Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

By the end of November, life at Maraczek’s Parfumerie had descended into chaos, growing more messy and complicated the closer the calendar crept towards Christmas. Which would be expected, of course, if only holiday shoppers could be blamed for the rising tension among the staff—but that wasn’t it at all.

Amalia couldn’t even begin to pretend there was any logical reason for it. Mr. Maraczek and Mr. Nowack were darn near close to openly feuding nowadays and she didn’t have the faintest idea why. While she and Georg hardly got along, Mr. Maraczek’s increasing hostility towards him seemed almost entirely without merit. It had become so relentless and unwarranted recently that Amalia couldn’t even bring herself to enjoy seeing Mr. Nowack taken down a peg.

Amalia wasn’t quite sure why Mr. Nowack’s misfortune made her feel so uneasy. Perhaps it was because so often Maraczek’s criticisms made a man as animated as Georg take physical pause, each comment stealing just a little more of his composure, to the point where the only time he seemed like himself anymore was when Amalia picked a fight with him. Sometimes she’d pick a fight for just that reason, because the alternative—standing back and watching the man slowly break—made her uncomfortable in ways she couldn’t explain. He never seemed broken when he was arguing with her and those few moments of absurd normalcy were often the only things that made the workday tolerable.

Today was no different. Mr. Maraczek snapped at Georg that morning before he even made it into the shop. His criticism had been biting and admittedly quite undeserved, and Georg had looked more than a little lost out there on the sidewalk after Maraczek stormed away. He didn’t even try to scold Amalia for being late despite the fact that she skidded to a stop on the frosty sidewalk just in time to hear Maraczek’s tirade, rather than when she was supposed to arrive ten minutes earlier.

Amalia had never been so happy to have an excuse to disappear into the workroom for the day. She didn’t see either Mr. Maraczek or Georg again until lunchtime, when Georg swept into the room like someone was chasing him.

He made a beeline for the row of small lockers against the back wall and rifled around in his locker for a few moments before swearing quietly under his breath. It was only when he leaned down and rested his head against the edge of the locker that Amalia decided she should probably let him know he wasn’t alone in the room. The longer she waited, the more humiliated he’d be when he discovered her there and the more awful his reaction would be.

“Is something the matter, Mr. Nowack?”

Georg flinched, startled by the sound of her voice, and glanced over his shoulder with a mortified expression on his face that he quickly schooled into the customary look of wary annoyance he reserved solely for her. “I didn’t see you there, Miss Balash.”

She nodded towards his locker. “Has something gone missing?”

“Oh, uh—“ he pulled a book off the small shelf in the locker and shut the door—“No. I, um… I meant to bring a sandwich for lunch, but I guess I must have forgotten. I suppose with Mr. Maraczek the way he’s been lately, I was dreading coming in today and I let that distract me.”

Amalia blinked in surprise. Georg’s explanation was unusually forthcoming of him, especially considering he was talking to her; his state of mind must be worse than she thought if he chose to confide in her of all people.

“I’m sure once Arpad turns up, you could send him out for something.”

Georg shook his head with a sigh. “I really can’t be bothered trying to negotiate with Arpad right now—half the time he gets the order wrong and somehow he always ends up short-changing me. But it’s all right. Missing a meal here and there won’t kill me.”

He sat down at the far end of the work table, resigned to spend his break reading. He looked stiff and uncomfortable sitting there; Amalia wasn’t sure whether his discomfort stemmed from his empty stomach or thoughts of Mr. Maraczek or the fact that he had shared something that could be considered a weakness with her. (She found herself hoping it wasn’t the latter.)

Whatever the cause of Georg’s ill mood, Amalia couldn’t let their conversation end the way it had. She couldn’t just sit there eating in front of him while he looked so miserable, not when she had more than enough to share.

“Here,” she said, sliding the wax paper that served as her makeshift dish nearer to him on the table, “why don’t you have half of my sandwich?”

Georg stared dubiously at the food, as if he was waiting for the catch. (Or waiting for it to jump up and bite him; she wasn’t sure.)

“Come on, Mr. Nowack. It’s half a sandwich, not a proposal of marriage.” She pushed the sandwich further across the table toward him. He still eyed it like it might be poisoned, but after a long, tense moment, he reached out and picked it up. His hand shook a bit when he raised the sandwich in an awkward little salute before finally taking a bite.

Relief washed over Amalia as she watched Georg turn his attention back to his book—or try to, at least. He seemed to be blinking far too rapidly to read properly, his eyes were bright and shiny, and he looked suspiciously like he was about to…

She shook herself and tried to focus on her own book instead of the fact that Georg Nowack of all people was doing his damnedest not to break down in front of her. Moments like this reminded her why, despite their volatile relationship, she couldn’t bring herself to truly hate him. No, he was entirely too human for her to hate.

Amalia quickly finished eating the rest of her lunch and gathered her things in hopes of giving Georg a little solitude before Maraczek saw fit to lash out at him again.

“Thank you, Miss Balash,” he said, quiet and earnest, as she walked past him towards her locker; his voice was rough and for once free of any affectations when he pronounced her name.

Amalia felt a sudden urge to lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder. She knew she shouldn’t, that it wasn’t her place, that he’d probably snap at her for taking the liberty and then maybe he wouldn’t be the only one who left the room in tears…

Why should she risk ruining what was probably their longest civil interaction to date by not minding her own business? For the same reason she couldn’t help but rise to the bait whenever he taunted her: she found him very difficult to ignore.

As bad an idea as it was to get involved any further, she simply couldn’t stop herself.

“I hope you feel better, Mr. Nowack,” she said; his shoulder tensed up under her hand and his back straightened. “I don’t know why Mr. Maraczek has had it out for you lately, but I’m sure you don’t deserve it.”

He glanced up at her with a deep furrow between his brows, perhaps unsure whether she was mocking him or not. But she wasn’t, of course, and her sincerity must have shown in her expression. He quickly looked away again and put his face in his hands.

“Hey—” she pulled over one of the empty stools and sat again, wrapping a hesitant arm across his back— “are you OK?”

“No, Miss Balash. I am not OK. I’m a nervous wreck all the time. Surely you’ve noticed.”

“I… Is there anything I can do or…?”

“I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do,” he said, in a rush—and he sounded like he was either going to start to sob or hyperventilate. Or maybe both. When he peeked out at her from behind his hands, he looked every bit a scared little boy—absolutely nothing like the stubborn, argumentative man she usually knew.

Perhaps he’d hit some sort of threshold in what he could endure that day. Perhaps it was her kindness, her concern in that moment that drove him to the brink. Perhaps finding a sympathetic ear in his work rival of all people was one step too far. Whatever it was, he couldn’t seem to fight off the tears that had been threatening to fall any longer.

Amalia’s chest tightened. Under normal circumstances, it was simply impossible for her to see someone in pain and not feel… moved. To see Georg like this? It pulled at her heartstrings inexplicably. She hugged him closer, tightening her arm around his shaking shoulders.

To Amalia’s surprise, he didn’t try to flee in shame once he started to cry. He didn’t lash out, like he had so many times before. He just… accepted comfort from her, something she would’ve thought impossible not twenty minutes ago. In fact, he even leaned into her awkward half-embrace and allowed her to try to soothe him like they didn’t spend most of their days bickering with each other.

He tried to stifle the noises he was making, tried to make himself stop crying before everyone else in the shop heard him, which only made it worse before it could ever make it better. But he stayed with her. He stayed until found his breath again, until the tension in his body began to dissipate.

“I apologize, Miss Balash. I’m afraid I blubbered all over your blouse.”

“I don’t mind, Mr. Nowack. It can’t be easy for you to be vulnerable around someone you hate as much as me.”

He looked taken aback. “You may frustrate me, Miss Balash, but you don’t—I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t hate Mr. Maraczek, either.”

“No, of course not. I guess that’s the problem, isn’t it?” he said; he swallowed reflexively before he spoke again, his face still conspiratorially close to hers, “I realize I’m barking up the wrong tree here, but… do you think I’m incompetent?”

“Mr. Nowack—“

“Am I bad at my job, Miss Balash? Have I been skating by on my friendship with Maraczek for so long that I somehow didn’t realize my work was subpar?”

Amalia hesitated a moment. “We may clash a lot, Mr. Nowack—” here he gave an hysterical little chuckle— “an awful lot, but even I can admit you’re more than competent at your job.”

He still looked doubtful. “You’re not lying to make me feel better, are you?”

“When have I ever done that?” A beat. “You really don’t know what’s bothering him?”

Georg slumped back in his seat and ran a hand through his hair.

“At this point, your guess is as good as mine. This whole thing is a nightmare.” He bit his lip and searched her face for a long moment, like he was weighing how much he should share with her. “I’ve been on my own for a long time. The Maraczeks are the closest thing I have to a family. Or they were, at least. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this, I honestly don’t know what to do with myself anymore. I can’t do anything right as far as he’s concerned. Even Mrs. Maraczek stopped inviting me over for dinner.”

“Here,” she said, and fished around in the deep pocket of her dress. She pulled out the small packet of homemade cookies she’d been saving to have as a treat with coffee on the way to the bus later. “You need these more than I do.”

He let out a strange huff of a laugh. “Ah. The cure for all of life’s ills.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

“Don’t worry about it, Miss Balash.” He laid a hand on her forearm, a fleeting, gentle touch. “And thank you. Again.”

“I should go,” she said, surprising herself with how flustered she felt. “I’ve taken far too long a lunch break now.”

“You’re not scheduled for the front today,” he said.

“Oh, I know. I thought maybe it would be easier for you to avoid his wrath if you spent the rest of the day back here.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I can’t hide from Maraczek indefinitely. Besides, he’d only end up accusing me of shirking my duties.”

“You probably have a point there.”

“Are you… agreeing with me about something, Miss Balash?” he said, a little mischief bleeding through the sadness in his lopsided half-smile. “Well—" he rubbed his hands nervously on his own thighs— “I guess it’s time for me to bite the bullet.”

He pushed himself up from his seat and headed for the door into the shop.

“Mr. Nowack, wait!” Amalia said, following close behind him. Georg was always so well put together—almost infuriatingly so when all she wanted was to find something to criticize him for; she couldn’t imagine him going out in public as disheveled as he looked now. Without giving it much thought, she reached up to straighten his collar, to comb her fingers through his hair, putting it to rights as best she could. She did it like it was second nature. Like it was something she did everyday.

But, of course, it wasn’t. This was Mr. Nowack, her foil, her foe, not her… not her lover.

Amalia’s heart pounded in her chest, in her ears. Why did she touch him like that? Why had she still not backed away? Why hadn’t he?

It felt as if they were both holding their breath. He watched her with a faint, confused furrow in his brow, shaking his head slightly and opening his mouth to speak; before she could think better of it, she leant forward, covering his lips with hers.

Panic seized her immediately—what in heaven’s name possessed her to kiss Mr. Nowack?—but somehow through the haze of anxiety and nerves she became aware that Georg was, quite tentatively, kissing her back.

It was a soft kiss. Innocent. Chaste, but not chaste. It was… It was wonderful.

When Amalia pulled away, Georg raised his hand slowly, as if in a daze, and gingerly touched his lips.

“Where on God’s green earth is Mr. Nowack?” came Mr. Maraczek’s voice, bellowing from the shop floor to shatter the moment.

Amalia and Georg met each other’s eyes and winced.

“That’s my cue,” Georg said softly, and heaved a heavy sigh. With what seemed to Amalia to be great reluctance, he turned on his heel and headed back into the shop.

