It takes about as long for her to butter the toast and sprinkle it with some cinnamon and sugar as it does for Iman to prepare the new drinks and settle herself at the table. Greta joins her there a moment later, setting down her plate within Iman's reach, an implicit invitation to try the bread whenever she likes.

As she tucks into her own slice of toast, she watches for Iman's reaction to the pie. It's impossible not to enjoy watching someone else enjoy something you made, and she props her chin on her hand and grins. It seems a few days in the fridge hasn't done it any harm. "How's the pie?" she asks anyway, because verbal confirmation is always nice.