Sarah had spent the previous day in a state of effervescent expectancy. She had cleaned every room, rearranged the decorative plants, dusted, and mopped. During his last visit, Daniel said that he missed the taste of home-cooked food the most during the monthly route along the planetoids. “I know I can trust you with this,” he had said. She had asked why sharing it would be a problem. “I don’t want anyone to think that they have to do things for me,” he had told her. She felt like he had just placed a beautiful star into the center of her chest, a shining secret that only she knew. “If I make something for you,” she had asked, looking at the crew and feeling the heat in her cheeks, “that would be ok, wouldn’t it?” He had smiled and said, “Yes, only if you do it.” She knew just what she would make him — apple tarts. Her pies usually ended up a total loss, but somehow, she could always make those. Maybe it was because it was something that her mother had taught her? Probably.
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