It had been weeks since Vicente went to Boulangerie Bonnefoy on Sunday mornings — since his workload from both school and the restaurant had increased, Ling had been sent to buy the puff pastry they couldn't make themselves just yet. He'd begun to miss the early-morning meetings that he and Madeline shared, where they sometimes exchanged desserts to eat for breakfast and talked about whatever was on their minds before time slipped past and they returned to their duties.

To his utter delight, though, his course at university was going through an unexpected honeymoon phase, meaning he'd have more time to himself with less work to do. In a random act of impulse, Vicente convinced Yao to cover his work for the first hour of the morning and took the bus to the city centre. Ling's talk from the night before had definitely gotten to him.

Matthieu was standing at the counter that morning, chewing on a pale-golden piece of candy while staring off into space. He finished off his candy when he noticed Vicente's arrival and waved. The tips of his fingers were covered in powdered sugar. "Oh, hello."

"Morning."

"Are you looking for anything in particular?" Matthieu adjusted his glasses, leaving a spot of white on the dark-blue frame. "The first batch of pain de campagne for today is nearly done, you can stick around for a while if you want some."

"I'm not really here to buy anything." He looked up at the taller boy, replying, "actually, I was, uh, wondering if Madeline was around."

He smiled. "Oh, you're here to see her. I thought so." Matthieu hooked a thumb towards the door behind him. "She's in there, probably helping to finish up some sablé cookies. You're going to have to wait."

"I don't mind." It was strangely relaxing to stay in the Boulangerie, smelling the delicious pastries baking away and listening to the ever-present jazz music. Even without Madeline around, it was a nice place to be in.

"Suit yourself," Matthieu said nonchalantly. He brushed his hands clean and picked up a tray from the counter. "While you wait, do you want a marshmallow?"

Vicente blinked. "Pardon?"

"I'm supposed to let these cool for a few more minutes before packaging them, but I'm sure Francis wouldn't mind if we had a taste test." He showed him the tray, which was filled with fluffy, cream-coloured marshmallows covered with a thin dusting of powdered sugar. "Go on, take one."

"Oh." He went up to the counter and took a square of the marshmallow. "Thank you."

The marshmallow was as fluffy as it looked, dissolving into a cloud of sweetness as he bit into it. It tasted strongly of maple syrup, an ingredient which must've been the reason the marshmallows weren't pure white. He dusted powdered sugar off his hands, commenting, "it's good."

"That's good to hear." Matthieu set the tray down again. Somewhere inside the kitchen, a DING sounded loud enough that he could hear it through the door. "Oh, those must be the cookies. Madeline should be out soon."

True to his word, the door swung open a few minutes later and Madeline emerged, eyes downcast and her hair half-concealing her face. "Your turn in the kitchen," she said softly. "The sablé are airing out in oven B."

Her brother nodded, unhooking his apron and putting it on. He caught the heavy door before it closed and slipped through. "Your friend's waiting."

Madeline looked up, noticing Vicente. "Good morning." Her voice was unusually stilted.

"Hi." He noticed that her eyes were red. "Are you all right?"

She blinked hard, still staring at her feet. "I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"You look like you have something on your mind, that's all."

"I don't," she replied. Madeline looked up and smiled. "I'm fine, really. Don't worry about it."

Vicente recognised that smile, the quivery, tiny one that didn't reach her eyes. It was one that he'd seen Yao give when they still lived in Arlingdale and he was weighed down with schoolwork, and one he'd felt himself forcing his face to make in an attempt to convince others that he was doing all right. But poor Madeline looked like she was holding back tears, and he didn't want to push her any further. "If you say so," he settled for saying. "But if you ever want to talk about anything…"

"I don't," Madeline repeated, "not now. It's just Francis being Francis, nothing new." She wiped her eyes swiftly. "It's quite early. Have you had breakfast yet?"

It was then that he realised he hadn't. "No, I guess I forgot."

"Neither have I." She took a loaf of brioche off one of the shelves and a sample jar of jam from the row underneath.

It took him a while to realise that Madeline was suggesting. He took a seat at the table where Madeline had set the brioche and jam down on and waited as she sat down across him, cutting out two thick slices from the loaf. She spread the jam over the pale-yellow brioche, placed one slice on a plate and pushed it over to him. "We haven't met up like this in a while. Since school started we've been pretty busy, so it's nice to be able to do this. You know, just the two of us."

Just the two of us. The words resounded in Vicente's head. He could feel his heart pounding. "Yeah," he agreed. "This is nice."

Madeline bit into her slice of bread, and he followed suit. The tartness of the apples and sweetness of the caramel in the jam complemented the soft, rich brioche well, and he marvelled at how the Boulangerie could make something as boring as bread and jam so delicious.

"Yao turned twenty-three yesterday, didn't he?" Madeline tore off a corner of her brioche. "I remember you showing me a photo of the birthday cake you made."

