⤷ myrrh&myrtille — aspen's apothecary & bakery

@silas. Aspen was having a terrible, no-good-at-all day. And it showed in the way her visage was marred by an annoyed frown, the gnawing on her bottom lip incessant.

Her day had started off on a wrong foot when her first batch of pies had turned out all wrong and the stress of falling behind on work had made her forget to turn off the washing machine resulting in the little laundry room overflowing with soapy water. She had spent the entire morning struggling and by afternoon, she was beyond convinced that the sun had risen in the west.

“Calum, I understand… but there is no reason for me to do that!” she exclaimed into her phone, a weary eye out for any customer who walked in. She sighed, a hand reaching up to haggardly push a strand of hair out of her face; it’d gotten quite long over the years, unkempt and unstylish ever since she had poured herself into— the bell atop the door twinkled, signaling a new soul into her shop. “I’ll speak to you about this later. Have a good day, Calum. Love you.”

“Wow, that word never sounded so dry in my entire twenty-six years of life,” the other person spoke in a thick Scottish twang, earning a groan from the muggle woman who raised her gaze, meeting the coquettish yet knowing eyes of her closest friend.

Freyja Odensen was a petite woman yet carried herself with the air of grandiose audacity, especially when she shook her head of curls an auburn so red they seemed like flames and advanced to the counter where Aspen stood by with a downturned moue. “Still as bold as you were yesterday, you minx.”

Freyja laughed as she placed the bouquet of daisies she’d just bought in the empty vase next to the cash register, the sound loud and reverberating against the walls and windows of the empty cafe. It was indeed a contagious sound, Aspen’s own lips curving upwards into the ghost of a smile.

“Please, Norlette. We both know you can’t stand the man,” the redhead blurted, making a disgusted face. “By Odin’s dried balls, how the hell do you stand him? I’d have ripped his balls off the first day he walked in here and demanded to see you.”

“Hey, he is not that bad.” The murmur was mousy, unconfident even. A lie.

The Scottish woman gasped an exhale of disbelief before shooting the French lady a sideways glance, absolutely condescending albeit affectionately. “Aspen Norlette, how many times do I have to tell you that men like him are good for nothings?” She tsked, as she grabbed her apron from the counter, beginning to tie it around her waist. Pausing, as if in thought, she leaned closer and whispered in quite a conspiratory tone. “Do you think he was born a prick or was it a choice?”

Aspen had not expected the question, the snort that slipped past her very unladylike and surely one to get her a scolding from the topic of conversation. She hated it but Freyja had been absolutely right; she despised the man with a passion but she had to put up with him. For now at least and very much for the sake of her little family. Sure, she hadn’t been coerced into whatever bit of a relationship this was but Aspen knew when she had to make important decisions. And anything involving her little one was important.

She remembered meeting Calum, a distant acquaintance of her grandmother who had passed away last year. Ever since graduating from Beauxbatons, she’d always made it a point not to fraternize with her kind in fear for a lot of things but being in a room filled with wizards and witches alike, she was bound to be noticed and spoken to. Aspen had not understood the fawn and fuss over the man but she had come to realize, unfortunately so, he was a capable man. The son of a Wizengamot had its perks and even she couldn’t deny that. Still, she’d long known that no man would live up to par with who truly held her heart but she would have to make do. Without him, as always.

Freyja sighed loudly again, breaking Aspen out of her reverie. “By Thor’s horse , I forgot I had to make the meringue!”

“Language, Freyja!”

Girlish laughter picked up again, encompassing the room with a sense of joy. Aspen liked it, how the particular joie-de-vivre her friend came with was an infectious thing even as the laughter simmered down to mere chuckles. Freyja’s grin remained despite it’s serenity, her fingers reaching to the vase of daisies and broke a stem off before proceeding to tuck the dainty flower in Aspen’s haphazard bun by her ear. “Here. You look pretty like this. With a smile and all.”

Aspen clapped her tongue against the roof of , playfully rolling her eyes. “I know. Now go get those meringues while I finish these tarts!”

