For a whole year, Thierry never knew where she went every morning or where she came back from. Always at eight o'clock, when there were no other customers and he was just starting to put fresh bread and brioche on the shelves, she would open the door, push the bell from above, smiling at the very corners of her lips, and ask for the same thing every time: "Could I have a cappuccino and a vanilla croissant, please?". Wearing a green beret and lipstick the color of a pink June peony, she would take the order, take a bottle of spices from her purse and pour it into the glass in a single gesture, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary.

For a whole year, he never asked what the bottle contained: he could smell nutmeg, coriander, and something piney. When he began to guess what it could be, the door was closing behind her and only the last chords of the bell could be heard.