*Feelings 1*

The boutique’s staff was efficient, because within minutes, another attendant approached with a silver tray holding a selection of colorful macarons. She placed it on the low table in front of us, and bowed before retreating to a respectful distance. I stared at the tray for a moment, my hands fidgeting in my lap. The macarons looked perfect, like tiny works of art, their pastel colors almost too pretty to eat.

Lucas, however, was still engrossed in his book, barely ...