Chapter Text

Amalia checked her watch one last time as she hurried down the icy road towards Maraczek’s. If she had calculated correctly, she would arrive at the shop just barely before it was set to open and she’d be able to sneak in under the cover of the morning rush without drawing much attention to herself.

She only had moments to spare if her plan was going to work. Sure, it was a silly plan, designed more to delay the inevitable than to avoid a confrontation completely, but she figured it was worth a shot all the same.

Soon enough, Amalia found herself on the sidewalk outside the shop. She took a deep breath and held it for a long moment, hoping to settle herself before she had to screw up the courage to peek in the window.

To her relief, Maraczek was nowhere in sight. She gently pushed open the door, careful to avoid setting off the chime.

“Mr. Sipos?” she stage-whispered. Sipos started and looked around, furrowing his brows when he noticed Amalia awkwardly poking her head around the door.

“Miss Balash? Why are you whispering? Is something the matter?”

“Is Mr. Maraczek in yet?”

“No. He called a few minutes ago to say he wouldn’t be in until after lunch today.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said, letting out the breath she’d been holding. She slipped in the door as fast as she could, closing it silently behind her.

“I’m afraid Mr. Nowack is already in the workroom, however.”

“I’m not worried about Mr. Nowack today.”

“Really? Did you finally have a run in with Mr. Maraczek?” Sipos asked, sounding somewhat closer to amused than concerned. Amalia didn’t fault him for that—unlike the others, she had somehow managed to avoid earning the full focus of Maraczek’s unpredictable ire up until that point. She very much preferred to keep it that way if she could help it.

“Sort of. I may have forgotten to tighten and seal all the lids on the jars of face cream I was filling on Saturday night and I’m afraid of what he’ll do if he knows I was the one who did it.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much. I’m sure he won’t even notice, given how distracted he’s been. Unless he can find a way to blame Georg, of course.”

Amalia’s conscience twinged. It was still very new to her to consider how her own actions might cause conflict for Mr. Nowack and it didn’t make her feel too pleased with herself when she thought about how much more difficult she may have made his life in the past, unintentional as it was. Maraczek going after Georg for something that she did was the last thing he needed right now, and the last thing she wanted.

Well, that settled it. She would just have to find a way to ask him about Saturday and find a way to make it up to him if something had happened. She wondered idly if he accepted apologies in the form of cookies. Which reminded her…

“Mr. Sipos, before I forget… Please tell your wife the cookies she sent with you the other day were delicious. I’d love to have the recipe if she’s willing to part with it.”

Sipos looked back up from his counter, meeting Amalia’s eyes with a blank expression on his face. “My wife? Cookies?”

“You didn’t bring in the cookies that were in the workroom on Saturday?”

“Ohhh, no, Georg brought those. He makes them every year for Christmas; I think he told me it was his mother’s recipe. I thought he might not bring them this year because, well…” He shrugged. “But I guess he decided to bring them in the end, and a little early at that.”

“Mr. Nowack bakes?”

“On occasion.”

“He doesn’t seem the type.”

“Ah, well… I suppose people have a way of surprising you,” he said as he wandered off.

Amalia wanted to laugh. Oh, if only he knew…

Finding Mr. Nowack was easy enough. He was in the workroom just as Sipos had said, with his hands on his hips as he scrutinized the storage shelves with his forehead creased in concentration. He barely glanced up at Amalia when she stepped through the door, but he acknowledged her all the same.

“Miss Balash, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been searching everywhere for the special orders. Where are they?”

“The special orders? On the shelf by the empty jars.”

“Which empty jars? What am I looking at, Miss Balash? I don’t see them.”

Well, of course he didn’t see them. Amalia shook her head; she tossed her coat over the chair by the row of lockers and went over to help.

“No, not on the bottom, see, they’re right up here,” she said, and she absentmindedly moved him out of the way, bracing herself with a gentle hand at his waist as she reached for the shelf and snagged the neatly wrapped packages.

She held them out and Georg hesitated a moment before he took them from her, then fidgeted with the string while he gave an anxious little chuckle. “I guess I should get my eyes checked,” he said quietly, sounding sheepish and even a little flustered.

“It’s all right.” Amalia patted him on the arm and made her way to the table to sit next to Ilona, whose attention was focused much more intently on her and Georg than on the tubes of Mona Lisa she was filling.

Amalia watched Georg pluck a few jars and boxes off the shelves and head for the shop with everything balanced rather precariously in his arms.

“Mr. Nowack, before you go…”

“Yes, Miss Balash?”

“Did you by any chance finish putting away the jars of face cream the other night? I don’t think I sealed all of them properly.”

“Don’t worry, I took care of them.”

“Mr. Maraczek didn’t give you any grief over them, did he?”

“Oh, no. Thankfully, I found them first.”

“You really should have put them aside for me. They were my responsibility.”

“It’s not a problem. I know you were in a rush to make it to the bus stop on time.”

“Well, thank you, Mr. Nowack. I think you might have spared me the wrath of Mr. Maraczek.”

Georg offered her a small smile and a nod before he ducked out of the workroom; Ilona leaned over and poked Amalia in the arm. She lowered her voice and whispered, “Maybe I need to get my eyes checked, too, because I can’t possibly have just seen what I think I saw.”

“What do you mean?” Amalia asked, her voice perhaps too quick and clipped; she didn’t want to come across as too defensive, after all. Could it really be so obvious to the others that something was different between her and Georg? Or was it just obvious to Ilona, whose eyes had now narrowed at her in shrewd suspicion?

“Amalia… Did you and Georg—?”

Amalia could feel her face heat as she sputtered and stammered and finally choked out a, “What? No!”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of if you did.”

“B-but I—We—It was just a kiss!”

Ilona clapped her hands together in delight. “I knew it! I always had a feeling all that bickering was sexual tension.”

Amalia wanted to deny it, wanted to defend their former animosity, but since the night they kissed, the dynamic between them had definitely changed. She hadn’t really expected things to return to normal—after all, kissing your work rival in a moment of vulnerability does have a way of altering a relationship—but she also didn’t expect all of the hostility between them to simply disappear in a puff of smoke like it had never existed in the first place. What she expected was awkward tension at having to face each other again at the very least, not a conspicuous absence of it.

Amalia half-expected to wake up from a fever dream at any moment to discover nothing had happened between her and Georg at all, but the longer she spent preparing herself for the inevitable disappointment, the more utterly unremarkable and even—dare she say it—downright delightful interactions they shared together.

“Well… in a way, I guess it was.”   

“Amalia, this is wonderful!”

“Is it?”

“Of course it is! So tell me everything, how did it happen, what was it like, did he interrupt an argument with a passionate embrace?”

“No, no, it wasn’t like that, not at all. I, um… I kissed him, actually.”

“You kissed him? What, just out of the blue?” Amalia nodded. Ilona looked impressed. “Good for you!”

“I don’t even know why I did it, really. At that moment, it just felt… right. Like the most natural thing in the world.”

“How did he react?” Amalia looked away, embarrassed by how severely she was blushing, which only made it worse. Ilona giggled. “Something tells me he didn’t mind.”

“Surprisingly… no.”

“Oh, Amalia. It’s not surprising at all! Honestly, it’s a shame you and Georg have gone so long at odds with each other. You two have an awful lot in common.”

“Do we really?”

Ilona raised a pointed eyebrow. “Have you ever actually spoken with the man? Or do you spend all your time pulling each other’s pigtails?”

“We talked for a while the other night, but it was mostly about Mr. Maraczek.”

“What a romantic topic.”

“Oh, hush.”

“So what happens now? Are the two of you together?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t really given it much thought,” she said, which was mostly the truth. Amalia spent more time talking herself out of thinking about it than she actually spent thinking about it. After all, how on earth could she even begin to wrap her mind around the idea of being in a romantic relationship with Georg Nowack? In the past, it would be almost inconceivable. Now that it technically wasn’t, she wasn’t sure what to do with that knowledge. A week ago, the thought barely would’ve crossed her mind, given how much they argued. Not to mention Dear Friend.

“Well, if I can give you some unsolicited advice? Figure it out. As soon as you can. Whatever you two decide, hold him to it. Hell, maybe get it in writing. At least then you’ll have documented proof to fall back on if things end badly.”

“Ilona, are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Perfect. Never been better,” she said, and when she squeezed the tube of Mona Lisa she was filling just a bit too roughly, the back popped right off.

For the first time in a long while, a day went by at Maraczek’s Parfumerie without anything particularly eventful happening. When he finally arrived after lunch, Mr. Maraczek kept mostly to himself, seeming more preoccupied than hostile for once. Mr. Nowack, too, had kept mostly to himself, but he still found the time to check in on Amalia occasionally throughout the day.

Before they had kissed, Amalia would’ve thought he was being aggravating and intrusive, just waiting for her to slip up and make a mistake so he would have a chance to criticize her. Now, though, if she was wasn’t mistaken, she would say Georg had become a little protective of her. It seemed like he was genuinely concerned that she might run afoul of Maraczek and wanted to prevent it if he could.

It was clear that he had started to see her as something of an ally in his situation with Maraczek now that he knew she wouldn’t take Maraczek’s side. The idea that he could trust her in some small way despite their past… Well. It felt good—unusually, unabashedly good. And she had no real idea why.

Could one kiss really change everything? And was it really the kiss that changed things? Or the conversation? (Or the sandwich?)

She had a lot to think about, that was for sure. She almost wished there was a way to explain the situation to Dear Friend, to ask for his perspective on everything, but of course that was impossible. How would she even broach the subject? No, she would just have to figure this one out on her own.

Amalia gathered up her things for the night, shrugged into her coat, and made her way out to the door to leave, but just as she was about to open it, Sipos called after her.

“Miss Balash, before you go…” He caught up to her and handed her a piece of folded paper. “I almost forgot to give you this. It’s the cookie recipe you liked so much. I thought you probably wouldn’t want to ask Georg yourself, so I told him I wanted a copy. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him it was for you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sipos,” she said, staring down at the paper in surprise, feeling oddly weighed down from the significance of it.

Goodness, his mother’s cookie recipe was such a… a personal thing for her to have. Old Georg might’ve even resented her if he found out she had it. This new Georg she suspected wouldn’t mind so much, which sent a warm little thrill through her body.

Just then, Mr. Maraczek stormed out of his office and across the shop floor, more worked up than he’d been all day; Amalia clenched the paper in her fist and shoved it into her purse before hurrying out the door. Her shift was over and she had no desire to get caught up in his warpath tonight. She had enough on her mind already.

Chapter Text

Amalia balled up yet another sheet of paper with a frustrated huff. 

She had writer’s block. Not average, everyday writer’s block that she could shake off with a change of scenery or a cup of coffee and a nice snack, either. No, this was quite simply the worst case of writer’s block she had ever experienced before and, not for the first time, she could blame every last bit of her trouble on Georg Nowack.

It was strange—she’d never once had a problem thinking of things to discuss with Dear Friend in the past, but ever since she had kissed Mr. Nowack, her inspiration had all but evaporated. Or was it her motivation? She didn’t know. 

What she did know was that for the first time in years, she had someone in her life who was interested in discussing her favorite topics, in depth, without their eyes glazing over after a few short minutes. For a long while, she thought such a thing could only be possible through pen and paper, so it was exciting to discover that that wasn’t the case. It was a bit mind-boggling that Georg Nowack of all people would be the one to provide her with such a discovery.

Last night, when Amalia decided to put off writing this letter until the morning before work, she hoped her inspiration would be refreshed after a full night of sleep, but of course she had no such luck. Whenever she put pen to paper, she found herself writing not to Dear Friend, but to Georg instead. On top of that, Georg’s voice had somehow replaced the imagined narrator in Dear Friend’s letters and Amalia simply couldn’t conjure up the one that had been there before, no matter how hard she tried. It was a most surreal thing to experience. 

