The Flower That Grew from Ashes novel Chapter 202

The lease was signed on Monday evening.

Eriksen arrived in person, leaning on his cane.

He didn't bring a lawyer, only a set of heirloom brass keys to the building.

The contract was spread out on the old wooden desk in the bookstore.

Annelise signed her name.

Yves Judd signed his name in the joint-use proposal section.

The old man looked at the two side-by-side signatures, a sheen of moisture welling up in his cloudy eyes.

"When my grandfather opened this bookstore, he used to say something all the time," he said, solemnly placing the keys into Annelise's palm. "He said that a good building has to meet the right people to truly come alive."

"This building has waited over a hundred years."

"I thank you on its behalf."

Clutching the keys that still carried the old man's warmth, Annelise nodded earnestly.

"I'll make it bloom with flowers."

By the time Eriksen left, it was pitch dark outside.

Sophia and Emma were practically bouncing off the walls of the empty bookstore.

"We have our own studio!" Sophia spun Emma around. "A real, three-story studio right in the city center!"

"Don't celebrate just yet." Emma was getting dizzy. "It's going to take at least three months to renovate this dump before we can open."

"Who cares about three months!" Sophia brushed it off. "We've got Mr. Judd's blueprints covering us. Anne, we have to celebrate tonight!"

"Celebrate." Annelise smiled. "Where to?"

"Back to the apartment!" Sophia's eyes lit up. "Mr. Judd's big balcony has a killer view! I'll buy champagne, Emma can get a cake, and the four of us won't stop until we drop!"

Annelise glanced back at Yves.

Yves was leaning against an arched window. Hearing this, he offered a helpless shrug.

"My balcony is piled with three boxes of architectural models."

"Then we'll just clear them out!" Sophia was already out the door. "It's a date!"

She and Yves gently clinked their glasses in the air.

The crisp chime drifted away into Oslo's freezing night wind.

Meanwhile, down below.

Hackett, shivering in his thin trench coat, stood on the street corner opposite the apartment building.

He looked up at the brightly lit balcony on the top floor.

Against the dark night, the balcony's warm yellow light cut through the gloom.

Silhouettes shifted beneath the glow, and the faint, joyful laughter of the women drifted down on the wind.

He saw her.

She was wearing a cream-colored turtleneck sweater, her hair pinned up loosely. She was holding a wine glass and laughing.

It was a laugh he hadn't seen on her face in four whole years.

Back when she was Mrs. Lehman, her smiles were always restrained, timid, filled with a cautious eagerness to please.