He takes the plate slowly, as if he’s confused. I am too, honestly. Why did I do that? Fixing his pancakes for him feels…intimate.

“I couldn’t eat another bite,” I say, by way of explanation.

He nods, again slowly, eyeing me almost warily. He eats, and the look of happiness on his face is a beautiful thing. “Damn good pancakes, Nadia. Thank you.”

“As good as Lisa’s?” I hear myself ask, and then immediately bite down on my tongue until I taste blood.

His fork clatters abruptly. “Don’t do that,” he says, with a tinge of anger in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t know what the hell came over me. I’m really, really sorry.”

He sighs. Sets the unfinished plate on his knees. “They’re different. She made hers smaller, the batter thinner. Not better, nor worse. Just…different.”

“You didn’t have to answer. It was a monumentally stupid question.”

Why would I sabotage something as good as this? It’s been comforting, friendly, no pressure. A companion in a dark time. I realize I really appreciate him, the little bit of time I’ve known him.

I blink back tears, stand up, and take my mimosa out toward the dock. Why sabotage a good thing? I can’t figure out why the hell I’d say something like that.

I don’t like the answer that bubbles up inside me. Because it’s a good thing.

Because you like him.

“It’s fine, Nadia. Don’t be upset.” His voice is close, directly at my left shoulder, closer than I think he’s ever been to me, physically.

“I am.” I sniffle. “I’m sorry. I truly don’t know what came over me.”

“Mouths run away from brains, sometimes. Happens to the best of us. No worries.”

“It was an amazing morning, until that. I feel like I ruined it.”

He bumps against me, his big, broad shoulder nudging me sideways. “Nah. We had delicious pancakes. Mimosas. Pretty damn good coffee, if I do say so myself. It’s a beautiful morning. So, still amazing.”

“Thank you for being understanding.”

“Pain makes people stupid,” he says. “Don’t worry about it.”

I grin at him. “It does make us dumb, doesn’t it?”

“So dumb.” His grin in return is warm, forgiving, kind. His eyes, deep dark brown, seem open and welcoming and full of life.

I clear my throat, put a few inches of distance between by stepping closer to the lake. “It’s no excuse.”

“Sure it is.”

Silence.

“You, uh, wanna go for a drive?” he asks.

“A drive?”

“Sure. Just…away and back. Windows down, we can trade playlists.”

I smile. “I’d really like that.”

“Good.” He lifts the mimosa in his hand. “Maybe we plan on going after lunch, though. I’m feeling pretty good right now, don’t know about you.”