"He spent lots of time lamenting how quickly time passes, and how he swears he was a teenager just months ago, but yes, it was his birthday yesterday."

"Tell him I wish him a belated happy birthday," she said. "Are any of your other siblings' birthdays in October?"

"Ling's is on the twenty-fifth, a few weeks later, and Leon's birthday is in July." Vicente watched her pull a piece of tissue out of her pocket and pat her rosy lips clean. "There's another special occasion on Friday, though."

"Really?"

"It'll be the Mid-Autumn Festival," he explained. "We celebrated it back when we lived in Taiwan. We're planning to sell mooncakes this weekend because of it."

She furrowed her brow. "What are mooncakes?"

"These sort of pastries, I guess. They're sometimes filled with lotus paste or custard. We eat them during the Festival."

"I'd like to try them one day."

Vicente smiled, entranced by how intrigued Madeline looked. "Once I figure out how to make them, I'll bring you one."

She perked up, that radiance returning to her expression at that. "I'd love that."

The kitchen door suddenly swung open and Francis pranced out, his arms covered up to the elbow in some kind of dough. "Hello," he said quickly to Vicente, before turning to Madeline. "Can you get back into the kitchen? I don't know how Matthieu messed up while making caramel but he somehow did, and we're fresh out of that sablé dough you made this morning."

Matthieu burst out of the kitchen next, the entire front of his apron covered in caramel. "That can of sweetened condensed milk you helped me heat up earlier this morning just exploded. I don't know how, but it did."

Francis wiped his hands rapidly on his arpon, all while lecturing, "you must've forgotten to cover the top of the can with water, not that I would've expected anything else from you. My goodness, why do you have to be so idiotic?"

"Sorry," Madeline mumbled. Her eyes were glued to the floor again.

"'Sorry' isn't going to clean up the mess in the kitchen." Francis massaged his temples. "Just go in and fix what you did. And for Heaven's sake, just let Matthieu do this sort of thing next time." He sighed. "It's clear that you can't be trusted with things like this."

A strange jolt of anger rushed through Vicente, and he stood up. "Don't talk to her like that."

Francis turned. "Huh?"

No turning back now. He forced himself to look straight at Madeline's brother and continued, "don't treat Madeline like an idiot, she's human too. You can't just — just tear her down like that for a little mistake."

"You mean a little mistake that's costing us time and money?" His expression softened slightly. "It's going to take a while to clean up the kitchen, and even longer to make another batch of caramel. Surely you understand why I'm frustrated."

"It's likely that she didn't even mess up." Vicente glanced at Madeline, who looked about ready to cry, and reached out a hesitant hand to her. She didn't object when he placed it comfortingly on her shoulder. "Maybe she'd covered the top of the can and the water just evaporated, or it just spilled. Don't accuse her of something you just assumed."

There was silence as Francis just stared at him, then he sighed again. "You're right. I'm sorry, Madeline, I shouldn't have lost my temper."

Madeline wasn't looking at him, but she nodded mutely in acknowledgement. Matthieu's eyes were narrowed, and he pointed at Vicente. "Do you mind if I talk to you for a moment?"

"Er, all right."

He opened the door to the kitchen. "Follow me."

After another glance at Madeline, he followed Matthieu into the kitchen. One of the walls was splattered with half-burnt caramel, and the offending can sat on the counter beneath it. Matthieu cleared his throat, bringing his attention back to him. "Thank you for standing up for Madeline just now."

Vicente was still shaking a little from the confrontation. "It wasn't right to let Francis insult her like that."

"You care about her very much."

"What?" Does he know?

"I don't know if you care about her as a friend, or as something more, but whatever." Matthieu tugged on his apron, careful to avoid the dirtied parts. "I just want to make sure you don't have any ulterior motives."

"I don't," he said. "Madeline's just really close to me, and I don't want to see her hurt."

"Neither do I." Matthieu looked right at him, crossing his arms. "Look, I'm in no position to dictate what you or my sister can do. We're adults, we can do what we want. I'm not going to do anything, because I shouldn't, but in return you have to promise to treat her properly."

"That's an easy promise to make, I wouldn't dream of doing anything that might hurt Madeline, even if it were an accident." Vicente held out his hand jokingly. "Do we have to pinky swear on that?"

Matthieu let out a puff of laughter. "Nah, just go."

Madeline approached him as he left the kitchen. "What did Matt want to talk to you about?"

"Nothing much, he just wanted to make sure I was being nice. I think I got his approval."

"That's good." She looked down at him. "Thank you, by the way. For standing up to Francis."

Her grateful smile somehow made all thoughts disappear from his mind, so he settled for stepping forward and pulling her into a hug. "I have to get going now, but I'll see you again tomorrow."

"I'll meet you at the bus station," she called as he left.