It had taken her far longer to get dressed than it should have. She'd stood in front of her wardrobe for a while, faced with less choice than she would have had back in San Francisco. In the end, she'd chosen a dres over pants, black wool with a slightly flared skirt. She'd left her hair loose. She had no idea why she was slightly nervous, her stomach fell of jittery shivers.

She knocks on his door and waits for him to open it.

"I thought I'd save the bread for next time," she says, by way of greeting.