A gentle breeze drifted through the Valtrane estate garden, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and white chrysanthemums. Sunlight fell softly across the garden, warming the small stone table beneath the trees.
On the table sat a porcelain teapot and a woven basket filled with fresh, warm butter pastries dusted with sweet powdered sugar.
Marielle leaned back on the stone bench, lifting a small pastry between two slender fingers. She took a delicate bite, letting out a soft, satisfied hum as the light crust flaked away.
"The chef outdid himself today," Marielle remarked, wiping a trace of powdered sugar from the corner of her lip with a linen napkin. "It has been quite some time since I sat outside like this."
