The barstools were birch now. The embers in the hearth had awoken to a smoking fire. A broom rested near the hearth, and the smell of cinnamon filled the room. The haul behind the Miss T. added another door, one of oak. It radiated warmth and promised endless summer. The Summer Warden looked up from his mug and smiled.

  Moving to the sink, Miss T. filled up trays segmented into small compartments with water. She placed them in front of the Winter Warden, flashing him a big smile. Without missing a beat, the Winter Warden pressed his lips together and blew quickly but gently, his breath crystallizing the water into perfect ice cubes.

  Leaving the cube-filled trays in front of the Winter Warden, her hands pulled out another tray filled with eggs. She separated the yolks and began to furiously whisk the whites, adding just a touch of sugar with her other hand.

  Once the mixture was nice and thick, she found a crate full of fruit—mostly oranges, limes, and lemons and began to peel and zest an orange, aerosolizing the room with rich, invigorating scents.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Cracking the freshly made ice into each glass, Miss T. let the Winter Warden’s breath work its magic. She then squeezed the faintest amount of juice from the oranges into each cup, letting the flavors drizzle down the cubes of ice. Next, she placed each cup underneath the coffee maker and waited for a fresh stream of thick, brown liquid. Once filled, she applied the frothy egg white mixture to the very top, creating a creamy layer. Finally, she sprinkled a little bit of red flakes on top of the white froth.

  Placing a straw in each drink, she handed the beverages to the occupants in her bar.

  “Such a valiant story deserves a refreshing drink. This is called The Morning After.”

  She gazed at her friend. The Summer Warden nodded and then raised his brass mug and spoke.

  "A toast to the birch tree, bitter flavors and even more bitter tears." They all raised their mugs and took a drink.

  "Wait a moment," said the clockwork boy. “What happened after that? Did you find the girl? What happened to the Winter Mantle?”

  Mister D. spoke up, placing a hand on his son.

  "That was not the story he offered. He offered to tell the story of the previous Winter Warden. And so he has."

  Steamy clicks and whistles came out of the clockwork boy, but no other words were spoken. Enjoyment was had.