He was still elbow-deep in the box of quills and crouching behind the counter when a strangely familiar voice greeted him from somewhere over his head. "Hold on," he muttered, "I'll be right with--" he stood up and blinked in surprise. "Alice?" Freddie wasn't sure who he had expected to see, but it sure as hell hadn't been her.
The silence seemed to stretch on forever. Her expression was tentative, but otherwise, unreadable. It was surreal, in that moment, to look upon the young woman he had once counted his friend, lover, confidante. He had imagined his future with her, their home, their children, and then it had shattered. But here she was again, and he felt so many emotions at once that he couldn't form a sentence to speak to her. He blinked a couple of times and put down the quill on the counter. "Hi," he said gently. "Um, I'm just gonna close up, so ... er ..." He paused, on the edge of his decision. Oh, what the hell. "Let's stick the kettle on, shall we?"