Off the redhead went in a flurry of grumbles and giggles, leaving Aspen alone by the counter to finish the last flourishes on her tarts.

The afternoon had dwindled down into a lazy evening, prepping for a delightful weekend to come. It was a breezy spring evening, summer right at the world's doorsteps which had begun to be covered in a green haze that started on the forest floor and wild violets. She loved spring, for it always seemed like the one season of the year that a higher entity seemed to have put there just for the beauty of it. Aspen was no believer but she knew when things were out of ordinary mundane hands and spring had quite an ethereal mood to it, tinged with promises of brighter and better tomorrows. It seemed to awaken his soul and that life would start again the moment the air got cooler, even when the heat nipped at her cheeks naughtily.

And spring also meant that the school holidays would start and she would have two whole weeks to enjoy her time with her son. The thought itself made her excited, a giddy grin gracing her lips as she dusted sugar powder atop the blueberry tarts.

The grin remained in place when the bell twinkled again, signaling a customer this time. And Aspen knew who it was the moment her name was screamed, a flurry of sweet perfume and tremendous joy attacking her in a hug. “Long time no see, Minjung! I thought you found a new bakery to rob!”

Both women laughed, which increased in a bout of chuckles more when Freyja’s yell of a very zealous ‘hi i love you minjung’ sounded. Sombering soon, Minjung coughed, waving her hand dismissively. “As if there is another shop as good as yours in town, Norlette. But while I do want to have some of your tarts, I came to introduce you to someone. My son.”

Aspen felt him before she saw him, the world once again colored brightly and in effervescence. She felt it in the way slowed down, moving at a snail’s pace and in the way everything drowned out, leaving her to focus solely on him.

“Norletter, meet my son. Silas, meet Norlette. The beautiful baker I’ve been telling you about.”

For what felt like an eternity, she'd felt an emptiness in her chest even if the void had been filled over time with one particular little boy but it was as if a particular puzzle piece was missing out of the big picture that perhaps the stars had painted for her. Truth be told, she had everything she'd ever wanted but it never felt right. It never felt right because the most important person she had been absolutely and certain about had not been present in her life at all. Whenever she thought of him, she had never found the air to breathe but there he stood, knocking the breath out of her yet filling her lungs with what they needed the most.

Years had passed and he looked the same, albeit the refined changes of an adult. He was the same boy she had loved and always had, irrevocably and undeniably. He was the same person who made her cry and fall as if there was no else to go. And he was still the same beautiful pain that had refused to bid her goodbye when he didn’t love her.

Just as quickly as the shock had overcome her face, it vanished, composing herself into a polite smile; the kind she would give any stranger, much less welcoming than a friend’s… son. But Aspen knew the turmoil and shock that rushed through him for it mirrored her own and as much as she longed to reach out for him, to touch him and to kiss him or hurt him and cry, she couldn’t. Not now, not ever. So she straightened her shoulders, wiping the palm of her hands on her apron to rid the sugar off before extending one to him. “Hello. I’m Norlette. Pleasure to meet you… Silas.”

[post deleted by owner]

@aspen. 《 ᴅᴀᴛᴇᴅ ┊ ᴛᴜᴇsᴅᴀʏ, ᴍᴀʀᴄʜ ᴛʜɪʀᴛʏ-ғɪʀsᴛ, ᴛᴡᴏ ᴛʜᴏᴜsᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-sɪx 》

Muggles flooded the early evening marketplace streets, scattered about the hundred-something stalls negotiating prices on fresh produce and poultry. The predicament he found himself in wasn't from the direct result of him finally giving in——rather, it was quite the hard opposite. Silas held much resistance to his mother's cries and appraisal for the woman who she desperately longed for her son to meet. Every delighted proposal she offered over the course of a year, he refused. Even in letters or over short sporadic phone calls, he met each enthusiastic request with disinterest and used work as an reason to not meet this woman.

