She shrugs, suddenly shy. “It’s not that much.”
It’s everything.
I swallow.
“Thank you,” I say, and it comes out rougher than I expect.
She beams like I just handed her the Stanley Cup.
“Sit,” she orders, tugging me toward the table.
I let her.
Because somehow, despite my long-acquired distaste for this day, I feel… good.
Great, even.
I sit down, and she immediately starts pouring coffee, stacking pancakes onto my plate, adjusting things like she doesn’t know how to stand still.
“Careful,” she says. “They’re still warm.”
I stare at the plate.
“Tal, this is amazing,” I say. “Thank you.”
She smiles softly. “I’m glad you’re happy.”
We start eating.
The pancakes are actually perfect. Fluffy. Sweet but not too sweet. She watches me take the first bite like she’s waiting for a grade.
“They’re good,” I say.
She exhales dramatically. “Thank God.”
I shake my head, smiling despite myself.
We talk about nothing for a few minutes. Random things. A show she wants to watch. The garden. Our plans for the week ahead.
But I notice something.
She can’t sit still.
She shifts in her chair. Tucks her hair behind her ear. Bounces one knee under the table. Takes a sip of coffee, sets it down, picks it up again.
I narrow my eyes at her.
“What?” she asks immediately.
“You’re vibrating.”
“I am not.”
“You are,” I insist. “What’s going on?”
She bites her lip. “I’m just… excited.”
“About what?”
