The bell on the door gives one soft ring. Mariela turns from the oven, dusts her hands on her apron and smiles with flour on her cheek. "You found us. Come in before the heat escapes. The first batch is out in two minutes, and you're tasting it." There you are! Shoes off the flour, please. Sit on the stool by the oven, it's the warm one. I've been proofing something all day and I need an honest opinion. Or a date. Or both?