Amalia and Georg had had a number of interesting conversations over lunch these past few days, something that was becoming a bit of a routine for them. The thrill of anticipation she used to associate only with Dear Friend had become part of her everyday life now as she waited to see what her next interaction with Georg would bring—what joke he would tell, what tempting treat he might take to work, what witty insight he would share, what album or novel he would recommend…

Ilona was right, as it turned out—against all odds, Amalia did in fact have an awful lot in common with Georg. They quickly discovered that they shared the same taste in music, the same ideals, the same dry sense of humor. Chances were they would have been fast friends if they had given themselves the opportunity in the beginning—and Amalia only had herself to blame for the lost time. 

Well. 

She could blame Georg, too—and she did—but no matter whose fault it was, there wasn’t any way they could undo what they’d done. They could only move forward, and thankfully he seemed just as willing to do so as she did.

Despite how welcome these revelations were, they all still contributed to her present conundrum. Yet again, she found she had nothing new to share with Dear Friend that she hadn’t already shared with Georg. She could repurpose their conversations, of course, but that would feel too disingenuous to sit right with her. 

And what if Dear Friend’s opinion on a subject differed so drastically from Georg’s that Amalia would be disillusioned? She had built her mystery man up so much in her mind that she was afraid the only possible outcome from their correspondence at this point would be disappointment.

Oh, well. Amalia would have to cross that bridge if and when she came to it. She didn’t have time to worry about it right now—she would be late to work if she didn’t leave soon.

She neatened her writing desk, resolving to write to Dear Friend after work even if she couldn’t think of anything particularly interesting to say. If worst came to worst, she could always make excuses about the holiday rush to explain how much time had passed since her last letter.

“What’s on the menu for today, Mr. Nowack?” Amalia asked as Georg took a seat on the stool next to hers.

“Pork cutlet sandwich with mustard and pickled slaw, on fresh baked bread from the shop around the corner.”

“That sounds delicious.”

“It’s one of my favorites.” 

“I’ll have to try it sometime.”

Georg pursed his lips for a moment, lost in thought. “You know what, how about a trade? You have half of mine and I have half of yours.”

“Oh no, Mr. Nowack, I couldn’t do that. My sandwich isn’t nearly as interesting.”

“That’s all right. You made up the difference with those walnut cookies. They were divine.”

“They weren’t as good as yours.”

“But that’s not a fair comparison to make! You said you were trying out a new recipe; I’ve been making mine since I was five.”

“All right, I’ll concede that we’re even now or else we’ll wind up trapped in a loop, trying to outdo each other until the end of time.”

“I admit you do bring out my competitive side, Miss Balash.”

“Competitive compliments have to be healthier for both of us than competitive insults.”

“Probably,” Georg said, with a soft smile curving his lips. 

Amalia tore her attention away from said lips with some difficulty and focused it on unwrapping her sandwich instead. Georg followed her lead with his own sandwich, and they divvied them up before tucking in. 

“How’s the Maraczek watch going?” Amalia asked, wary of his answer.

“Disconcertingly well. I don’t think he’s even sniped at me once, but the day’s not over yet. I don’t want to get my hopes up.” Georg shrugged. “In any case, he’s been pretty subdued again today. I can’t imagine why.”

“Maybe he’s too distracted to be hostile.”

“By what, I wonder?”

“Christmas shoppers? Finances?”

“God, I hope not. If there’s anything that can make Maraczek more upset than I can, it’s his business doing poorly,” he said. “I do wish I could get to the bottom of this, though. It feels as if I’m trying to solve a puzzle, but far too many of the pieces are either missing or blank or…” 

Georg trailed off and scooted his stool closer to Amalia’s, glancing around the room surreptitiously before hunching over and speaking quietly enough that only she would have any chance at hearing even if they weren’t alone. 

“I’ve been trying to track it down. The moment this all started. I haven’t had too much luck but I think something must have happened sometime in October. That’s when he started hounding me about the leaves on the sidewalk more than he ever has in years past. Do you remember anything? It would be nice to have someone else’s perspective. Ladislav might as well have had his head buried in the sand for all he remembers.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Nowack. I think Mr. Sipos notices a lot more than he lets on.”

“Perhaps… but if he’s not willing to share it, it amounts to the same thing, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose it does,” she conceded.  

“Now, what could have happened in October to set Maraczek off?”

“Well, Autumn does tend to make some people feel melancholy.”

“Yes, but why focus on me, then?” Georg sprang to his feet and started to pace, his frustration obvious in every step that he took. “What unforgivable crime could I have committed without being aware of it?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Nowack.”

Amalia’s eyes were drawn to Georg's forearms, where his anxious movements had caused his shirtsleeves to begin to sneak their way out of his neatly rolled cuffs. Her fingers itched to fix them, but she couldn’t make a habit out of tidying his appearance for him. It was a bizarre enough urge the first time, even if it had led to… all of this. 

“Perhaps we’re thinking about this the wrong way,” Amalia said. “Perhaps the reason you can’t figure out his motivation is because it’s not really based on anything personal. Perhaps you’re simply the easiest target.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” Georg shook his head, slumping down onto his stool again looking rather dejected. “At least I don’t lose him business philandering with the customers like some people.”

Amalia snorted a laugh. “Tell us how you really feel about Mr. Kodaly.”

Georg sputtered and flushed, clearly not as amused as she was. “How about you field the next angry phone call, hmm? At least the spurned spouse or fiancé won’t assume he’s speaking to the perpetrator and give you an earful before you have a chance to explain yourself.”

“I’m sorry. That must feel awful, being misjudged that way.”

“It does,” he said, and for a moment while Georg studied her face in silence, Amalia nearly forgot how to breathe. “Oh, Miss Balash, sometimes I just—”

Unfortunately, whatever Georg was about to say was lost in the commotion as Ilona rushed into the workroom at precisely that moment.

“Oh, good, you’re both here. Don’t look now but Maraczek’s on the hunt again,” she said. “Georg, he wants your head over those shoddy tubes of Mona Lisa.”

“But Georg had nothing to do with them!”

“Since when does that matter? You know how he’s been lately.”

Amalia and Georg met each other’s eye and sighed. Georg took to his feet rather reluctantly, like a man walking to his own execution.

“We knew it was too good to be true.”

Amalia scrambled to her feet as well. “Mr. Nowack, I don’t care if I’m not scheduled for the front, I’m coming with you.”

“Miss Balash—”

“I won’t take no for an answer. You could use an extra buffer between you and Maraczek. Or another witness, at least. I’m sure Ilona can hold down the fort back here.”

“Sure, I can. You two go.”

“Fine,” he said, after a long moment. “But remember, if anything goes wrong, I didn’t think it was a good idea!”

“We’re in agreement, Mr. Nowack.” Amalia stuck out her hand; Georg took it and gave it one firm, lingering shake before pulling back and looking away with the faintest hint of pink staining his cheeks. She swallowed thickly, suspecting that he felt the same jolt at the contact that she had.

Amalia and Georg walked out into the shop a united front, but with Maraczek’s tunnel vision focused solely on Georg, there was little Amalia could do to distract him and little Georg could say that Maraczek wouldn’t willfully misinterpret. Tensions built to a boiling point and just when it seemed as though something irreversible might happen between the two men… Sipos crashed into the display of musical cigarette boxes, sending them all tumbling to the floor in a cacophonous mess. 

For a blessed moment, Maraczek redirected his ire onto Sipos before storming off to his office.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you, Ladislav?” Georg asked, hurrying over to the mess.

“I had to. I was afraid you might be thinking about quitting.”

“Quitting?” Amalia stage-whispered. “You didn’t tell me you were thinking about quitting!” 

“I’m afraid it’s been on my mind quite a bit lately, Miss Balash; I’m sorry I haven’t told you.” Amalia tried to ignore how raptly Sipos was watching their conversation, but Georg brushed it off. “Don’t worry, Ladislav knows we’ve called a truce.”

Amalia crouched down next to him, helping him gather up all the music boxes and closing them one by one to cut down the distracting din.  

“What the hell am I supposed to do but quit at this point? I can’t go on like this much longer.”

“Just put your head down and trudge through it,” Sipos said. “For all our sake. And maybe eventually things will improve enough that—”

“But I can’t try to improve things if whatever he thinks I did, I didn’t do. And I didn’t—certainly not consciously,” Georg said. “My God, he can’t truly be so upset about Autumn leaves or music boxes or cold cream. Can he?”

“Maybe I could talk to him for you, Mr. Nowack. Or Mr. Sipos could.” Sipos shook his head, the abject fear in his eyes almost comical. “All right, not Mr. Sipos, then.” 

“I know you want to help me, Miss Balash, but you really don’t have to. This isn’t your fight.”

“But it’s not fair for him to treat you like this for no reason! Oh, if only he understood—“

“If only I understood sooner that eating half of your lunch would turn you into such a staunch advocate for my interests…” Georg trailed off with the ghost of a wistful, cheeky smile on his face. “In all seriousness, I don’t want either of you to risk your jobs for me. Please. This is my mess. Even if I don’t have a clue what caused it.”

He sat down on the floor with his back against the wall. All the fight had gone out of him; he looked utterly defeated.

“Why don’t you take your last break early? I’ll distract Mr. Maraczek for you if he comes looking, tell him it’s my fault you’re in the workroom.” 

“No, thank you, Miss Balash. That’s very selfless of you, but I think I’ll just stay right here for a while.”

“Well, then I’m staying with you.”

Georg watched Amalia curiously as she sat down next to him and stretched her legs out in front of her before crossing them delicately at the ankle and smoothing her dress over her thighs. Her side was close enough to his that she could feel the warmth of his body heat even before he reached down and hesitantly took her hand in his.

“Miss Balash, you know I appreciate what you’re doing,” he said, giving it a squeeze, “but if Maraczek sees you sitting here with me, he’s liable to decide you’re guilty by association.”

“He can’t fire all of us, Mr. Nowack.”

“I wouldn’t try to test that theory if I were you.”

“Come on,” she said, bumping her shoulder into his. “I doubt he wants to lose his best sales girl.”

Georg studied Amalia’s face thoughtfully, just long enough for her to start to feel self-conscious.

“You joke,” he said, at last. “but you actually are our best sales girl. Best sales person, really. The way you sold those music boxes your first day here—I just don’t have that kind of guile.” 

“Guile? Mr. Nowack—“

“I mean that as a compliment, Miss Balash. You think well on your feet. Exceptionally well. I admire that.”

“I-I—You—“ 

Amalia felt utterly flustered and tongue-tied, like she was rapidly disproving Georg’s point right in front of him, but it didn’t seem to matter to him at all. He held her gaze warmly when he lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips across the back of it; a pleasant shiver ran down her spine.

Chapter Text

Amalia snuck into the workroom and took a moment to lean back against the wall, close her eyes, and just… breathe.

She had so many things on her mind, she could hardly focus on any one of them long enough to truly give it her all. 

The Christmas rush was in full swing—early shoppers in search of the perfect gift monopolized the attention of the clerks to the detriment of their regular customers and took time away from whoever was responsible for maintaining inventory in the workroom by tying them up preparing special orders.

On top of that, any brief moment of peace was quickly destroyed by Mr. Maraczek and his tenuous grip on civility. Georg, of course, got the worst of it, but no one in the shop was spared by the time the weather grew cold enough to bring with it snow-covered sidewalks and wet, slushy footprints that had to be dealt with promptly or else it would reflect poorly on Maraczek himself.

