As Yuko and I sat together, Chieko Baisho was singing on her small CD player and radio. In our hands were crinkly, clear bags of many colors. In these, we were scooping konpeito candy. After each one, we'd twirl a length of shiny ribbon to close them. The konpeito were rainbows of pastel colors, so many kinds of flavors. She'd worked all day on it yesterday, only to tell me that she intended to give it away for free.

"It won't sell by itself," she'd told me. "If I sell it for three hundred yen, five hundred yen, who will buy it? Better to give it away, to see happy children. A surprise for them, they won't expect such a gift after buying something else."

It was true that in her shop there were a lot of other, more eye catching things. She had a small showcase of sweets. A lot of them were bigger than these bags, and you got more for your money. But, the love and care that went into these? Not a lot of people knew how long they took to make. How much care went into them. 

I picked up a single sphere of konpeito, admiring it. It was pale blue, the many bumps reminding me of a tiny star in my hands. Surely, if stars rained down on us they'd be konpeito. That's what I thought as a child. Even holding this in my fingers, I felt like a child again. 

It sparked an idea in me. I popped it into my mouth, and the raspberry flavor was light and barely there, just a hint on top of the sugar. It was as pale, but beautiful, as the color of the candy. 

If just holding it made me feel like a kid, would it make other adults feel like kids, too? 

"Tell you what," I said, greedily starting to pile finished bags in front of me. She looked up, curious. A smile was already there, though. She paused in her work. "I'll sell half of them at my shop. Don't give them all away. I'm sure people at my shop will buy them. I know I get a lot of foot traffic."

She'd heard this spiel about a thousand times. She was already nodding. She deserved the money. I wanted to say that she should stop giving things away, but I was reminded of giving candies away recently, though. His face was in my brain, now with unsure feelings. I popped another konpeito in my mouth to try to stop thinking about it. 

"Sell them for three, no... Two hundred yen per bag," she nodded once, sure of this. I was already shaking my head.

"That isn't the modern price for this. I'm thinking eight hundred yen."

"Eight hundred?!" She exclaimed. She made tsking noises. "Too much, too much. No one will buy these for that." There was a strange sadness there, just a hint, but it was enough. She wanted people to buy them. It was in her voice. She'd made them, even though she didn't think they would sell. That meant that they were made with love, from her love of them even if no one else would.

I folded my arms, but I was grinning. "One thousand yen!" I proclaimed. 

"One thousand! You are crazy." Oh, but she laughed next. Hiding her mouth politely, but I could still see her smile.

"They'll sell. My shop's prices are high. They'll buy it for that without a second thought." I lowered my voice, entirely serious even if she wouldn't accept. I bowed my head in my sincerity. "Your candies are worth it. I promise. Don't sell yourself short."

She considered this a moment, her face serious. But, just like a flower blooming, her face's wrinkles deepened with her smile. Her hand went up just beyond her nose. "You're crazy, crazy," she giggled, waving her hand to tell me that there was no possibility, I was a goner, I'd lost it.

I shook a bag at her, pouting my lips. We laughed together, and I was only more determined than ever to show her. 

As I walked to French Cup with the rising of the afternoon sun, I thought of Yuko. I'd delivered her favorite almond croissants for her. It was getting harder for her to get out. She was getting up there in years, and had been when I'd met her. But, I was seeing distressing signs. She never came to visit me anymore. She made less and less sweets, preferring to focus on a few types of items per day rather than creating the variety she was known for. She seemed more tired, especially in her voice. If we could find someone to help her make other kinds of sweets, her shop might do better, but who could we find? Her specialty was rare. There weren't a lot of young people doing it, and I couldn't imagine they were as good as her. Where could we begin to find such a person?

I didn't want to think about the fact that this was so agonizing, because I'd want that person to then take over her shop if... I didn't want to lose that magic. The idea of some day... 

The two plastic grocery bags in my hands rustled with the chilly winter wind as I made my way down the street. I knew what was coming up. It seemed so obvious now, with the direction I was going. 

It was about here that Gyeong-Wan had first bumped into me, knocking me and my candy to the ground. Just up ahead, maybe a couple hundred yards, was the hotel. It was obvious that he had to work there. Ayane had been right, being suspicious of someone like him in the neighborhood. It was so obvious now that had to be where he worked! To appear so suddenly. It wasn't suddenly. It wasn't a coincidence. He'd come with the opening of the hotel, and had I been telling myself that I didn't want him to be from there? Skipping over that possibility, trying to come up with something else. Even thinking he was an artist who just liked to wear suits?

As I came up upon it, I stopped at the sight of something striking. I stood there on the opposite sidewalk, watching the spectacle.

The woman who'd been yelling at us in French Cup yesterday was dressed in a voluminous white dress. It was decorated with white flowers on the bodice, the skirt was covered in them, so much detail. Waves of flowers, trailing behind her. Her face was covered with a veil, and it trailed behind her, too. Two other women in satiny pink dresses were holding the ends of it, laughing and smiling and having the best time. They were helping her into a black limo. 

The wedding. Those dreaded Karens, making everyone's life a hell for the past ten or so days. Today was the day of the wedding they'd all been making our lives terrible for. It made sense, because the woman yesterday had said she'd only be in town for two days. 

Was Gyeong-Wan in the hotel now, helping out? He said he'd tried to help her yesterday, interacting with her at breakfast. It was a wedding, so all hands must be on deck, surely. I knew if I were making a wedding cake and other wedding treats I'd have all hands on deck to help. It had to mean he was in there now. 

Those mixed feelings were back, confusing me. He was such a nice person, but he was part of the people who'd bought the old hotel and tore it down. He was with them, encouraging the changes in our neighborhood. There'd been so many shops in the past three years that had closed down and then been bought by people who didn't fit into the neighborhood. A thrift shop selling quirky things had been replaced by a trendy upscale women's clothing store. A place where you could make your own pottery or buy some of the artist's own creations was replaced by a store that sold designer purses. With each failing of ours, their world grew stronger. 

That bride must have loved that designer purse store. She must have shopped in that clothing store after being disappointed by Miyuki's atelier. Those places were perfect for those people, and there were many more on the periphery. Those places were eating us alive, taking what had been ours for decades. Now, this hotel was bringing them business day after day, such a variety of customers, never the same twice. How could we compete? We'd at least survived when the previous hotel had been full of our friends and therefore regulars. 

Now, Gyeong-Wan, someone we thought could be a friend like those, was part of that machine. 

It didn't make any sense. Hadn't he been in the dirt with me? Hadn't he laughed with Nikki and I during Drag Bingo? Didn't he enjoy my chocolates? 

I stood, staring at the bride until she was fully in the vehicle. I half expected him to come out of the hotel, waving good-bye to her. Encouraging this, wanting more weddings at their hotel. Wanting more stressed out, angry people to come to our neighborhood expecting what they were used to, not a bunch of artists trying to make a living. 

But, he didn't come out. The limo drove off, and I imagined them drinking champagne and having the time of their lives. 

I walked back to French Cup, and grew more nervous the more I walked. Hoping, childishly perhaps, that he was instead inside there. Childish, just like the candies in my bags.