The bag left hanging under her apron in the kitchen is a bit of a mystery, all of these cards that make her a dozen different people entirely perplexing--until she spots one with a familiar last name on it, and a note in a familiar hand. There's a warmth that blooms in her chest, but her response takes the rest of the day, and if, when he finally makes his way back to his cabin, there's a package of chocolate chip cookies with a note of their own outside his door, she won't ever claim responsibility, even if the carefully printed handwriting is unmistakable.
I'm not even sure where Toronto is. Tell me about it next time.
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I'm not even sure where Toronto is. Tell me about it next time.