about it.

“Mr Koch” she said quietly in greeting before taking a step back to put an appropriate distance between them, only to feel her foot slip in the powered. Before she realised, she was falling.

  

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Before he could think to say something disengage, Miss McPadraic was doing the responsible thing and apparently beating a hasty retreat. Except, said responsible thing ended up in her slipping in the flour and all but upending herself.

While Ahmet had long learned even in Constantinople that unrelated men and women did not touch... he was still an older son of goat herders at heart. Someone fell, and the last thing he instinctually wanted was someone rolling downhill and cracking their skull.

He immediately swept out for her hand – only for his own shoes to lose traction in the floury mess and trip him up as well.

… Or, to be more specific, down. On top of unattended Miss McPadraic.

  

Alexandra. Hated. Heels.

She groaned as her backside hit the ground, sending pain up her spine. The young woman was just getting over the fall when she was forced backwards once more as Armel landed on her. The bun in her hair the only thing that kept her head from hitting the floor.

Once the moment had past, her face went bright red and her body stiffened. For once, she was at a lost as to what to say or do.

  

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The embarrassment was so stark, why, it was as though over a month had transpired trapped in this exact situation!

When he got to his feet, Alexandra might notice she was not the only one red in the face.

A proper British man raised in the vigorous social strata of middle class life might have had the instinct to shut his mouth. Ahmet had, too, once upon a time – primarily before he was fluent with the regional language.

“Usually,” he said, brushing his front off and raising white-dusted fingers, “you just flour the hands.”

  

The blush never died down, instead it just seemed to grow more pink then red and travelled down her neck, beneath the adornment of her dress. Slowly she sat herself up right once more and brushed some flour from her hair.

“Noted for next time” she replied very sarcastically before realising her current problem. She was stuck on the floor, surrounded by the flour. There were three options. One she got up very unlady like by climbing the shelves, two she waited for him to leave and get her sister to help, or three….

“Would you mind helping me to my feet?” Alexandra said softly, looking at her hands. Could it get any worse?

  

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His brows rose at ‘next time’, lips pursed in effort not to laugh.

“Don’t tell me you've turned from roses to pastries.”

He glanced down the aisle, amused but wary. That amusement vanished at her request. A rock and a hard place: if he declined to assist a superior, he would be to blame simply for having been there. But were he to be caught offering the assistance she was asking for? The potential repercussions were tenfold.

He glanced at her feet, clad in impractical shoes and a dress that seemed designed to hamper.

Perhaps if he hadn’t been so flustered or if Miss McPadraic had been a little homelier, he would have thought it through. But instead of a quick charm to float her, or something that kept the propriety of wizardly distance, muggleborn Ahmet held a hand to heft her up.

  

"If flower petals covered in sugar count as pastries then I wouldn't mind so much" she replied without thinking about holding her tongue. It was probably a very bad thing she was comfortable enough around him to talk back. Yet Alexandra couldn't bring herself to care.

If she had been in her right mind she might have considered magic. But she wasn't. She was sore, embarrassed and covered in flour. All she wanted was to be on her feet again. So she grabbed onto his hand with her own ungloved, without a second thought.

  

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“More a candy than a pastry,” he easily countered with a smirk.

He pulled her up and steadied her by the elbow with his other hand – far too close in proximity for polite company. The chattering of an approaching group of shoppers approached just out of sight.

  

Alexandra tried her best to relax and let him help her up. She was a bit unsteady at first, her free hand reaching out to his chest just to balance herself. Dropping it as she went bright red once more. "Thank you..." she whispered hearing the other shoppers.

  

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Wordlessly, Armel stepped back a foot and cast a cleaning spell over his clothes. He bespelled the spilled flour back into the bag, tying it tight.

"A thousand apologies, ma'am," he said as the shoppers rounded the corner.

He picked up a second bag of the same flour. He could use the spilled flour for the servant-side meals, he supposed.

  

"Yes well be more careful next time" she said loudly enough for the shoppers to hear, but it made her feel terrible since it was her fault. Quickly, she bent and picked up her book before turning to go and find her sister. Although she couldn't help one last glance in his direction, in hope he would see the apology in her eyes.

  

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