None of that even began to scratch the surface of exactly what Amalia found so distracting about this particular day.

This was it. 

It was happening tonight.

Tonight at eight o’clock, Amalia would sit down across the table from Dear Friend at the Cafe Imperiale, face to face at last.

It was the culmination of months of correspondence, months of hopes and dreams and fantasies, months of anticipation that had been building towards a fever pitch—at least until the incident with Georg doused everything with ice water. At one time, this night could have held the promise of everything Amalia had ever wanted. In another world, she might have even half-expected Dear Friend to propose to her tonight. 

Why then did she feel so conflicted, so… adrift?

Amalia had imagined feeling excited and nervous at the prospect of meeting Dear Friend, but now it only seemed hollow. It felt almost as if they were simply going through the motions in agreeing to meet at this point. Like they needed to see each other face to face in order for this strange, wonderful chapter of their lives to finally come to a close. 

In fact, this meeting was mostly the consequence of Amalia’s slapdash effort to finally complete a letter to Dear Friend. At a loss for an engaging topic to discuss with him, she had done what amounted to the pen-and-ink version of blurting out the first thing that came to mind. Of course meeting was new and interesting—they didn’t even know each other’s name yet.

The most curious thing about the whole situation was that Amalia might not be the only one who felt the way she did about it. Dear Friend had been distant in his letters for a while now, too. Amalia couldn’t tell if something had changed on his end that he hadn’t even alluded to or if he could somehow sense that something had changed on hers.

(Amalia couldn’t help but wonder—if the main reason she felt the way she did was due to her newfound fondness for Georg, what kind of girl did that make her?)

Whatever the cause, the passion was gone. It was clear their hearts just weren’t in it anymore. It was a sad and discouraging thing to experience after spending so much time building a relationship with him through those letters, but if it wasn’t meant to be, it wasn’t meant to be.

Perhaps things would change tonight. Perhaps the spark would return once they were with each other in person and they would pick up right where they left off weeks ago. But if they didn’t, perhaps it was better to find out now than to foolishly wait for the spark to rekindle later on.

Amalia was startled out of her musings by the sound of hurried footsteps, footsteps she would recognize anywhere.

Georg noticed her at once when he swept into the workroom and almost smiled. They’d come back there for exactly the same reason: a few precious moments away from the din and demands of the customers. He wouldn’t have offered her such an easy smile when they had still been enemies of a sort, but now they could appreciate this small piece of common ground they shared.

“I take it the customers haven’t suddenly learned how to queue patiently and quietly?”

“No, and I’d love to know where the hell Kodaly has disappeared to yet again. I’m of half a mind to give Arpad a temporary promotion, we’re so short-handed.” He took a surreptitious peek back into the shop before he swore under his breath and turned to face her. 

“Miss Balash, that reminds me—Mr. Maraczek asked us all to stay late tonight to help with the Christmas decorations.”

“Oh! It has to be tonight?”

“Unfortunately, yes—why?”

“Well, I had plans to meet with a friend for dinner tonight.”

Georg pressed a balled up fist against his forehead, staring off into the distance at a vague point on the floor. “I’m supposed to meet with a friend for dinner tonight myself,” he said quietly, and then sighed and shook his head. “You go. I’ll try to convince Maraczek we can get by without you.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Nowack? Won’t your friend mind?”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll understand.” Georg closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself. 

“Oh, well. I can’t delay the inevitable forever. Once more unto the breach,” he said, and ducked back into the shop with a little bow.

Amalia did her best to make herself useful in the workroom over the next few hours, keeping the stock flowing onto the shop floor and keeping her head down so Maraczek wouldn’t hold her leaving for dinner tonight against her. Everything seemed to be going just about as well as anything had gone lately, but of course nothing good could last for long.

She heard a sudden commotion out in the shop, but it was over so quickly that Georg raced into the workroom before she even had the time to set aside what she had been working on to investigate. He didn’t spare so much as a glance in her direction and his hands were trembling so badly he could barely open his locker.

“Mr. Nowack, what’s wrong? What happened?”

“I just quit my job,” he said, still not looking back at her.

“Oh, no! Even after everything Mr. Sipos said…”

Georg pulled his coat on roughly over his new suit, not taking any particular care to avoid wrinkling the fabric he’d been so careful with that morning. 

“I’m sorry, Miss Balash. I can’t keep working for a man who so clearly despises me. It’s not good for my health.” 

He started shoving personal items—books, scraps of note paper, and the like—into his pockets. Gathering up the spare suit coat he kept for emergencies, his scarf, and his hat, he all but ran for the door into the shop, only to skid to a stop and turn back around. 

“I just realized—Maraczek may try to keep you now that you’ll be even more short-staffed without me. I feel awful, Miss Balash. I didn’t want to ruin your night, too.”

“Don’t you worry about me, Mr. Nowack. I think it’s safe to say that my appointment is less important that you losing your job.”

“I appreciate that, Miss Balash, but you should keep your appointment, if by some miracle Maraczek does let you all leave early enough. Somebody should have fun tonight.”

“You’re not going to keep yours now?”

He shook his head, and made a gesture at his disheveled appearance from head to toe. “Look at me. Do I look like I’d be good company tonight?”

The word yes danced on the tip of her tongue, but Amalia knew that wasn’t a very helpful answer. She knew his plight here in the shop better than just about anyone else. She certainly wouldn’t judge him for being frazzled because of it, but someone else might. She hoped his friend wasn’t as superficial as that, but he didn’t seem overly confident, so she wasn’t sure.

“Mr. Nowack?”

“Yes, Miss Balash?”

“I—I don’t want you to go.” It was all she could think to say in that moment. Just a simple truth. It wouldn’t fix anything about the situation at all, but she still wished… Well. She wished there was something she could do to change things, but there really, truly wasn’t.

Somehow, she managed to surprise a smile out of Georg all the same. “You mean you’ll miss having me around to bicker with?”

“I will,” she said, and the teasing amusement faded slowly from his face.

“I’ll miss it, too,” he said, quiet and earnest now.

Amalia blinked and cleared her throat, struck with an inexplicably suffocating kind of sadness at the thought of Georg leaving. She needed quite desperately to think of something else, anything else, lest she start to cry. 

He wasn’t dying. They still lived in the same city. Surely, this wasn’t actually the end of the world. Surely, they’d find a way to get through this without losing… whatever it was they had between them.

“We could always write to each other,” she offered.

Georg nodded. “Maybe we could be pen pals. You can keep me up to date on the goings on in the shop, share the latest gossip…”

“Be accused of spying by Mr. Maraczek if he ever found out…”

“Oh no. What a terrible thought!”

“I’m sure we’ll still see each other,” Amalia said, not nearly as confident as she sounded. She had the strongest impulse to kiss him again like she had before, but it was by no means the right time for that; she leaned in and brushed her lips against his cheek instead. “Goodbye, Mr. Nowack.”

“Goodbye, Miss Balash.”

As Amalia watched Georg disappear into the shop one final time, listening to the muffled sounds of the others wishing him well, it felt like her heart was breaking. She wanted to run out there and take Maraczek to task over this, try to finally talk some sense into him… but all that would earn her was a one-way ticket out of the shop right along with Georg.

She sighed and pushed his locker closed, picking idly at a bit of peeling paint on the door, not noticing the wilted rose he had abandoned in the back of the shelf.

If Amalia thought her concentration was bad that morning, it couldn’t even hold a candle to how bad it would be the rest of the night. She felt like she was in her own world, or rather that part of her had followed Georg out the door and it had left her completely out of sorts. She couldn’t even dream of sitting down in a cafe for dinner tonight, let alone carrying on a conversation that made any semblance of a good first impression.

What she and Georg said to each other before he left implied very heavily that they would try to stay in touch, but she knew how often such promises were broken. Life gets in the way, priorities change… She didn’t want that with Georg. She didn’t want them to drift apart just as they were starting to see each other as people, rather than foils. 

Dear Friend—as perfect as he seemed—could wait.

Chapter Text

Amalia Balash was a woman on a mission, and that mission was to pay a visit to Georg Nowack, come hell or high water. 

Before she escaped Maraczek’s for the night, she managed to get her hands on Georg’s home address through some careful snooping, facilitated by one Ilona Ritter, who was all too happy to help her in her quest. Ilona didn’t ask any probing questions, but when she handed over the scrap of paper she’d written the address on, the proud and somewhat impish expression on her face was knowing enough to make Amalia blush.

There was a part of her that wanted to explain to Ilona that she had the wrong impression about her motives in wanting Georg’s address, but there was another part of her that wasn’t completely sure that she did have the wrong impression. Not entirely, at least. After all, Amalia didn’t want his address so she could write to him, or to send him a Christmas gift now that they wouldn’t be working together over the holidays. No, she wanted his address so she could drop by his place unexpectedly, after dark, alone. 

Sure, it wasn’t for exactly the same reason that Ilona likely assumed it was, but Amalia could admit she understood how it might look from the outside. She hadn’t planned far enough ahead to have any idea what she would do once she reached Georg’s flat, to be honest. She figured it would become clear to her once she had him in front of her again. 

In any case, it didn’t matter much what she did, really. If she achieved nothing else with this impromptu visit, at the very least she would have reassured herself that Georg was OK. His departure happened so suddenly and he seemed so distraught over it, she would be able to think of little else until she saw him again.

Of course, all of this assumed that her slapdash not-even-really-a-plan plan came to fruition. For all she knew, it might turn out to be a fool’s errand after all. What if Georg wasn’t even at home? What if he turned in early and didn’t answer his door? What if she didn’t succeed in seeing him tonight?

Well, that would be a disappointment to deal with if and when it came to pass. For now, she would just focus on getting there in the first place. An unfamiliar bus stop would be easy to miss in the growing darkness if she didn’t keep her wits about her.

Once she finally found herself outside Georg’s door, Amalia took a deep breath, raised her fist, and knocked before she could lose her nerve. 

A few moments passed in painful silence. 

With every second that ticked by, Amalia’s anxiety worsened. She managed to resist the urge to put her ear to the door to try to catch even a hint of movement on the other side, but only just.

Maybe Georg wasn’t home after all. Good God, she hoped that was why he wasn’t answering. She didn’t want to picture him too despondent to even come to his own door to see who was knocking. Even worse was the thought that he could see that it was her through a window somewhere and was refusing to answer on purpose.

No.

They’d left off on good terms—perhaps better terms than they’d ever been on before. There was no reason to believe he was avoiding her in particular.

Stepping back onto the sidewalk, Amalia had nearly resolved to drop by again early in the morning before work when she heard another set of footsteps crunching closer in the newly fallen snow.

“Mr. Nowack!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I’m so relieved!”

“Miss Balash? What are you doing here?” Georg asked, bewildered. “I mean… that is to say…”

“It’s all right, Mr. Nowack. I understood what you meant. It’s not every day that your ex-sworn enemy shows up on your doorstep unannounced.”

“I guess you have a point.” He rubbed absently at the back of his head before turning back in a strange sort of double take, face scrunched up in confusion. “Sworn enemy?”

“Ex-sworn enemy.”

Georg shook his head with a shrug, clearly too weary to do anything but go along with whatever she had said. “Not that I don’t appreciate the visit, Miss Balash, but it’s early enough still. Don’t you have an appointment?” 

“I do. Did. I decided to postpone it. I figured I wouldn’t be very good company tonight after all if I spent the whole time worried about you.”

Georg’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You were worried about me? And you came all the way here just to check in on me?”

“I did.”

“You know you don’t have to do things like that.”

