A timer beeps back in the kitchen, and I force myself to step back from Hans.
“Sorry.” I apologize again, brushing my hand over the damp spot on his T-shirt, which is thankfully not super noticeable on the black material.
“Please stop apologizing.” Hans lets his hands slide away from my body.
“Sorry,” I automatically reply before I can catch myself. Then I use my fingertips to wipe away the lingering tears under my eyes.
I don’t know why I responded like that. It feels like an overreaction, but I’m not certain it was. The man I’ve been crushing on for a year, who I’ve been getting very close to in the last couple days, just told me his whole family is gone. And that he lost his only sibling in one of the worst ways.
His overbearing actions make more sense now. His impulse to control.
Too fragile for this awful world.
My heart aches even more at his explanation.
Hans reaches out and brushes back a loose curl stuck to my damp cheek.
“It suddenly smells like cinnamon rolls in here.” His voice is gentle, and when I finally look up at him, his expression matches.
I sniff one last time. “Mom always makes them as dessert when we do breakfast for dinner.”
He gives that loose strand of hair a gentle tug. “Probably could’ve told me that before you fed me a whole second serving.”
I brush at my eyes again. “Maybe I wanted more cinnamon rolls for myself.”
Hans narrows his eyes at me, and I feel the sadness start to dissolve around us.
He steps forward, bumping his body into mine. “Get back to your chair, Girl.”
A genuine smile pulls at my mouth. “Or what?”
When Hans reaches for me, I jump back and hurry to the kitchen.
