Easter Sunday has not slowed Gosie down. It’s just… shifted the tone. She is somewhere between departure and return now. Not rushing it. Of course not.
Current location:
A small hill town en route north. Not famous. Not trying to be.
- church bells doing their thing in the background
- long lunch tables set up outside
- people who definitely know each other pretending they don’t
Gosie parked up early, before anyone else properly arrived, claimed a table without asking and ordered something that wasn’t on the menu but clearly exists. She is wearing yesterday’s clothes, but better somehow; sunglasses on, not for the sun, reading something she may or may not finish
Easter lunch (inevitable, extended):
- lamb, obviously
- potatoes that have seen things
- something green to justify it
- dessert that no one needed but everyone accepted
Wine:
- not rosé
- not quite Margaux
- something transitional
- she approves
Mood:
She’s done what she came to do.
She’s not thinking about the Bluestocking yet—but she’s closer to it than she was.
The heist?
- no news
- no panic
- no one quite certain what’s missing
Exactly as intended.
Current state:
“Almost ready to return.”
Not because she has to.
Because she’s decided.
And when Gosie decides, things tend to… move.