Mirabelle reached for the teapot.
Amber-colored tea flowed into Lucien's cup in a thin, steady stream. Steam curled lazily upward between them, carrying comforting notes of cinnamon, citrus, and black tea that mingled with the perfume of thousands of blooming roses.
The delicate porcelain grew pleasantly warm beneath Mirabelle's fingertips as she held the pot.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
A bee lazily drifted past, hovering over one of the peach tarts before deciding that roses were ultimately more interesting. It disappeared among crimson blossoms only a few feet away.
Somewhere beneath the hedges, not visible to the eyes, the rabbit resumed chewing its grass with slow, content little bites. Gravel shifted softly as another tiny animal darted unseen through the bushes.
The peaceful little sounds felt almost mocking.
Mirabelle placed the teapot back onto the warmer. The porcelain gave a soft clink against the stand.
