Where Our Hearts Converge

Previously

…The market sounds seemed to fade into a gentle hum. The encounter had been brief, unexpected, and undeniably… something. A spark. A flicker of intrigue. A hint of a possibility she hadn't dared to consider. She felt a lightness in her chest, a quiet joy that had nothing to do with sales figures and everything to do with the memory of a pair of striking blue eyes and a voice that resonated deep within her. The dream of The Gilded Whisk suddenly felt a little brighter, a little more tangible, as if the universe, in its own peculiar way, had just sent her a sign, wrapped in the form of a clumsy architect and a dozen fallen tarts.