Her palms felt dry and warm against my cold wrists.

“I knew you’d come back once you’d spent a couple of hours in the cold,” she said, untying the blue string to look over the glazed pastries.

“A woman always comes back to her hearth when the noise of the city dies down.”

“Where’s Daniel?” I asked.

“In the dining room going through the morning real estate flyers,” she said, setting two pastries on a gold-rimmed china plate.

“He was worried you’d gone off and done something foolish after last night.”