By late afternoon, the Grand Bazaar had finally begun to surrender to exhaustion.

The transformation happened gradually. The enormous crowds that had filled the market during the morning and early afternoon dwindled until the spaces between the stalls began to appear again. Families carrying baskets and parcels made their way toward the roads leading out of Zephyr Town, while visitors staying overnight wandered in the direction of the Sunnywood Hotel. Merchants who had spent most of the day shouting over one another now spoke in ordinary voices, and several had already begun counting their earnings or packing away whatever merchandise remained. The occasional ring of a bell still sounded somewhere across the market, but even those familiar chimes had become increasingly rare.

Hans glanced at the clock and discovered that only ten minutes remained before closing.

"Good enough for me."

His stall looked wonderfully empty. A few vegetables remained scattered across baskets that had been overflowing that morning, along with several eggs, a handful of miscellaneous farm goods, and some flowers that hadn't found buyers. Hans had learned not to judge a successful bazaar entirely by whether he sold absolutely everything. Considering how much merchandise had passed across his counter that day, he was more than satisfied.

He crouched behind the stall and pulled out an empty crate.

"Let's see what survived."

Hans began collecting the remaining vegetables, inspecting each one before packing it away. Anything that could keep until the next bazaar would return with him to the farm. The rest could be used at home, given to someone in town, or otherwise put to good use. He had just started thinking about what he might make for dinner when a soft voice came from the other side of the counter.

"Um, do you happen to have some bouquets?"

Hans stopped.

He had been so certain that his business was finished for the day that hearing another customer caught him completely off guard. He straightened and turned around, already preparing the automatic smile he had given hundreds of people throughout the day.

Instead, he hesitated.

A young woman stood on the other side of his stall.

Hans was almost certain he had never seen her before.

She had warm medium-brown hair pulled high into a thick ponytail that fell behind one shoulder in loose, natural layers. Soft bangs framed her face, with longer strands curling gently beside her cheeks. Her eyes were brown as well, warm and expressive, and there was something naturally pleasant about her face even though she presently looked a little nervous about having approached him so close to closing time.

Her clothing caught Hans's attention next. She wore a traditional country dress, the sort that had become less common in Zephyr itself but could still be found throughout many of the smaller settlements scattered across the surrounding countryside. A fitted olive-green bodice was laced neatly across the front over a pale-yellow blouse with loose sleeves, the cuffs decorated with warmer golden accents. Her long green skirt fell nearly to her ankles, with a simple cream-colored lace trim along the hem. Over it she wore a clean white work apron edged near the bottom with a narrow band of green. Brown leather Mary Jane shoes with modest heels completed the outfit, practical enough for traveling while still carrying a distinctly feminine touch.

Definitely not from Zephyr, Hans thought.

At least, probably not.

He had lived in town long enough to recognize most of the regular faces, and her clothing suggested one of the rural villages beyond the immediate area. That wasn't particularly unusual during the Grand Bazaar. People came from settlements scattered throughout the region, especially now that Zephyr's market had regained its reputation.

The young woman glanced toward the nearly empty stall and seemed to interpret Hans's silence as bad news.

"Oh. I'm sorry," she said quickly. "Are you already closed?"

"What? No." Hans shook himself from his thoughts. "No, you're fine. We've still got ten minutes."

Her shoulders relaxed.

"And you're in luck." Hans gestured toward the remaining flowers. "I don't have any bouquets already made, but I've got enough flowers left to put one together."

Her face brightened immediately. "Really?"

"Sure. It'll just take me a minute."

"Oh, that's wonderful. Thank you!"

Hans smiled at her enthusiasm and retrieved the flowers before finding some wrapping paper beneath the counter. There weren't enough left to offer much choice, but fortunately the remaining blossoms complemented one another surprisingly well. Hans gathered them carefully, adjusting their positions until the arrangement looked intentional rather than like the final flowers remaining at the end of a very busy market day.

"So," he said while working, "who's the lucky person?"

The young woman blinked. "Lucky person?"

"The flowers."

"Oh!" A little color appeared in her cheeks, and she laughed softly. "They're not for anyone like that. They're for my father."

Hans looked up from the bouquet. "Your father?"

She nodded. "It's my parents' anniversary. My father sent me to the bazaar to find something for my mother."

Hans paused with the paper folded halfway around the stems.

"Your father sent you to buy his anniversary gift?"

The young woman smiled sheepishly. "He had work he couldn't leave today. He remembered the anniversary, though! I should probably make that clear."

