Poppy never expected anything from Kristoffer Lestrange. She knew better than to do so, as it would ruin the loveliness of whatever it was that had so unwittingly bloomed between them. It only worked to begin with because they could be honest and genuine with one another, or at least mildly less obtuse than with the rest of society. She appreciated him for what he was and had no desire to change him at all.

So when the letter went out, again Poppy did not expect much of a reply. She hoped, of course, and was a bit lighter in spirit the whole day through, but she was determined not to be disappointed if there was no return address. What letter did come however, both surprised and pleased her more than she dared to examine. It was short, and a bit puzzling, but it was better than naught. He had called her Poppy after all.

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Some plans have changed so we shall be in Paris until the end of the month.

I am staying in the 8th arrondissement, along the Champs-Élysées. Aunt Viola has a friend from Beauxbatons who is hosting us. It’s an elegant little house not too far a walk from La Madeleine.

I am sending something, albeit not the delicacies promised.

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