Alexandre's POV
I was back in twenty-three minutes.
Not ten. The green-door bakery had a Friday queue I hadn't accounted for — a fact I filed away with the specific attention of someone who intended there to be many more Friday mornings requiring this information.
I came through the door with croissants — plain for Gerald, almond for Claire because three weeks ago at the patisserie she had looked at the almond ones in the specific way of someone exercising restraint, chocolate for Theo — and found the kitchen empty.
Voices from the sitting room.
Claire was on the floor. Cross-legged on the rug, laptop open, documents spread around her, a pen behind each ear that I was fairly certain she didn't know about. Theo sat beside her providing commentary on whatever she was reading with the in
