The first ray of sunlight hit the workshop's sign at 7:00 a.m., turning "White & Black, Clockmakers" into a blur of gold. Ella was already inside, apron tied, hands hovering over the bluebird clock—the one the woman had brought yesterday. Its gears were now oiled, its chime tuned, and she'd added a tiny brass
nightingale to the base, just because.
"Nervous?" Sebastian asked, stepping through the door with two steaming mugs. He'd traded his usual suit for jeans and a plain shirt, sleeves rolled up—Ella's doing. "You've checked that clock four times."
She glanced up, grinning. "It's the first one. It has to be perfect." She took the mug, sipping. "Plus, Ethan texted—he's bringing 'the masses' in 20 minutes. God knows what that means."
"Probably a bunch of his radio-fixing buddies. And Mrs. Higgins, if her cat finally let her leave the house." He set his mug down, sliding an arm around her waist. "Relax. They're here for you. For the girl who fixes clocks like she's mending stories."
The bell above the door jangled before she could reply. Ethan burst in, followed by a small crowd—old neighbors, the woman with the bluebird clock, even a teenager who'd once begged Ella to fix his broken gaming console.
"Told you I'd bring backup," Ethan said, clapping Sebastian on the back. "Now where's the coffee? I promised free refills."
Ella laughed, pointing to the percolator in the corner. "Help yourself. But if you burn it, I'm hiding your screwdrivers."
The next hour blurred: the woman with the bluebird clock cried when it chimed ("Just like Grandma's"), an old man brought in a cuckoo clock that "stopped singing when my wife died" and squeezed Ella's hand when she said "I'll get it to sing for both of you," Sebastian—who'd insisted he "wouldn't get in the way"—ended up manning the register, charming customers with dry jokes about "overpriced watch batteries."
Ella's father arrived mid-morning, leaning on his crutch, a proud smile fixed on his face. He sat on a stool by the door, greeting everyone like old friends. "That's my girl," he told anyone who'd listen. "Takes after her granddad. Hands of gold, that one."
By noon, the workshop was humming. Ella was knee-deep in a pocket watch when Sebastian appeared beside her, lowering his voice. "Chloe's outside."
Ella froze. She hadn't thought about Chloe in weeks—not since Sebastian had told her to stay away from the castle. "What does she want?"
"Not sure. She's just… standing there. Staring at the sign."
Ella bit her lip, then wiped her hands on her apron. "I'll go talk to her."
Sebastian grabbed her wrist. "You don't have to."
"I know. But… maybe I want to."
She stepped outside. Chloe was leaning against a lamppost, her usual designer coat replaced by a simple sweater, her hair loose instead of sleek. She looked smaller, somehow.
"Nice place," Chloe said, nodding at the workshop.
"Thanks," Ella said, folding her arms. "You here to… mock me? Or just check if I'm still 'slumming it'?"
Chloe winced. "I was an idiot. About a lot of things." She pulled a small box from her pocket, holding it out. "This is Isabella's. She left it at my house, years ago. Said 'if I ever stop being scared to be myself, I'll use it.'"
Ella opened the box. Inside was a tiny clay mug, lopsided, with "I made this" scrawled on the bottom.
"Pottery lessons," Ella said softly. "She wrote about them in her journal."
Chloe nodded. "She was good. Better than she thought. But she was scared—of disappointing your… of Sebastian's family. Of being 'less than perfect.'" She met Ella's eyes. "I get it, now. Why he chose you. You're not scared. Not of being messy. Or real."
Ella closed the box, handing it back. "Keep it. For her. She'd want you to have it."
Chloe hesitated, then slipped it into her pocket. "I won't bother you again. But… good luck. With the shop. With him."
She walked away, and Ella watched her go, then turned back to the workshop. Sebastian was in the doorway, watching.
"Everything okay?" he asked.
"Better than," she said, grinning. "C'mon. We've got a cuckoo clock to finish."
Inside, the shop was busier than ever. Ethan was showing a kid how a clock's pendulum worked, her father was handing out (slightly burned) scones, and the bluebird clock's owner was taking photos, tears in her eyes.
Sebastian wrapped his arms around Ella from behind as she adjusted a gear, the pocket watch finally ticking steady.
"First day," he murmured.
"First day," she echoed.
The cuckoo clock chirped, loud and clear, right on the hour.
Outside, the streetlamp flickered. Somewhere, a bell rang.
And in the workshop, surrounded by gears and laughter and the faint scent of oil, time felt like it was finally theirs.