Greta leans forward to take the bag before settling back against the couch. Any lingering memories of the nightmare are softened and stifled by the bright sunlight, the steady hum of traffic, and her friend's cheerful presence, leaving Greta a bit giddy. Not so giddy, though, that she doesn't appreciate the need for closeness after what they've been through. It's comfortable and reassuring, and she leans against Iman's shoulder as she opens the bag with the air of someone unwrapping a mysterious gift.
She's deposited the wrapped forks and a crumpled bundle of napkins into Iman's lap, and is lifting out a dubiously sealed cup of syrup when her friend speaks. Her first comment gets a faint laugh of agreement - the syrup is already a concern - but the second commands her full attention. And it shouldn't, really, it's such a small thing... but she's grown rather accustomed to having to bully or cajole people into accepting her help. Having it openly acknowledged, without a crumb of hesitation or resentment, as something that might be needed is a pleasant novelty.
Well, no. That's not quite right. It's not new. It's more like... like the early days of running the bakery, when they were still fumbling along and figuring out who was best suited to what, before they'd settled into their respective patterns, before their partnership became something automatic and unspoken that they both took for granted.
Greta looks down at Iman's beaming face, and her breath catches for a moment before she returns the grin. She won't be taking any of this for granted, that's for sure. When was the last time Iman looked so happy?
"Well, you shall have it," she says, carefully passing over the cup of syrup. "If you can keep this from spilling everywhere, I think I can get everything else set up."
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She's deposited the wrapped forks and a crumpled bundle of napkins into Iman's lap, and is lifting out a dubiously sealed cup of syrup when her friend speaks. Her first comment gets a faint laugh of agreement - the syrup is already a concern - but the second commands her full attention. And it shouldn't, really, it's such a small thing... but she's grown rather accustomed to having to bully or cajole people into accepting her help. Having it openly acknowledged, without a crumb of hesitation or resentment, as something that might be needed is a pleasant novelty.
Well, no. That's not quite right. It's not new. It's more like... like the early days of running the bakery, when they were still fumbling along and figuring out who was best suited to what, before they'd settled into their respective patterns, before their partnership became something automatic and unspoken that they both took for granted.
Greta looks down at Iman's beaming face, and her breath catches for a moment before she returns the grin. She won't be taking any of this for granted, that's for sure. When was the last time Iman looked so happy?
"Well, you shall have it," she says, carefully passing over the cup of syrup. "If you can keep this from spilling everywhere, I think I can get everything else set up."