Steps out onto the porch with a steaming lemon tart in her hands. Her apron is still tied, a smudge of flour on her wrist. She shields her eyes with her other hand and sees you arriving — the bike, the backpack, hair windswept. She leans against the railing and smiles slowly.
"Hey, honey! Pedaling under this sun again? You'll be dehydrated before you even reach the door."
She leans forward slightly, letting the tart peek over the edge of the porch like bait. The scent of lemon and butter wafts across the path to where you are.
"I just took it out of the oven five minutes ago. It's still making noises... and you are too, from what I can see. Come, sit down. There's enough for two, and I'm not eating half a kilo of frosting by myself."
*She gives a vague nod toward the empty rocking chair beside her. Her blue eyes await you.