The shop was still packed at noon when David and Randel arrived for their shifts and took over the counter and stocking from Jacob. The proprietor's days started early when he began to fire the ovens and bake the loaves, then ice the confections and make the displays. Then, the shop opened at six every morning, managed the shop for six hours with the help of Mike and finally he could turn over the rest to the boys at midday.

Just then, just after noon, Jacob usually looked forward to a lunch of whichever leftovers Queenie had left him from the night before followed by a nap. This day, however, Jacob was just getting around to re heating stew on the stove, when there came a knock on the door. Queenie almost always left work early—how else could she arrive promptly at five every evening?—but this was too early, even for her. It must be Mrs. Prewhitt from across the hall, or one of the other neighbors, Jacob decided. But when he reached the door, he found that it was neither Mrs. Prewhitt or anyone else he knew. Rather, it was an odd, rather unsure looking man at his doorstep. "Hey…" he said, unsure of what this man was here for.

"Hello." The man was English. You didn't hear too many Englishmen in this part of the city. He didn't seem sure of what to say, and Jacob was on the verge of prompting him when the Englishman said, "you don't remember me. We met once before, perhaps a year ago. My name is Newt Scamander—I'm a friend of Queenie's." He put out his hand, and Jacob took it, shaking it slowly, trying to jog some memory of the encounter. Nothing occurred to him.

All the same, if he knew Queenie…

"Listen, I don't want to intrude, but when I arrived in the city, her sister Tina met me—but she was called back to work and she thought maybe I could wait here, if that's not too much trouble."

Jacob frowned and shook his head. He saw nothing wrong with that. He wished he could remember who Newt Scamander was. It wasn't a name you were soon to forget, not on a typical day. "No, of course it's no trouble, come in." He opened the door further and stepped aside to let Mr. Scamander inside.

"I see you've managed to open your bakery." Mr. Scamander put down his bag, and looked about the apartment. Jacob felt that perhaps he was looking for something, but couldn't imagine what.

"Oh, that's right. I suppose I mentioned that when we met. Hey, I was just going to fix myself something for lunch—I don't know if you've eaten?" The smell of stew was already starting to permeate through the apartment.

The Englishman had still not taken off his coat, and hadn't come too far into the apartment, either. "Ah, no. No, I haven't."

"Then why don't you join me," Jacob offered, and took down a second bowl. He didn't often get company at lunch.

"Thank you, Jacob."

Jacob paused. Mr. Scamander spoke as if they were friends. Had they hit it off, and he simply didn't remember? Finally, Mr. Scamander seemed to warm up to the space a little better, and took his coat off, and hung it on the coat rack. "I don't think you ever told me the story of how you met the Goldstein sisters," he prompted, eager to know more about this virtual stranger.

Newt stood up from where he had been staring at a few uncolored family photographs, and the ones his mother had taken the time to color with pencils. She'd had a good eye for it. "It was about a year ago, my first time in New York. I—" he smiled broadly at the floor. "I got into a little trouble. Tina's an inspector which is actually how we met, but it led to spending the better part of a long weekend with her and her sister."

"Ahh." Jacob couldn't help but think there was quite a bit more to the story that Mr. Scamander wanted kept private. "If you don't mind my asking, Mr. Scamander, what kind of trouble?"

There was that smile again, as if he were reliving a particularly good memory. "I care for rare animals. A few of them got loose in the city and she helped me get them back. Had a nasty time of it, too, as I recall." He put his hand to his neck and pivoted around the table to look at one of the lamps. Jacob shrugged off the oddity.

"Stew's hot," he said.

After lunch, though Jacob had meant to be a better host, his daily cycle took root. He felt the first hints of sleep while they were still idly chatting about the Goldsteins and about work—it turned out this guy was a writer, too. Then, Jacob turned on the radio to listen to, and Scamander pulled several typed pages out of his suit case. He was such amiable company, and the scratch of his pen was so rhythmic and the radio was so pleasant, the room so warm, that Jacob was lulled, all the same, into his afternoon nap.

He woke sharply at a minute to five. His body never let him sleep a minute longer. For a moment, he had to look about and wonder why he was in his chair, not in his bed, but then he saw that Scamander had moved to the kitchen table and was pouring over several pages with charts and pictures. It looked like a reference book, a field book. He stood and came up behind his guest, and saw that they were pictures of dragons and other mythical beasts. "What's this you're working on?"

The other man paused, as if he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have. There was something ever so slightly guilty about his demeanor, Jacob thought. But he answered, "a sort of guide to fantasy creatures. There's a lot of fiction being written, you know, and someone's got to write an index."

Jacob had never heard of such a thing, but didn't think it right to argue with a man over his own work. Just then, as the clock on the mantel rang, there was a knock on the door before it opened again, showing Queenie herself. "Oh," she puffed, looking cold from the winter air, "Tini told me you were back today."

