She finds him where she always does; in the kitchens. The constant buzz of activity dulls to a pleasant background hum. The scents blend and grow into a rich fullness that begs to be stopped and savored. Even the oppressive heat could be mistaken for an oven that’s been left open.

Dolce’s heart leaps, and cares not for the mousse he was mixing. The dessert, sensing an opportunity, makes a daring escape before he can restore order to the bowl. He wipes his hands on his apron. Hestia dips her finger in the spilled mousse, and samples shamelessly. He opens his mouth, and fifteen different thoughts scramble to figure out which should be first. Hestia takes the opportunity to offer a spoonful of ice cream.

He doesn’t have to be perfect here. Home is a place where you can laugh at mistakes.

“I have missed you [i]so[/i] much.” He finally gets out. “I, she’s well? Vasilia’s well? Oh thank goodness. Thank goodness.” He’s going to make it. He’s going to make it. There will be a home for him to return to. He’s not going to be too late. After, yes, after there will be difficulties, but, but! “Oh Hestia, it’s [i]awful[/i] here. It’s been awful ever since I left Beri. I haven’t met a single soul who seems like they know you. Are all the official parts of the Skies this noisy?”