The clock hanging in the corner of the shop was pure agony to look at. The second hand moved slower as the hour hand neared the six. One measly little centimeter was all the hour and minute hands needed to move, and then he could finally talk to Cate.

“Yes,” Cate said, catching the hint that her mood was overkill. “But I can understand English. You don’t have to talk to me like I’m four.” With those words, Cate greeted the customers had just come in the door.

“Tell us a little bit about yourself,” Mr. Weasley said as they all sat down at the table for a Saturday supper. Cate looked at George as though he was supposed to tell his family a little bit about Cate.

“I—I was worried about you,” Cate stuttered. He heard the clicking of her heeled shoes grow closer to him. Looking to his left, he saw that she was standing next to him. Lovingly, she placed her hand on his shoulder. Again, she smiled. It was a kind of smile that was supposed to be comforting, but it wasn’t. It just reminded him of Fred; the first time he had seen Cate’s smile was with Fred.

“The map says to go left here, Cate,” George said, pointing viciously and poking the window with his index finger so hard that he wanted to yelp. He shoved the now crinkled map over to Cate, who subsequently ignored him and missed the turn. She had now driven in a complete circle around a street in some run down town.

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