“Of course I know, but it’s something friends do for each other, Mr. Nowack. I’d like to consider you a friend.”

“I’d like that, too, Miss Balash,” he said, his voice soft.

Amalia felt herself start to smile, quite a bit wider than she could completely control. A few weeks ago, a friendship with Georg would’ve seemed absurd, yet here she was, overjoyed at the prospect. How fast life could change…

“So… how are you, Mr. Nowack?” she asked, after a quiet moment.

Georg searched her face for a long while before he sighed. 

“I don’t feel all that well, to be quite honest. I’m afraid I’m still not really myself after everything that happened this afternoon,” he said. “It could be the side effects of coming down off the last few weeks of stress, or perhaps the day finally caught up with me, or maybe I’m just coming down with a cold—I really can’t be sure. 

“In any case, I wasn’t feeling up to cooking dinner, so I thought I would treat myself to something special to eat from the market down the street.” Holding up the bag in his hand, he continued, “The beef stew seemed the most comforting, with a fresh loaf of bread and butter on the side.” He gazed up at the stormy sky overhead with his brows drawn tightly together. “I think if I get out of this weather soon, the bread might even still be warm. I lucked into the last batch of the night.” 

“That sounds like the perfect way to end this awful day.”

Georg’s eyes brightened a bit. “Say… would you care to join me, Miss Balash? The poor woman at the shop gave me more than enough for two. I think she was trying to cheer me up—I must’ve looked miserable.”

“I’d love to, Mr. Nowack. I suppose it’s only fitting we have dinner together since neither of us had intended to eat alone tonight before Mr. Maraczek ruined our plans.”

“Misery loves company, as they say,” he said with a shrug, and ushered her into the building.

Amalia couldn’t help but look around once she was inside, even if it felt a bit like being privy to a secret she wasn’t meant to know. Georg’s flat wasn’t all that different to her own flat, when you came down to it. Decidedly more masculine, but not in an ostentatious way. Not utilitarian, not without comforts, but still practical. 

It was a bachelor’s flat, but one belonging to a private, somewhat reserved bachelor, rather than what she imagined someone like Mr. Kodaly’s flat would look like—all flash, designed to impress his ever-expanding gaggle of lady friends.

Georg helped Amalia off with her coat and hat before tending to his own.

“I’m sorry my flat isn’t terribly conducive to entertaining guests. There’s no dining table, considering it’s only me; if I eat at home, I usually eat at my desk.” The desk in question was currently strewn with papers and books. “Which is unfortunately a bit of a mess at the moment.”

“That doesn’t bother me, Mr. Nowack. I only hope I’m not keeping you from anything important.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Before the hunger distracted me, I was simply reevaluating each and every aspect of my life and my dreams for the future, rereading old correspondence in hopes of experiencing a flash of insight…” He held up the small pile of envelopes he had gathered up from his desk as he moved them to the top of his dresser along with a rather haphazard stack of books. “You know, nothing particularly groundbreaking.”

Georg buzzed around quickly as he went and tidied up the rest of the flat, straightening the quilts on his bed and scrounging up a stool to pull over to serve as a second seat at his desk; Amalia rather didn’t have the time to feel too out of place when all she could do was watch him work. 

“Isn’t there anything I can do to help?” she asked, once he moved on to plating up their dinner.

“This is no trouble,” he said. “By the time I explain where everything is, I’ll have finished.”

“Well, all right. If you’re sure.”

Chapter Text

The pair had settled down to eat in their usual companionable silence for a good long while before Amalia felt Georg’s attention on her. At first, she wasn’t sure if she was imagining things; it took a few moments before she managed to catch his eye, his glances were so fleeting and surreptitious.

“What is it? Do I have something on my face?”

“No, no…” He waved off the concern, before drawing a fidgety fingertip along the woodgrain of the desktop. “I, um… I don’t think I mentioned earlier… That is a lovely dress you’re wearing.”

“Oh!” Amalia looked down at her own dress, taken aback by the compliment. “Thank you! It’s brand new; I never wore it before today. I bought it for… well, it doesn’t matter much right now, does it?”

“I bet you didn’t think you would end up sitting down across from me tonight, did you, Miss Balash?”

“No. No, I can’t say that I did.”

His lips curled up in a self-deprecating smile. “Are you very disappointed?”

“Not at all,” she said, without hesitation; his smile started to shift into one that seemed far more relaxed, far more hopeful. She reached out across the desk and laid her free hand on top of his. 

“You make an excellent meal companion, Mr. Nowack. And this is an excellent stew. In fact, now that we’ve shared lunch and dinner with each other, sometime we should go for the trifecta and try for breakfast, as well,” Amalia said cheerfully. In the moment of silence that followed, she realized too late how her words could be taken. “Oh! I don’t… I mean… I didn’t…”

“Don’t worry about it, Miss Balash.” Georg gave her hand a quick, gentle squeeze. Was that a blush staining his cheeks or had the color been brought on by the warmth of the stew?

“In any case, I’m glad you think so,” he said. “I’ll be sure to pass your compliment along to the chef, next time I feel the need to indulge. Which I anticipate will be very soon indeed.” 

“I take it your day hasn’t improved much since this afternoon, then,” Amalia said, scooping up another spoonful of the stew. It really was wonderful—exceptionally tender meat and vegetables in rich dark gravy that warmed you inside and out.

“That’s a fair enough assessment to make,” he said, and wiped his mouth on his napkin. “Unfortunately, I don’t know what to do with myself, to be quite honest. You know, it’s Tuesday and I don’t have to go to work in the morning. I’m not sure I remember what that feels like. I’m not sure I like it. Mr. Maraczek was professional enough to write me a very nice reference letter, so I’ll likely find a decent position somewhere soon enough, but for now…”

“I remember what that’s like all too well, Mr. Nowack. When Hammerschmidt’s closed, I’m afraid I had something of an existential crisis, worrying about where and when and whether I would find work again. I thought if Maraczek’s didn’t work out, I might even have to move back in with my mother.”

“And that’s an unpleasant prospect, I gather?” Amalia nodded. “You and your mother don’t get along?”

“Oh, we get along swimmingly—as long as we don’t live together. Our flats are at opposite ends of the hall from each other in the same building and that’s close enough for both of us,” she explained. “Our temperaments differ too greatly to be compatible flatmates. Where I’m quiet and shy in most circumstances, my mother is… not. We tend to get in each other’s way, one way or another.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Perhaps… But we’re better off this way, I think. It cuts down on friction. If she likes to stay out into the wee hours of the morning and somehow still manages to come back refreshed, then good for her—but she’s none too circumspect about how much commotion she causes when others have already turned in for the night.”

“Meaning you.”

Amalia nodded, swallowing another spoonful of stew. “My whole life, she’s always been the life of the party. Whereas my idea of an ideal night is… well, it’s more like this.”  

“Add in a favorite album on the gramophone and a good book to curl up with and you’ve found my perfect evening as well, Miss Balash.” 

Georg held up his water glass in an odd little toast, and Amalia clinked their glasses together before they both took a sip.

“Well, I guess it’s some consolation that I’m not the only one who’s more of a homebody than my own mother.”
 
“Am I right to assume that your father…?”

“He died when I was a little girl.”

“I’m sorry. That’s… That’s an awful thing to experience when you’re so young,” Georg said, and his tone was tender enough that it gave Amalia a lump in her throat. “Your mother never found someone else? The way you describe her…”

“Oh, there have certainly been others. None of them have stuck, that’s all. I don’t know how she does it, really. I don’t think I have it in me to keep searching like that. It’s difficult enough for me to… well.” She shook her head and shrugged. 

“It’s difficult enough to even find one person.”

“Yes.”

Georg opened his mouth to speak but must have thought better of whatever he meant to say, because he went back to his food without a single word. Amalia wished she could read the thoughts behind his eyes.

She got the impression that, outside of work, Georg didn’t have a large circle of friends. It was a predicament that she quite understood. She was friendly with a number of people but that didn’t always translate into true friendship.

She had had a deep longing for that kind of connection for quite a while, but before Dear Friend—and then Georg—she really hadn’t had anybody who was willing to engage in deep or sometimes even heated discussions about the things she cared about since she was a child. Finding someone who was interested in all that and more was even harder. She had thought perhaps she had done so with Dear Friend, but…

Amalia shook herself, and cleared her throat.

“Look at me, dropping in unannounced only to monopolize the conversation by talking solely about myself. Why don’t you tell me more about you?”

“Me? I don’t know that there’s much to say. I don’t have any stories about larger than life relatives like your mother. I don’t have any close relatives at all. Both of my parents passed a long time ago. That’s why Maraczek…” He trailed off, his attention suddenly focused on idly stirring the remnants of stew around in his bowl. After a long moment, he coughed to clear a bit of roughness from his voice and said, “Well, that’s why losing Maraczek’s good opinion hurt so much.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Nowack. I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.”

“No. It’s all right. It’s bound to be a little raw for a while.” He shrugged, shaking his head. “I’ll just have to focus on trying to build my own little family in the future, since I’m no longer part of his.”

Amalia had always known that Maraczek’s animosity towards Georg was wholly undeserved—even when they were at odds, she never doubted that. It was so deeply sad and unfair that it had come to this, that the man had chosen to forsake all the years Georg had dedicated to his shop—and for what? A petty, pointless grudge based on seemingly nothing at all.

When Georg glanced up and caught her looking, Amalia offered him an awkward smile and said, “If only there was something I could do to help you, Mr. Nowack.”

“But you have helped me, Miss Balash. You went out of your way to keep me company on what was sure to be a very sad, lonely evening.”

“Oh, I don’t know if that qualifies as real help—”

“Believe me, it does. Even if all we did was exchange maudlin stories and commiserate, it was worth more to me than… Well, I can’t think of anything that’s meant more to me lately than what you’ve done tonight.”

“I’m not quite sure what to say. I wish… I wish there was a way I could stay longer.”

Georg’s face fell. “You’re leaving? So soon?” he said, and despite all he’d said, Amalia was still surprised at how forlorn he sounded, how reluctant to see her go.

“It is getting rather late. If I miss the bus…” 

He glanced at his watch. “Oh, goodness—you’re right!” he said, and sprang to his feet. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how much time had passed. I suppose that’s what happens when you’re with someone you enjoy conversing with.”

Amalia followed Georg to his coat rack.

“Thank you, Mr. Nowack,” she said, touched. “This was all an unexpected yet welcome way to end my day.”

“Thank you, Miss Balash, for saving me from drowning my sorrows in far too many servings of stew all alone. I might’ve had to send for some of Ladislav’s stomach pills just to get through the night.”

Amalia chuckled at the lopsided smile on Georg’s face, and before he had the chance to reach for her coat, she closed the distance between them to pull him into a hug. His arms came up around her rather slowly, as if she’d caught him off-guard, but he sighed into her embrace eventually all the same. 

As hugs went, it was warm and easy and pleasant, and she soon found her chest tightening with a feeling of longing so crushing she couldn’t quite explain it.

“Regardless of the circumstances that brought us here, it was good to see you again.”

Amalia could feel Georg’s laughter through his chest. “You say that like it’s been ages, but we saw each other a few hours ago.”

“I know.”

He pulled back and gave a rueful shake of his head. “How did we end up like this? A few weeks ago, I never would have thought you and I could be… well. Whatever it is we are now.”

“I would have,” she blurted out, and instantly regretted it. Oh, well. In for a penny… “I—I did, actually. Once upon a time.”

“Really? What on earth would ever have made you think about me in a positive light before our cease-fire? And when? I haven’t given you much of a reason.”

