Becky’s gasp of wonder almost pulled Harry out of their fragile bubble. It was as if he could see the edges crackle, and then ease back together.
The battered Puffin Diner had been transformed into The Puffin. Instead of bright fluorescents, twinkle lights were draped across the ceiling like stars. The Formica tables, so scuffed with age that they were almost colorless, had been lined up into two long communal-style tables and covered with tablecloths of midnight blue. Fat white candles set on crystal dishes cast small pools of light over shining silverware and pale blue linen napkins.
Harry ducked into the back room to grab a footstool to support Becky’s leg, and helped her settle in the seat farthest from the service window and kitchen. For a moment he was afraid that some local would
