Ines held him again and sniffed. It was a wet, ragged sound against the front of his coat.
Carcel didn't move to push her away. He stood solid as a rock in the middle of the garden path, his arms wrapped securely around her trembling form. He lifted one hand and began to stroke her hair. He patted the messy, reddish-brown curls, a rhythmic, soothing motion.
Pat. Pat. Pat.
"Shh," he whispered into her hair. "It's alright. Just breathe."
He held her until the violent shaking of her shoulders began to subside, replaced by the occasional hiccup. He held her until he felt her muscles loosen, just a fraction.
"Come," he said softly.
He kept one arm around her waist, supporting her weight as if she were injured. He guided her the few steps back to the white stone bench where his box of pastries still sat, cheerful and forgotten.
They sat down. The stone was cool beneath them, a grounding reality.