Hans laughed. "Very important distinction."

"He gave me money and told me to find something she'd like. I looked around for a while, but I thought flowers would be nice. My mother loves them." Her smile became warmer as she looked at the bouquet taking shape in Hans's hands. "He always brings her flowers when he can, so I think she'll know they're really from him."

There was such simple affection in the way she said it that Hans found himself smiling.

He finished folding the paper around the flowers, tied it securely, and looked down at the finished bouquet. It wasn't the largest arrangement he'd ever made, but it was colorful, fresh, and certainly too pretty to spend the evening sitting in a crate on his farm.

Hans held it across the counter.

"Here you go."

The young woman reached into the small purse she carried. "How much?"

"Nothing."

Her hand stopped.

She stared at him. "Nothing?"

"It's on the house."

Her brown eyes widened. "But I can't just—"

"Sure you can." Hans pushed the bouquet a little closer. "I was about to pack up anyway, and those flowers won't be fresh enough to sell at the next bazaar. I'd rather somebody enjoy them than have them sit around."

The young woman looked from Hans to the bouquet and back again as though she suspected there had to be some hidden condition attached.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"But you grew these, didn't you?"

"I did."

"And you spent all that time taking care of them."

Hans shrugged. "Which is exactly why I'd rather they end up on somebody's anniversary table."

For a moment she didn't say anything.

Then her entire expression lit up.

"Really?"

Hans laughed at the sudden excitement in her voice. "Really."

She accepted the bouquet with both hands, holding it carefully against herself as she admired the flowers. The bashfulness Hans had noticed when she first approached his stall seemed to disappear beneath genuine delight.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed. "Thank you so much! My father is going to be so relieved, and my mother is going to love these."

"Then everybody wins."

"I wish I'd come to your stall first."

"Don't tell the other merchants that."

She giggled.

Hans couldn't help smiling again.

"Seriously, though," he added, "tell your parents I said happy anniversary."

"I will. I promise."

The young woman adjusted the bouquet carefully in her arms before giving Hans another grateful smile. "Thank you again."

"You're welcome. Have a safe trip home."

She nodded and turned away.

Hans watched her step into the thinning crowd before returning his attention to the half-packed stall. He still had work to do, and ten minutes had probably become considerably less than ten while he was arranging flowers. He crouched to retrieve the crate he'd abandoned earlier.

He had just picked it up when he heard hurried footsteps behind him.

"Wait!"

Hans straightened again.

The young woman had returned.

She stood several steps away with the bouquet still cradled carefully against her chest. A faint blush had returned to her cheeks, and for some reason she suddenly seemed more nervous than she had while asking a complete stranger for flowers.

Hans raised an eyebrow. "Forget something?"

"No. I just…" She tucked a loose strand of brown hair behind her ear. "I realized I never introduced myself."

Hans rested the crate against the counter.

The young woman smiled.

"My name is Millie."

Hans repeated it silently once before his smile returned.

"Millie."

She nodded.

He raised one hand in a small wave. "I'm Hans."

"I know."

Hans blinked.

Millie immediately laughed. "You're one of the most famous merchants at the Grand Bazaar. People talk about your farm all the time."

"Oh." Hans scratched the back of his head. "Right."

Apparently rebuilding one of the region's most famous marketplaces had certain consequences he still hadn't completely adjusted to.

"Well," he said, recovering enough to grin, "it's nice to officially meet you anyway, Millie."

"You too, Hans."

For a brief moment, neither of them moved. Millie stood there with her father's anniversary flowers in her arms while the final traces of afternoon sunlight caught the brown of her ponytail and the green fabric of her country dress. Then someone farther down the bazaar called that closing time was approaching, and Millie glanced toward the road.

"I really should go. My coach won't wait for me."

"Then you'd better hurry."

She nodded. "Goodbye, Hans!"

"Bye, Millie!"

Millie turned and hurried away, one hand protecting the bouquet as she disappeared among the last customers leaving the bazaar.

Hans watched her for another moment.

Then he returned to packing his stall.

At the time, there was no reason to think much more about it. He had met hundreds of people through the Grand Bazaar, and Millie was simply another customer—an unfamiliar young woman from somewhere outside Zephyr Town who had arrived just before closing because she needed flowers for her parents' anniversary.

Still, as Hans placed the last few vegetables into his crate, one small detail remained with him.

Now he knew her name.

Millie.