“Did he say where I went this morning?” I asked.

“He said you were driving around the neighborhood to cool off,” she answered, her dark eyes narrowing as she looked at my bare head.

“He knows how wound up you get when your work gets to be too much for you.”

“I wasn’t driving around,” I said softly.

“It doesn’t matter where you drove,” Eleanor said, setting the china plate on the counter with a loud, sharp click.

“What matters is that you brought sweet bread back into this kitchen and accepted your place.”