She hums, more in acknowledgment than agreement. Baking may not be her livelihood anymore, but it's certainly no hardship, especially in service of her friends. So she sets the bag on the counter and starts pulling out offerings: a loaf of proper bread, half a dozen muffins, some biscuits, even some salad greens from her garden. "Well, this should get you started," she says, considering where best to begin before prying open the container of muffins. Those are smaller, easier to tackle.

And then Grantaire starts to blurt out an apology, and she immediately abandons the muffins. "No, it— goodness, you don't have to apologize," she insists, moving towards him. She rests her hands on his arms for a moment, as if to gauge receptiveness, and when he doesn't shake her off, she tsks softly and pulls him into a hug.

"It's all right," she says quietly. It isn't, really. But she won't have him thinking she's come here to scold him. "It's all right."