The smell of it

[ailbhe]

Earlier this evening, Emer came over and insistently bashed at my thigh as I typed. Eventually, I asked what she wanted, and she took my hand and led me to the kitchen. She pointed at the oven gloves and I gave her one; she pointed again and I gave her another, but she indicated that I should put it on myself.

Then she told me to take the bread out of the oven.

She stood well back, I took it out; it had reached "done to perfection."