Synthia approached the trio, a waitress accompanying her. The waitress held two round metal trays, each adorned with pastries meticulously arranged in a design reminiscent of a blooming flower. With slow, deliberate grace, she placed one tray gently upon the table. The trio sat in awe, their eyes tracing the intricacies of the arrangement—an edible masterpiece that could captivate even the most indifferent onlooker. While Amelia and Garfield could hardly contain their salivation, Tristan remained skeptical, his gaze cool and analytical as he scrutinized the offerings.
On one of the trays rested a single glazed donut, slightly larger than a standard one, with a jewel-like drop of jelly glistening at its center. Apart from its size and gleam, it bore the modest appearance of a plain donut.
"This is one of our finest," the waitress declared confidently, her smile brimming with pride as she gestured toward the donut.
Tristan was the first to reach out. He picked up the donut with his right hand, squeezing it ever so lightly. The jelly at its center began to ooze gently, but not excessively. With his left hand held beneath to catch any stray drops, he brought the pastry to his lips. The others watched in anticipation, as if he were a revered food critic whose opinion could make or break a dish.
He paused, then took a bite.
Silence.
The group leaned in, expressions curious and hopeful. Tristan raised his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. His eyes drifted skyward, closed as if lost in a euphoric dream.
"This is... extraordinary," he murmured, the smile still etched into his face.
An explosion of flavor had overwhelmed him. The jelly, unmistakably strawberry, was only the prelude. The true marvel was within the dough—sweet, yes, but layered with something far more exquisite. It was unlike anything he had ever tasted.
Amused and surprised by his reaction, Amelia and Garfield each claimed a donut and took a bite. What followed was mutual bliss. They tasted what Tristan had tasted: rapture. One bite became two, then three, and soon, without realizing, they reached for seconds—only to be stopped by the waitress, who raised a hand with polite firmness.
"Please, try our signature pie," she insisted.
On the second tray lay four small pans of pie, one for each guest. Garfield and Amelia turned expectantly toward Tristan. Once more, he was to lead. He accepted a pan and placed it in front of him, then reached for the fork and knife set neatly beside his plate. With deliberate precision, he sliced a piece of the pie and brought it to his mouth.
The moment he bit into it, he was greeted by a symphony of flavors—sweet and savory, perfectly balanced. The richness of seasoned meat melded harmoniously with the tartness of fresh blueberries. It was odd, unexpected, and utterly divine. The others watched his face, noting the same blissful expression. Unable to resist, they dug in, their expressions quickly mirroring his: pure, unabashed ecstasy.
"This is incredible!" Garfield exclaimed between bites.
"And here are your coffees," the waitress said as another server arrived with the beverages.
Each cup was placed carefully before its intended drinker, the final cup set before the only vacant chair.
Amelia glanced at the empty seat, then turned to Synthia.
"Why aren't you joining us?"
"I cannot sit at the same table as my masters. It would be inappropriate," Synthia replied softly.
Tristan said nothing. Garfield, though momentarily silent, set down his utensils, uncomfortable with the separation. But Tristan continued eating, watching with curiosity.
"So that's how it is," Amelia declared, her tone suddenly authoritative. "Then I command you to sit with us and enjoy your meal."
"My lady, I must advise against—"
"I said sit!" Amelia interrupted firmly.
Synthia sighed, then acquiesced. She pulled out the chair, smoothed her dress as she sat with dignity, and inched closer to the table. Looking at Amelia, she offered a small, appreciative smile.
"Are you satisfied now?"
"Very much," Amelia responded.
With that, no further interruptions followed. They ate with delight, finishing their donuts and personal pies. By the time the last crumb was gone, the sun was high, and noon approached.
"So, are you two heading to the Academy now?" Amelia inquired.
"I still have to pack and find my letter," Tristan replied.
Amelia delicately picked up a napkin and dabbed at her lips with poise. "I could take both of you to the Academy, if you wish."
"Thanks," Tristan said, his tone sincere.
"Perfect! I'll get my things, then we can head out," Garfield added enthusiastically.
Once they settled the bill, the group left the café and began their journey back to the Middle District. First, they would drop Tristan off, then proceed to Garfield's home. Outside the boutique, they exchanged waves, bidding each other farewell for the time being before continuing on.
Garfield entered the bustling boutique, crowded with customers, where Kenway stood behind the counter, assisting a pair of patrons.
"Tristan, back so soon?" Kenway asked, glancing over.
Tristan approached, intending to speak, but the sight of Kenway's busyness silenced him.
"Is something wrong?" Kenway asked.
"No, it's nothing. I just came to pack. I'm leaving for the Academy now," Tristan replied.
"Oh, right! I read the letter from the Academy. Apologies for not telling you sooner," Kenway said, pride welling in his voice. "I took the liberty of packing your belongings. Good luck, Tristan—may you achieve everything you set your heart upon."
Tristan smiled and rushed upstairs, where he found a suitcase already prepared and waiting on the couch. Slowly, he approached and took hold of the handle. In just three weeks, he had come to feel something profound in this place—something close to familial love. The kindness shown to him, the meals shared, the roof over his head… it was more than he ever expected. Words felt inadequate. Thank you was all he could offer.
Half an hour later, Amelia's carriage arrived. Kenway called out to Tristan, who came down the stairs with a mix of eagerness and nostalgia. Each step echoed with memory—few, but meaningful. He reached the bottom, opened the front door, and paused.
Then, walking to the counter, he bowed deeply and said, "Mr. Kenway, thank you for everything. I am truly grateful."
Kenway smiled, placing a warm hand atop Tristan's head.
"You don't need to thank me. I cherished every moment you spent here. I'm proud of you," he said.
Tears welled in Tristan's eyes, but he held them back. Silently, he turned, picked up his suitcase, and stepped outside.
The carriage doors were open, almost invitingly so.
"Are you ready to go?" Amelia asked gently.
Tristan turned, casting one last look at the boutique. A small, fond smile crept across his face.
"Yeah… Let's go."