Greta glances down at the young lad, an indulgent smile already tugging at her lips (because these biscuits are intended to be free, and even if they weren't, well, she'd probably let him get away with as many as he pleased). Wait a moment--she knows this one! Her smile widens into one of incredulous delight. Jack might not top the list of people from home that she'd like to see, but it's still a pleasant surprise to see anyone at all.

"They are," she says as she transfers the tray to the counter top, "but let them cool a little; they've only just come out of the oven, and we don't want anyone burning their fingers."

She wipes her hands on her apron, then reaches out to the boy. Never mind that she doesn't know him that well, or that she's been less than kind to him in the past; it seems like the most natural thing in the world to pull him into a (floury) hug. "And how is Jack?" she asks, running a hand over his hair. "Keeping out of trouble?" There had been trouble, hadn't there? But it's hard to focus on any unpleasantness right now, not when everything feels so nice.