They were the first thing that caught her eye in the market her first day in Bern. It was not the smells that wafted through the crowded streets that called to her; it was not the lively music that attracted her attention; no, it was the lacquered brown of a cuckoo clock that drew her (e/c) eyes to his wares.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Soft, in sync beating of the internal gears beckoned her closer. There were other clocks, too—silver pocket watches meant for those richer than she. The closer her feet took her to his stall, the faster her heartbeat went.
When she was at his stall at last, all she could do was gaze at the menagerie of clockwork before her.
“May I help you?”
(E/c) eyes rose up to meet ones the color of the evergreen forests dotting Switzerland. His voice was gruff, hardworking; the voice of someone who earned his keep and would take no nonsense. His face—plain yet handsome, with smooth blond