Many, including his mother, would say that work was a sad excuse to get out of tending to one's romantic endeavors but for Silas and others who held low profile positions, it was different. Being an Auror came with it's challenges and disadvantages. One of them being that they didn't have the treasured liberty to stay in one place for too long. He understood this long before he graduated from Hogwarts, long before he completed his Auror training, and long before experiencing months of separation from his parents. The life of itinerancy was already engraved into the back of his mind when he gazed wistfully into the universe inside the eyes of the first and only girl he ever fell in love with, whispering to her for the last time that he loved her. Fiery moments of lust with fleeting distractions were never enough to fill the vacancy; but this was his fate, and he accepted it as it was. There was too much of a threat to their safety and his focus for the Auror to obtain a long list of loved ones.

This unplanned meeting, he was tricked into it, and he should've known. Upon his arrival back at his parent's home, his mother went on and on about this gorgeous Norlette and her deliciously baked goods. It felt all too familiar, and Silas felt uneasy with the coincidence that this woman's name was Norlette (which also happened to be Aspen's middle name), and that she baked. But he refused to be tied up with the possibility that she could be /his/ Aspen—for 's sake, she wasn't his anymore. But as he'd always done before, he told his mother it was a firm 'no', even if he had the entire week free and was dismissed from his work responsibilities during his birthday vacation. Even if he was guilty of not sending his parents anniversary wishes this past year, escaping from his mother's pleas had always been difficult, especially when she began griping about how much (or lack-thereof) time she had left to spend with Silas and his father. So he gave in reluctantly and agreed to accompany her to the market.

"Yellow onions.. are the only things left on the list that we need to get for tonight's stew," Silas announced, using an ink pen to manually cross out 'yellow onions' on the scribbled grocery list. Magic was simply forbidden while they were out and about with a good handful of muggles around to witness. His mom gave him a mischievous sideways glance and a grin. "Nooot quite the last thing we need to get. We still need a cake for your birthday, and I know a place a few blocks down that makes really really yummy cakes! Let's make a stop there before we head back home."

"Om, there are tons of good bakeries nearby. We can just——wait. Wait." He looked up from the piece of paper, his voice full of suspicion, face flooded with disbelief. "Don't tell me. That this bakery you claim to make really good cakes is.. that woman's bakery."

His mother shrugged, haughty with her achievement. "Her name is Norlette and yes, to kill the element of surprise, it is her bakery—"

"Om, please. I've already told you a thous—"

"Uh-uh, I don't want you saying a thing against a good friend of mine, Silas Ciarán. She's exceptionally lovely and kind, so give it a chance. Who knows? You may end up fancying her," she beamed with pride, playfully wiggling her brows at her unamused son.

"I don't think so. Nothing is ever met with complete joy if you're given no choice, especially when instigated by your own mother."

"Hey! I'm doing this for your own happiness, my son."

"My happiness or your happiness, mother?"

"Mm.. both. But mainly for mine." Her rejoice could be heard a million miles away. She sighed a dreamy sigh. "It'd be so wonderful to have her as a daughter-in-law. Imagine waking up to her blueberry tarts every morning, Silas."

"Om!"

"I'm just joking, please! You know I do it for you. I just want to see you happy, so let's get a move on before she closes up shop. It's going to get dark soon."

They arrived in front of her bakery promptly after purchasing the onions they needed. Silas followed closely behind his mother but stopped at the entrance for a moment as she rushed in, greeting her friend with the volume of a banshee before she even made it to the front.

Myrrh&Myrtille. French.

That uneasiness he felt from before slowly began to settle in the pit of his stomach again. Then he heard it. The bittersweet French cadence of a voice he never thought he'd hear again. One step, then another. Everything happened in slow-motion, almost as if the world slowed simply for this unimaginable moment. The fateful moment when two people who swore to part ways cross paths again, unexpectedly and unprepared. No amount of preparation would be enough to rid of all the fear and hope for the moment they'd meet again. But whether Silas was ready or not, it didn't matter. Because now, after a handful of sad years, after painful, reluctant goodbyes and tear-soaked kisses.. there she stood behind the tiled counter, in a baker's apron, dusted with flour and still—still an innocent thief to the air in his lungs as ever.