A second harvesting of lavender lay, heavy and soft purple, spread out in her kitchen, taking up most of the counter space and bathing the apartment in its soothing scent. She left one bag by the doorway and took the bag of produce from Krem. She made a space for it alongside the drying herbs, leaving the unpacking for later. From the cabinet, she procured two glasses, for drinking the whisky as she had suggested, but she set them too on the counter and paused there.

"I think you are nervous, Krem," she said plainly. "Please do not be nervous with me. It is okay to say what you are thinking."