“It was the first day we met. I watched you helping a customer before I approached you, and you were demonstrating how to use one of the products, a cream for dry skin.” She reached down and took one of his hands in both of hers. “You have beautiful hands.”

“Do I? Fingernails and all?”

“Well, they’ve improved since then, haven’t they?” she said with a small smile.

Georg studied her face for a long while. “I think I could have fallen in love with you that day, Miss Balash. Maybe I did.”

Amalia’s breath caught in her chest. She watched, feeling as if she was falling, as he lifted one of her hands and brushed his lips over her knuckles; butterflies fluttered almost painfully in her stomach. 

All at once, she was struck with a powerful, visceral awareness—she was alone with Georg in his flat, in what amounted to his bedroom, and she found him attractive. More than attractive.

Suddenly, the night was full of possibilities. It was all too much, too… tempting. For the first time in her life, she truly understood how Ilona must feel going out with those men she sees. How easy it would be to… well. It probably wasn’t a wise idea to do any of the things she would like to do.

It felt like a small eternity that they stood there in charged silence, holding hands.

“Will you please help me with my coat, Mr. Nowack?” Amalia asked at long last.

“Of course,” Georg said, visibly snapping out of his reverie. “You wouldn’t want to be out too late this far from home.”

He took Amalia’s coat from the hook and held it up so she could slip her arms inside, and then handed her her hat. She found herself wishing he was more apt to lingering the way she was, more apt to take the liberty of straightening her lapels for her or seating her hat more securely on her head. Instead, he started to put his desk back to rights, neater even than it had been before their meal.

She wondered if he meant for her to see herself out, or if he was struggling as much with the tension in the air between them as she was and was simply looking for a distraction. In any case, she made no move to leave and he made no move to ask her to do so. And if she stood just a bit too close while he worked, well… He had no complaints about that either.

When she thought about it later, Amalia couldn’t say what compelled her to ask the question that tickled at her mind. She had to find some way to lessen the sudden awkwardness, and said question was as good as any other.

“Mr. Nowack?”

“Yes?”

“Are those letters from your friend, the one you were meeting tonight?”

“They are, yes.”

“And is he—”

“She,” he corrected, automatically.

The tiniest twinge of jealousy twisted in Amalia’s gut, but she fought to quash it—how hypocritical of her, who only just barely decided to call off her own appointment tonight in favor of this visit. There was no understanding between herself and Mr. Nowack, even if he had just admitted to having romantic feelings for her. Still, her curiosity wouldn’t be silenced.

“And is she… an old friend? From school, perhaps?”

“No, no. But she is a dear friend, nonetheless.”

Amalia’s ears pricked at his turn of phrase—her heart began to beat a little faster. 

“This dear friend of yours… How did you two meet, if not for school? I don’t remember any other young women ever working at Maraczek’s aside from Miss Horvath and Ilona, and you’ve said yourself how little you enjoy going to night clubs.”

Georg went about cleaning the dishes without looking at Amalia, perhaps intentionally so. It certainly felt like he was avoiding her eyes on purpose. “I’m almost ashamed to admit this… but we haven’t met, actually. In person, at least. We struck up a correspondence through a lonely hearts club some months ago—” 

Amalia inhaled sharply before she could stop herself. Could it be…? After all, they had both had an appointment tonight, both with an anonymous pen pal. What were the odds of that, if this were not the explanation? What if it wasn’t only an unlikely coincidence? Oh, why hadn’t she thought of this possibility before?

“You… You belong to a lonely hearts club?” Amalia barely recognized her own voice, it seemed so strange and strained; Georg’s head snapped around at the sound of it. 

“Miss Balash, I’m sorry. You must think I’m awful, telling you I think I’ve fallen in love with you with one breath and with the next—”

“No, I don’t. Think you’re awful. I-I don’t think you’re awful at all, I—” She leaned forward suddenly and pressed her lips against his.

“What was that for?” Georg asked, stunned and a little breathless, once Amalia pulled away. If possible, he seemed even more surprised by this kiss than he had been by the first.

“I… I…” She pushed past him for the door. “I have to go.”

“Miss Balash, wait! At least let me try to explain. I feel like I really am no better than Mr. Kodaly.”

Amalia spun around and held up a hand, stopping Georg short.

“Mr. Nowack, truly—” They both looked down at where her hand settled on his chest and back to each other. She soldiered on. “You are nothing like Mr. Kodaly.”
 
“Am I not?” he asked, his voice quiet, soft. Amalia could feel his heartbeat, feel every shallow rise and fall of his chest, almost deliberately shallow as if he decided breathing too deeply would dislodge her hand and he was trying to avoid such an unimaginable loss.

She shook her head. “I wasn’t leaving because I felt you did anything wrong. I know you too well to think you’d do anything like he would.”

“But you don’t, Miss Balash, you hardly know me at all. We’ve haven’t even been civil with each other for a month.”

“That’s not true!”

Georg’s brow furrowed deeply in confusion. “Yes, it is, of course it is.”

“OK, sure, in a way I guess it is. But I do know you, Mr. Nowack, I do! I—please don’t ask me to explain what I mean right now. I promise you, it will make sense eventually.”

At that, Amalia rushed out the door and didn’t turn back to see if Georg tried to follow her.

Chapter Text

 When Amalia finally arrived at Maraczek’s the next morning after a rather sleepless night, the atmosphere in the shop was unusual to say the least—and it wasn’t just because it felt empty there without Georg as she might have expected. She looked around at her colleagues as they worked to ready the shop for the day ahead, taking in the solemn expressions on their faces and the weight of the silence in the air, and found no ready explanation for their moods.

“I’m sorry I’m so late, time just wasn’t on my side this morning. Is Mr. Maraczek in yet?”

“Oh, Amalia…” Ilona said, looking stricken. “You haven’t heard?”

A chill ran through Amalia’s body. “Heard what?”

“Mr. Maraczek is in the hospital.” 

“The hospital? What happened? Is it serious?”

Ilona opened her mouth to answer, but Arpad stepped forward and interrupted before she could say a word. 

“He shot himself by accident, he was cleaning his gun!”

“He shot himself?” Ilona nodded, sadly. “Will he be OK?”

“The doctors think he’ll be right as rain before the end of the year,” Arpad said. “I’m off to visit him at the hospital again right now, as a matter of fact. If you want to give him your well-wishes, I’d be happy to pass them along.” 

“Of course,” Amalia said, still a bit shocked. “Tell him I’m sorry to hear about his accident and I wish him a swift recovery.” 

And with that, Arpad was off like a flash on his bike. Everything he had said sounded awfully rehearsed to Amalia, though she couldn’t even begin to imagine why. In any case, he seemed proud of being able to play so important a role in such a harrowing moment. 

Amalia wondered if that was what Georg had been like at one time—young and eager to prove himself, to prove his worth to the man who took him in when he was alone, gave him a job and helped him establish himself in the parfumerie business.  

That imagined idea of a teenaged Georg made Amalia’s heart ache even more over the current state of his relationship with Maraczek. She felt a bit selfish, spending her time thinking of Georg when it was Mr. Maraczek who was in the hospital, but the schism between the two men was so very fresh in her mind. As unlikely as it seemed now that they would ever reconcile, what a shame it would be if the opportunity were to suddenly be lost—permanently.

Amalia felt Ilona’s attention on her as she gathered supplies to bring to the work table. Sure enough, when she snuck a glance at the other woman, she was already looking her way.

Amalia took a seat on one of the stools and got to work. Ilona sat next to her and scooted her stool quite close.

“So…” Ilona said, trailing off with a leading tone to her voice.

“So, what?”

Ilona gently shoved at her arm. “I could use some good gossip to lighten the mood, so how did last night go with Georg?”

“Oh. It went well.”

“Well enough for it to be the reason you showed up so late today?”

“It went very well,” Amalia said, hoping she wasn’t blushing too noticeably. Her visit with Georg technically was the reason she was late, after all, even if Ilona imagined an entirely different sequence of events had led to her tardiness.   

Ilona raised her eyebrows, an expectant look on her face. 

“What? If you think I’m going to kiss and tell—”

“Well, did you?”

“Did I what? Kiss him?”

“Yes!”

“That’s beside the point—”

“So you did!”

“All right, yes, I kissed him,” she said. “But it’s probably not for the reason you think it is.”

“What do you mean?” Ilona asked with a laugh. “How many reasons could there be?”

“You know how I was supposed to meet a friend for dinner last night?”

“The one you stood up?”

“Yes, him,” Amalia said, impatient and flustered. “Well, it turns out I didn’t stand him up. At least, I don’t think so.”

“What on earth are you talking about? I thought you went to visit Georg.”

“I did.”  

“I’m sorry, you’re going to have to explain.”

“Well, you see… I met my friend through a lonely hearts club, we’ve never actually seen each other before. No names, no photographs, nothing. We were supposed to meet in person for the very first time last night at the cafe, which of course didn’t happen. And, well… during my visit with Georg, in the course of conversation I started to suspect that he might very well be the friend I was supposed to meet.”

“You’re kidding!”

“No! He had an appointment with a friend for dinner last night, too. It was one of the reasons he and Mr. Maraczek quarreled so badly—Georg wanted to leave early to make it to his appointment on time, but Maraczek insisted we all stay. After they argued and Georg quit, he wasn’t feeling up to keeping his appointment. That’s why I wanted to visit him in the first place, to make sure he was all right. I didn’t know until later that he had never met his friend in person before, either, or that he had also met her through a lonely hearts club.” 

“That all sounds too similar to possibly be a coincidence.”

“I thought so, too, but hearing you agree is very reassuring,” Amalia said. “I don’t know why I didn’t consider this explanation sooner. You even told me you thought Georg and I had a lot in common.”

“Even more than I thought!”

“Apparently. I feel so foolish about the whole situation, really. I keep running through conversations I’ve had with Georg over and over again in my mind, zeroing in on all the times he’s said something that reminds me of my pen pal. In fact, I’ve struggled to write to my pen pal over the past few weeks precisely because I had already shared everything I would normally discuss with him with Georg. It seems so obvious now, but I brushed past it because I was so excited to have found a friendship with Georg, considering where we started.”

“There has to be some way we can prove that Georg is your mystery man,” Ilona said.

“I spent all of last night tossing and turning trying to come up with a way to do just that, but I’m afraid I haven’t come up with anything resembling a concrete plan,” Amalia said. “I can’t exactly march down to the post office and demand to know who rents the box where I send my letters. I suppose I could write to him and fish for hints, but I don’t think I could keep the charade up long enough for a proper investigation. Oh, if only I could bring myself to ask him outright… but if I’m wrong somehow, I don’t think I could handle the embarrassment.”

“Oh, no, I understand,” Ilona said. “Men are difficult enough to communicate with even if you know for sure who they are. Or you think you know, at any rate,” she added as an afterthought. 

Amalia rested her head on her hand, propped up on the work table. “Perhaps if I had a good example of Georg’s handwriting to compare with the letters… Do you know if there are any records or anything else that he might have written somewhere around the shop?”

“Sure, but it’s all bookkeeping and price tags—mostly numbers and arithmetic and abbreviations, not much to work with for a comparison.”

“Damn it,” she said.

“Maybe he left something behind in his locker,” Ilona said, rushing over and pulling open the door. “Oh. All there is is a shriveled old flower.”

A thrill ran through Amalia’s body. “What kind of flower?” she asked, excited. “How old?”

“A rose,” she said, holding the drooping flower upside down by the stem. “I would guess a day or two at the most. Why, does that mean something?”

“Yes! My pen pal was supposed to have a rose in his lapel to match the one in my book so we would know how to recognize each other at the cafe.” 