Jacob relaxed. Scamander was alright—he certainly didn't seem the type to get up to something—but it was reassuring to know Queenie and he had, in fact, met. Queenie put her coat and hat on the rack, ran fingers through her curling blonde hair, and sauntered over to where Scamander was almost frantically putting papers back together in a stack. "It's so good to see you. So's Tini. She says she can't wait to read your book, but I know what she's really thinking."

Tini had a knack for that. Jacob had always enjoyed just how easy it was to be around Queenie, who always seemed to know just what to do or to say. How he'd gotten set with her, why she still stayed around him, Jacob thought it better not to question.

"Queenie," Newt stuttered, seeming taken aback by the sight of the beautiful woman. "You look well."

"Thank you," she chirped. "Oh, but I only saw Tini on the way out today. She looked like she was pretty busy with something. She had a camera and one of the other investigators was with her as they left, I'm not sure she'll be home for dinner tonight. Oh, and speaking of, I still have time for shopping, so if you have any requests," she paused for a moment, scrunched up her face and shook her head, "really?"

Jacob laughed. "She's a mind reader," he explained. "I thought it was a trick at first, but doggone it if she isn't always right. At least with me, she is."

"Oh," said Scamander, as if he were just remembering something. "Queenie, you're a great cook. I'm sure whatever you decide will be lovely." He didn't break eye contact with Queenie, and it seemed there was something else he wanted to say. "In fact, how about I come shopping with you? I can carry your bags."

"Such a gentleman," Queenie replied, and pulled a face like she was thinking hard. "How about shepherd's pie instead?"

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

It was a short walk from Jacob's apartment to the grocer's and the butcher's. By now, the streets were dark and strangers bustled against one another on their way to and from their destinations. "It's nice to see you again, Newt, it really is," Queenie chattered as they went. "Tini's trying not to show how much she's looked forward to it, but she has.
"Oh, these days she's pretty busy at work, you know how it is. She hasn't gotten a second promotion or anything, but she's enjoying being on the investigative team again." Queenie stopped at a stall to pick out potatoes and carrots. She eyed each one before putting it in her bag. "She keeps getting the strangest cases, too. Things aren't like they used to be. Lost child here, a scam potion there.

"Yeah, that was a mess for a while. You have to be pretty careful, still, deciding what's going to cure your cough and what'll make you go blind, but there's a department for that now. It was all pretty normal stuff for a while, and now there's turmoil.

"I'm afraid I don't know how else to put it, Newt." Queenie turned and headed towards the shop door. "There's something going on and I couldn't tell you what it is. I don't know if Tini could, either. But there's something—"

Newt opened the door for Queenie as she walked into the grocer's shop to pay. "If you asked me, it has to do with the earthquake we had earlier. Scared me, sure enough."
"Twelve cents," prompted the grocer. Queenie handed over the copper and silvery coins, then Newt picked up her bag and the two left the shop.

"You've stayed friends with Jacob," Newt observed. He hadn't supposed they would. It wasn't very like the American wizards to do such a thing.

Queenie gave a little shrug. "We're friends," she replied. Then, for a long moment, she was uncharacteristically quiet. "Well, we're moving in together soon," she added softly, as if she knew she was doing something she wasn't supposed to do.

Newt nodded. He understood her hesitation. "You know," he started—

Queenie held the door this time for Newt, and he stepped inside the butcher's shop. "It's not like this in England. Yeah. I've heard. Canada, too, and I've thought about moving to Montreal…but I don't have it in me to leave Tini. Just moving out is hard enough on her, and I want to stay close. We've been just us long enough, I think, that I shouldn't go far. But it's a nice thought.

"No, he doesn't know." Queenie was eyeing some cuts of lamb. "He has no idea. I leave it in my purse when I'm at his place, and he never asks. I never give him any reason." She looked up at the butcher and ordered, "one pound of lamb, please."

She turned back to Newt and smiled in a way that was undeniably happy, yet complicated. There was nothing easy, he realized, about her relationship with the muggle.

"That's exactly right. But I don't know if I want things to be easy. They're easy enough, compared to if we didn't get along, or if we didn't love each other like we should. I guess you have to pick your fights and cut your losses."

Newt smiled back at that. "You know, Queenie, you sounded like a right New Yorker just then."

"Really?" Now she was smiling, too, and uncomplicated, amused smile. She turned to accept the lamb, and the two went back to the apartment over the bakery.

Queenie cooked again, this time by hand. It was a little strange to see her do it, and everything took twice as long. When she was done, the dinner was delicious, but had no special quality like before, and even Queenie's conversation seemed a little stilted as she seemed to have to remind herself what the others had said and what they'd merely thought. Still, she did seem happy, in Newt's opinion.

Tina had still not joined them by the time the evening came to a close.

Rebecca Taylor: Thank you! Angie: Hey there, sorry it took so long between uploads. I'm going to try and be better about it in the future. Hope you enjoy this chapter!