He arrived at seven fifty eight.
She heard the buzzer and was already at the door before Seren could get there which was itself a small victory because Seren moved with the speed of someone who considered answering the door a personal responsibility and did not appreciate being beaten to it.
She pressed the intercom. "Who is it?"
A pause. "It's Darian. And I want it noted that I am two minutes early."
"Noted," she said, and buzzed him up.
He came in with the good croissants not from the corner shop this time, but from the actual bakery three blocks further down that required a deliberate detour and produced the kind of pastry that Seren had once described as tasting like a hug.
Seren was in the kitchen when he came in. She looked at the bag. Then at him. Then at the bag again.
"Are