“You know, I think that means you can add one more mark to the tally that Georg really is your pen pal.”

“True, but it’s still circumstantial evidence. What if Georg is simply fond of roses?”

“And keeps one shoved away in his locker where no one can see?” Ilona asked, an eyebrow raised. “In December?”

“I still don’t feel like it’s proof enough to stake my humiliation on,” Amalia said, fighting off a blush. “You’ve probably seen more of his handwriting over the years than I have. Maybe you’ll be able to tell. Why don’t you go find the letter I have in my purse and see if you think it looks like his writing?”

Ilona retrieved Amalia’s purse from the chair near the lockers and searched around inside it for a few moments before pulling out a folded, crumpled piece of paper.

“Well, this isn’t a letter, but I’m sure it’s Georg’s handwriting. It looks like his mother’s cookie recipe, and, boy, he sure is thorough. He might as well have written a novel.”

“Oh my goodness! I had forgotten all about that! I suppose that means I have a sample after all.” She held out her hand. “Here, hand me the purse, I’ll find the letter.”

It didn’t take Amalia long at all to do so because she knew exactly where she’d hidden it away. She unfolded it and straightened the creases in the paper, holding it to her chest. “On the count of three…”

“One…”

“Two…”

“Three!”

Amalia lowered the letter to the table at the same time Ilona lowered the recipe, and relief immediately flooded her body. 

The handwriting was identical—the same neat, slanted penmanship, the same smooth, bold strokes, the same deep black ink she had always admired, the same size lettering… In fact, if she were to line up a word from each and hold it up to a lamp, she was sure they would match completely. The two samples were probably even written with the exact same fountain pen, judging by the look of things.

Amalia felt like she was floating. She felt giddy as a schoolgirl.

This was exactly what she needed—proof, right there in black and white, the definitive answer to a months’ long mystery. As if there had really been a question anymore.

Dear Friend was Mr. Nowack. She loved Mr. Nowack.

Well.

That she knew already.

“It sure looks like a match to me,” Ilona said.

“To me as well,” Amalia said. “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.”

“Why? Are you disappointed?”

“No. Not even a little. Frankly, I’m so relieved that I don’t…” Amalia let out a flustered laugh and wiped at the tears that had escaped down her cheeks. “I don’t even know what to say. The thought that it might not’ve been him was so unimaginable, I couldn’t even allow myself to consider what I would’ve done if it was true.”

“Oh, Amalia. You really do love him, don’t you?”

“I do. Isn’t that remarkable?”

Ilona pulled Amalia into a hug, and brushed the tears from Amalia’s cheek with her thumb. “It’s wonderful. Congratulations. I know you two will be great together.”

“Thank you. It means a lot to hear you say that. Now I just have to find a way to tell Georg that he’s in love with me, twice over.”

Ilona chuckled. “I don’t envy you that conversation.”

Chapter Text

“Miss Balash!” Sipos exclaimed as Amalia very nearly collided with him carrying an entire crate full of glass jars ready to be cleaned and refilled.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Amalia said. “I’m afraid my head is in the clouds today.”

His eyebrows drew together in sympathy. “I wouldn’t worry so much. I’m sure Mr. Maraczek will be just fine.”

Amalia bit her lip. “Would it sound awful if I said that I wasn’t thinking about Mr. Maraczek?”

Sipos shook his head, reassuring. “Oh, no, I bet you have a lot on your mind already what with Christmas coming up. I know I do, considering some of my wife’s family will be traveling to visit us. Well, I say ‘some’ but—”

“I’m afraid my mind isn’t even on the holiday,” Amalia said, interrupting before he got up a good head of steam. “At least not directly.” She shrugged. “Perhaps I’m simply coming down with a cold. Mr. Nowack mentioned that he thought he could be getting sick; I probably caught it from him.”

“If that’s the case, then you should go home and lie down, Miss Balash, before you start to feel worse.” 

“Oh, I couldn’t do that! It’s barely even noon and we’re down too many clerks already.”

“You won’t be much help to us here in the state you’re in. I bet all of us would rather fill a few extra jars apiece than have to clean up a crate’s worth of broken glass or explain what happened to them to Maraczek on his sickbed.”

Amalia sighed, shifting the box to rest on her hip. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll just bring these out back and let Ilona know, then head home for the day.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” he said. “I hope you feel better.”

“Thank you.”

Amalia only made it a few paces away before she turned around again.

“Mr. Sipos? One more thing before I go…” 

“Yes?”

“You consider Mr. Nowack a good friend of yours, right?”

“I’d like to think so, yes.”

“Has he ever told you anything about belonging to a lonely hearts club?” Sipos’ eyes snapped towards hers and he went very pale. “I’m going to assume by that reaction that he has told you.”

“You found out about that, then, did you?” He shook his head. “I knew I should have warned Georg that he was playing a dangerous game, carrying on with those letters while spending so much time getting to know you, but sometimes it’s best to let people learn from their own mistakes.”

“No, no, you don’t understand. I don’t mind that he has a pen pal. That’s not why I’m asking you this.” She glanced around the shop quickly to make sure neither Kodaly or Arpad were nearby and dropped her voice. “The truth is, I’ve been writing to a young man through a lonely hearts club over the past few months myself, and… well, you might guess where this is going.”

“I’m not sure that I do.”

“All right, then.” Amalia took a deep breath. If anything, this was good practice for later. “As it turns out, the woman Georg has been writing to is me.”

“So you’re Dear Friend? And you’ve been right under his nose this whole time?” Amalia nodded; Sipos let out an oddly giddy laugh. “Well, that’s amazing.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Amalia said, breaking out in a grin.

“How long have you known?”

“I only found out last night.”

Sipos’ eyes widened. “I thought Georg decided not to go through with the meeting last night.”

“Oh, he didn’t, but after everything that happened with Maraczek, I was worried about him, so I stopped by his flat on the way home from work. I saw letters strewn all over his writing desk; I didn’t get a terribly close look at them, but he told me they were written by a dear friend, which of course sounded very familiar.” 

“Of course.”

“Then he explained about the lonely hearts club, and it seemed nearly impossible for it to mean anything other than what it sounded like—that he and the man I’d been writing to were one and the same. It was all very surprising and I’m afraid I left in quite a rush soon after I made the connection—he probably doesn’t have the faintest clue why. I only hope the truth doesn’t come as too much of a shock.”

“The shock will pass quickly enough, I imagine. Georg is very much in love with you.”

“Oh, I know. I found that out last night, too.”

Sipos cleared his throat delicately. “Miss Balash, are you sure this isn’t a conversation you would rather have with Miss Ritter?”

“What? Ohh, no, I’m not talking about anything scandalous! Far from it. It’s only that I know he’s my Dear Friend, but he doesn’t yet know that I’m his.”

“So he confessed to being in love with Dear Friend without realizing…”

“Well, no. He confessed to being in love with me.”

“I’m confused.”

“That makes three of us, Mr. Sipos, believe me,” Amalia said.  

Sipos shook his head. “You and Georg are a great match,” he said, patting her on the shoulder.

“I’m glad you think so. Since you know him so well, I was wondering if perhaps you might have any insight into how best to broach the subject of my true identity with him.”

“Hmm… I don’t suppose you could tell him in a letter that you’d be willing to exchange names or photographs now that your meeting fell through?”

“Oh, I don’t want to write him as if I don’t already know who he is, I’d come across as far too suspicious. He’d know something was wrong in a heartbeat.”

“Right. Of course. And I guess we’ve all had enough anonymous letters to last a lifetime,” Sipos said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t know what else to suggest, Miss Balash. The two of you have always been more clever than I am. I’m sure you’ll figure out what to say when the time is right.”

“Yes, I suppose I’ll have to, won’t I?” she said, with a slight frown. Sipos began to head for the shelves again. “Mr. Sipos?

He turned to face her, his expression growing wary. “Yes?”

“I know this should go without saying, but… if you happen to see Georg before I do, you mustn’t mention that I’m Dear Friend. I have to tell him for myself.”

“You have nothing to worry about, Miss Balash. I’m not sure you know this about me, but I’m not very fond of confrontation.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Mr. Sipos, but everyone knows that about you.”

The moment Amalia walked through her door, she kicked off her shoes and flopped back onto her bed, letting out a long-suffering sigh. To think she used to believe she led a simple life! Somehow in the last twenty-four hours alone, her boss had accidentally shot himself and she found herself juggling two lovers who just happened to be the same man.

Needless to say, Amalia was exhausted. She resolved that she would take the rest of the day for herself—have a nice warm bath, curl up with a good book, clear her mind—and perhaps by morning she would feel well enough to seek Georg out and maybe she would even manage to decide how she would explain their predicament. 

Alas, her plans were not meant to be. Amalia hadn’t even had time to gather her nightclothes to change into after her bath when there was a knock at the door. 

She froze, rooted to the spot. Hardly anyone ever knocked on her door out of the blue. It couldn’t be the landlord looking for rent as it wasn’t the first of the month, and her mother would still be at work at this time of day.

Whoever it was knocked again, and followed the knock with a muffled, “Miss Balash? Are you at home?”

Amalia rushed over to pull open the door. “Mr. Nowack!”

The pair stood in the doorway for a long moment, taking each other in as if it had been much longer than a day since they’d last seen each other together.

“Hello, Miss Balash,” Georg said, his voice a warm rumble. “I heard you went home sick from Maraczek’s. I can’t help but feel a bit… responsible.” 

He smiled a sheepish smile that Amalia couldn’t help returning. 

“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Nowack. Come in, come in,” she said, taking him by the arm and pulling him inside her flat. “What brings you here, by the way? You can’t have come all this way just because you heard I’ve caught your cold.”

Georg didn’t answer right away, distracted, it seemed, by all the things in her flat. She took his hat from him when it seemed he might ruin the brim with restless fingers and stashed it on her dresser.

“I’ve just been down at the shop,” he said eventually, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the parfumerie. “You don’t seem like you’ve been home very long, I think we must have just missed each other.”

Amalia’s heart sped up; thank goodness they had missed each other! She would have made a fool out of herself for sure if she’d turned around and found him there unexpectedly right in the middle of her crisis. No, it was best that this conversation, the first after she’d run out on him, happened in private, without the potential for prying eyes and ears to make her even more nervous.

“I think we must have,” she said. “How come you were at the shop? Did you hear about what happened last night?”

“I did, yes,” he said, “I spoke with Mr. Maraczek this morning and I wanted to tell you personally—I’m back at Maraczek’s, as of today.”

“Oh, Mr. Nowack, that’s wonderful!” She threw her arms around his neck and his arms came up immediately to hold her to him, but his silence made her wonder. She pulled back and met his eyes. “It is wonderful, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. Everything’s so clear now, Miss Balash. I swear it’s like a massive weight has been lifted off my shoulders.”

“I’m happy for you, Mr. Nowack.”

“Please,” he said, his gaze locked with hers. “Call me Georg.”

Georg’s smile was so brilliant and carefree Amalia found it difficult to breath. She’d come into his life at the very beginning of his conflict with Mr. Maraczek and she had very little time with him before his entire demeanor had been beaten down by it. Seeing him so unencumbered was a revelation. If she hadn’t already fallen head over heels in love with him, she thought now might’ve been the moment it happened.

She wanted to kiss him again. She wanted to help make sure he never looked as defeated as he looked yesterday again. She wanted… so many things. But she’d have to come clean before she had any hope of having any of them. 

