𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 | 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧

𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈 : 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭

"Do you think he'd like this? Or is it too plain?" Mr. Arlert asked from in front of the store.

You walked beside him and investigated the carved wooden box of new kitchen blades. "They are very nice knives, but a family friend sent a set imported from Germany for Christmas that Niccolo already favors heavily."

"Of course. Let me guess who sent them: the same traveler-friend who sent the fancy dishes from England and the candelabras from France?"

"I'm afraid so."

Mr. Arlert groaned at your confirmation and set the box back down. "How does that man procure all these goods? He must be very wealthy."

"Not as much as you'd think. Sasha always said that Connie had dumb luck, so he finds strange things in stranger places and sends them home without knowing how much they're truly worth." You continued following Mr. Arlert as his delicate hand glossed over every trinket he passed. "You don't have to get anything, though. Niccolo doesn't care much for gifts anyway."

"No, I should. I just can't buy him something he already has." Mr. Arlert huffed to himself. "What exactly are you doing for his birthday?"

"Same thing I do every year. I bring him breakfast in bed, do all the chores for the day, and buy him a few nice bottles of wine with my sewing money."

"I could buy the wine!" Mr. Arlert smiled brightly. "Nicest bottle this town has to offer! He'd like that, wouldn't he?

"Trying to steal the wind from my sails?" you asked with a cheeky smile.

"Oh. I apologize, my dear. I never mean to–"

"It's mostly a joke, Mr. Arlert. However, with only two weeks before the date, you would put me in quite a predicament should you snatch my idea for yourself."

The blonde nodded and walked around the store for the third and, hopefully, final time. Part of you felt guilty for shooting down all the presents he had suggested, but Niccolo did not need more dishes, decorations, or daggers. If anything, the chef would probably appreciate a well-worded card over a gift.

Last night, after you had been sent off to your room for cursing, your two guests had privately discussed their plans for the week. Somehow, Mr. Kirstein remembered from years ago that the twenty-third was your guardian's birthday and had already started painting something to serve as a present. Mr. Arlert, on the other hand, nearly had a nervous breakdown and whisked you off in the morning, which was now late afternoon, to act as his advisor in gift-picking when he realized he had nothing to offer.

"What about this? It might be a fetching little accent... to a certain eye."

Mr. Arlert held up a wood-carved mallard, and you bit back a laugh. "That would certainly be a conversation piece in the parlor," you told him honestly.

With another huff, the author placed the duck back on the table. He politely waved to the store owner, and you walked out onto the town square together. At this point, you had visited every store besides your final stop, so you led the blonde toward your favorite merchant.

"I assumed this would be easier," Mr. Arlert complained. With each step he dragged through the mud, his pretty cerulean eyes stormed at the ground. "I'm usually very good at giving gifts."

"An easy mistake," you tried to console him, as it broke your heart to see him genuinely over such a minor issue."Maybe you can take some pages from your friend's book and put your talent to work? Niccolo loves your writing."

"What would I write? Poetry, maybe? Is that an odd thing to do? Do you believe he might consider such a gift... flirtatious? In my experience, friends rarely write poetry to one another."