She tore her attention away from his lips with some difficulty and rubbed her hands lightly up and down his upper arms. “Georg,” she said, testing out how it felt to lower the formality between them; he smiled, but it seemed like the movement was more of a reflex than a conscious thought. “Did you really patch things up with Mr. Maraczek so quickly?”

“I did. He asked for me back specifically.”

“What on earth went wrong to begin with?”

“Oh, this is embarrassing,” he said, and pulled away from Amalia, starting to pace back and forth at the foot of her bed. “He thought—dear God, it’s almost unbelievable—he thought I was having an affair with his wife.”

“With Mrs. Maraczek?” she exclaimed, sitting on the edge of the bed in surprise. “My God. Why is it that all of a sudden everyone wants to believe you’re like Mr. Kodaly?”

“It’s funny you mention Kodaly, because he was the one who was having the affair,” he said, annoyed. “But I suppose it is rather absurd to think I would be the type to do that. Even though…”

“Georg. Please. Don’t apologize again.”

“But I feel like such a cad about last night…”

“But you’re not. You’re lovely.”

“Lovely?” he repeated, taken aback. “Are you sure you’re Amalia Balash?”

“As sure as I am that you’re Georg Nowack and not Steven Kodaly,” she said. “I don’t believe for one second that you would ever treat me the way that he’s treated Ilona.”

“Romantically, you mean. Because you and I both know that we haven’t exactly gone out of our way to be kind to each other for the majority of the time we’ve been acquainted.”

“Of course,” she admitted. “I don’t know why you and I clashed so much for so long, Mr. Nowack, I truly don’t. It was silly and petty and unnecessary. I’m just glad that we’ve managed to move past it.”

“Speaking of moving past it…” Georg took a deep breath and came to stand in front of Amalia. “Don’t you think it’s about time we address the elephant in the room?”

“The elephant in the room?” she repeated, as her heart began to pound. Could he know? Could he have figured it out?

“Miss Balash, don’t be foolish. You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he said, taking a seat next to her on the bed. “Your newfound penchant for kissing me at unexpected moments.”

Amalia breathed out a sigh of relief. Even if it would’ve saved her a confession, the one scenario she hadn’t thought to prepare herself for mentally was Georg already knowing that she was Dear Friend. “I suppose it has become something of a routine of ours—I kiss you and then one of us leaves before we have a chance to talk about it.”

“I think, if it’s all the same to you, that perhaps we should talk about it this time. Especially if… well. If you think it might possibly keep happening,” he said; he picked nervously at the edge of his fingernails, clearly the cause of the state they’d been in when Amalia first arrived at the shop. 

“I am… not averse to that, by the way,” he continued. “I’m—I’m more than fine with the idea that we should, uh… continue kissing in moments of intense emotion, and perhaps more besides, if that’s something you’d like. I just think it is something that warrants some… acknowledgement. In fact, I think it would be unwise to leave it unexamined at this point.”

Amalia took a deep breath and let it out slowly, hoping to keep herself calm. This was the moment she’d been dreading in the back of her mind since the day of that impulsive first kiss, the moment she would have to explain herself to him. 

The trouble was she didn’t have a conscious explanation for why she had done what she did. She never expected to have as perfect an excuse as the one her new discovery afforded her—that there was a very real chance somewhere deep down in her subconscious, she recognized who he was and that she was in love with him. But in order to make use of that explanation, she would have to tell him the whole truth. 

Chances were he hadn’t even begun to suspect. Like her, he was much too close to the situation to see the forest for the trees.

“I agree that we should probably discuss it, Mr. Nowack,” she said, unconsciously slipping back into addressing him formally, but he didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps he hadn’t even noticed, anxious as he was.

“You do? That’s a relief. I’m afraid that I’ve worked myself up into quite a tizzy thinking I would have to convince you. I nearly made notes.”

“Did you really?”

“I did!” Flustered, he mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “It’s really quite warm in here,” he said, loosening his tie.

“Let me take your coat before you keel over,” she said.

“What? Oh, of course,” he said, and stood a bit too quickly to slip the coat from his shoulders. After an awkward moment of negotiating the small space next to the bed, Amalia managed to shift past him to hang his coat next to hers by the door.

She sat next to him again on the edge of the bed, where he was busy staring off in middle distance, unfocused, until the mattress dipped under her weight.

“I’m sorry, Miss Balash, if whatever I say next comes out all jumbled or doesn’t make an awful lot of sense. I assure you I’m much more eloquent than this when I have more time to puzzle through what it is that I should say. But I implore you to just… let me try to get it all out, or I’m afraid I’ll lose my nerve.”

“All right,” she said; he nodded, reassured.

It occurred to Amalia in that moment that this was the first full conversation she’d had with Georg since she even had an inkling he was Dear Friend and would be able to apply that knowledge to her understanding of him. Within the context of what she knew about Dear Friend, Georg’s behavior took on a new meaning.

This was the man who had written all those beautiful letters—who was rather unsure of himself in matters of the heart, who was more comfortable expressing himself in writing, same as her. This was the man she’d fallen in love with. Dear Friend, Georg—all of him.

At long last, Georg finally mustered the courage to speak. “That day in the workroom, the day you kissed me… I don’t think I’m overstating anything to say that what you did that day changed my life. I was… in a very low spot and… and I couldn’t handle even one more inconvenience, one more negative experience, and somehow you recognized that and chose to make my day just a little bit brighter. 

“I didn’t expect you to offer me kindness, or comfort… You had no reason to do so after the way I singled you out for criticism. You could have chosen to be cruel or insulting and God knows I would’ve deserved it, but you didn’t,” he said. “It all certainly made me begin to see you in a different light. I’m sure it would’ve served to lessen the tension between us even if nothing else had happened. But it did.

“To say you shocked me when you kissed me that day would be an understatement. You know now why I considered it very much a good surprise, but it was a tremendous surprise nonetheless. In a thousand years, I wouldn’t have expected you to do something like that. But I’m glad that you did. I don’t… I… For a brief moment, I felt hopeful in a way I hadn’t in a good long while.

“Afterwards, I planned on letting it go without ever mentioning it, as long as you didn’t. It spurred on such a positive turn in our relationship, I was too grateful for the change, and for your companionship through the last few weeks of Maraczek’s grudge, to want to do anything to rock the boat, so to speak. But then you kissed me again last night. And I can’t help but hope it might mean…”

At that, Georg trailed off, working his mouth as if his vocal chords simply refused to form any more words.

“You can’t help but hope it might mean what?” Amalia prompted.

He cleared his throat. “Over the past few weeks, I’ve grown quite fond of our discussions. I find that the more time I spend with you, the more I enjoy your company, the more I look forward to seeing you everyday. Since I’m no longer leaving Maraczek’s, it seems we’re still going to be seeing each other a great deal. And I’m looking forward to it a great deal. I’m looking forward to sharing lunch with you. I’m looking forward to having coffee with you on the way to the bus stop after work. Hell, I’m even looking forward to working through the worst of the holiday rush, as long as you’re at my side.

“I assume at least some of that is true for you, too, or else you probably wouldn’t have chosen to kiss me. Either time, but especially the second,” he said. “Am I right to assume that?”

“You are right to assume that…”

“Why do I have a feeling there’s a ‘but’ coming up?”

“Mr. Nowack. Georg. There’s something I need you to know. About me, about… about us,” she said. 

“If you’re not interested in me the way I’m interested in you, I understand—”

“That’s not at all what I’m saying—”

“I wouldn’t want you to think that I believe my… my feelings for you entitle me to—”

“Oh, no, of course not!” she exclaimed, laying her hand on his forearm and pulling it away almost immediately in surprise. “Georg, you’re vibrating.”

“Well, I’m very nervous, Miss Balash. I haven’t made a habit of making declarations like this,” he said, an anxious edge to his voice. “Please—tell me what you think I need to know and put me out of my misery.”

Amalia swallowed around the lump in her throat. She had never seen Georg look so… so… Goodness, she couldn’t even think of a word for it. He looked like a man who was… hopelessly in love with her, and thought he was moments away from having his dreams crushed. It nearly broke her heart despite knowing she wanted to do the exact opposite.

They had both spent the last day tying themselves up into knots trying to work out how best to confess something to one another, something that was, at its most basic, a very similar thing to confess. 

“I’ve made a discovery about the two of us,” she said. 

“A discovery?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you as soon as I discovered it, but I wasn’t sure how to react to it myself, let alone not knowing how to explain it to you. I’m afraid I failed to live up to your impression that I think well on my feet. I was planning to tell you once I saw you again, I promise you. Even if I hadn’t quite thought of how until you came here just now.”

“What could you have possibly discovered that could be so awful?”

“Oh, it’s not awful. Well, that depends on how you react, I guess. You might think it’s awful. But I didn’t. Not at all. In fact, I was relieved. It made what I had thought was a complicated situation so much simpler, really.”

“What on earth are you talking about, Miss Balash?”

“Close your eyes,” she said. 

“Close my—”

“Yes.” 

Georg did as she asked, with his brows furrowed in confusion. 

“Now hold out your hand, please.” Amalia waved her fingers in front of his face to assure herself he wasn’t peeking before she dug around under her pillow for the neat stack of Dear Friend’s letters she kept stashed there and pressed it into his hand.

“Can I open my eyes yet?”

“No!”

“No?”

“No, just… What is it you think you’re holding?”

He ran his thumb over the edge of the envelopes. “Well, it feels like paper… A stack of envelopes? Letters?”

“Right in one, Mr. Nowack.”

“Miss Balash, what—”

“Last night, when you told me you belonged to a lonely hearts club, I wasn’t disappointed or… or offended that you had been corresponding with a pen pal. In fact, I was elated to find out that you and I had yet another thing in common. A rather… improbable thing, to be honest, but nonetheless true. You see, the letters you’re holding… they’ve meant so much to me, I couldn’t bear to part with any of them. They’re my correspondence with a… a dear friend.” 

Georg’s hand closed on the stack reflexively. “Miss Balash, please tell me this isn’t some strange sort of joke…”

“Open your eyes and see for yourself,” Amalia said, and then held her breath while Georg shuffled through the pile of envelopes, quicker and quicker, eyes moving across his own handwriting on each and every one.

“Oh, thank God!” he breathed and his gratefulness was as palpable as the sudden feeling of his arms around her. Amalia allowed herself to sink into his embrace, to soak up the warmth and satisfaction and sheer relief of the moment.

When Georg pulled back, his eyes drank in every inch of her face.

“So you’re not disappointed?” she said.

“Goodness, no! I don’t think I’ve ever been more ecstatic about anything in my life. And here I was, afraid I was going to have to break Dear Friend’s heart,” he said, brushing an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

“You were going to choose me?”

“I was,” he said, and he let his hand cup her cheek. “You’re worth so much more to me than just words on paper. You’re vibrant and thoughtful and… and challenging, in the best possible way. You’re more than I ever dreamed you could be.”

“Oh, Georg… I was going to chose you, too. I already did, last night after you left Maraczek’s. When I decided to check in on you at the expense of Dear Friend, I knew what my choice truly meant. I knew it meant that you had become more important to me than some theoretical lover I had never met. I made up my mind before I knew you were Dear Friend. After I found out, there wasn’t a question anymore, really. I love you, Georg Nowack.”

For the first time—and very much not the last—Georg framed Amalia’s face in both of his hands and kissed her. It felt different than their previous kisses somehow, as if knowing the truth unlocked and intertwined the months of history they shared. It wasn’t a kiss between newfound friends, or work colleagues. It was a kiss between two people who knew each other very well indeed.

They pulled back, breathless, and rested with their foreheads still pressed together.

“I love you, Amalia Balash,” Georg whispered. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, officially.”