“Did I hurt you?” The question is so quiet I barely hear it.
I turn my attention to look at Hans. “No.” I lift my hands, turning my wrists around to show all sides. “See? All good.”
Last night, the skin was a little raw, but I rubbed some aloe on it, and now you wouldn’t even know I was tied up with my own underwear less than twelve hours ago.
Hans makes a humming sound as he merges onto the highway that will take us to the airport.
Needing to distract myself, I grasp for something to say. “So… got a big week at work?”
He shakes his head and asks his own question. “Do you speak any Spanish?”
I think back to the three months of online lessons I did four years ago. “Not really.”
“Not really?” The hand on my thigh gives a little squeeze.
“Okay, not at all. I can say the word for bathroom. And beer. Which just makes me sound like an asshole.” Hans’s mouth twitches, and I don’t know if he’s trying not to smile or trying not to frown. “A few years ago, my parents bought me that expensive software people use to learn a new language for my birthday, but I didn’t stick with it.” My shoulders sag. “That’s kinda my thing.”
“Learning languages?”
I shake my head. “No. Quitting.”
“Explain.”
Feeling self-conscious, I push my hands back between my legs, careful to avoid touching Hans’s hand in the process. “I have a… tendency to start new hobbies but not follow through.” I sigh. “Like Spanish. And German. And knitting. And target shooting. And pottery.”
It’s a depressing list, and it’s a lot longer than just those things, but I think I got my point across.
A finger taps against the back of my hand, and I lift my gaze from my lap to look at Hans.
He flicks me a glance. “What about your food blog?”
Unexpected emotions press against the backs of my eyes.
My mom brought up my blog at dinner last night, but I didn’t think Hans would remember. Or ask about it again. He said he wanted me to show him, but I figured he was just being nice.
I scoot my hand up, stopping when it touches Hans’s. “That one I’ve stuck with.”
“What made you start?”
I scoot my hand over so my pinkie is covering his.
I’m looking at his big hand below mine when it blurs.
My hand instinctually jerks back, but Hans catches it before I can move an inch.
He moved so fast I couldn’t even track it. But now his hand is fully on top of mine, trapping mine between my thigh and his palm.
“You’re quick.”
His hand flexes. “What made you start your blog, Butterfly?” he asks me again.
“I’ve always loved food. I mean, you met my parents. They’re great at making stuff. So I figured baking was something I wouldn’t get sick of.” I lift my shoulders. “I’ve been thinking about doing the blog for a few years. I just never pulled the trigger.”
“What changed?”
CHAPTER 44
Hans
Why’d you start your blog right after moving in across the street from me?
“You,” Cassandra says casually, but the answer slams into my chest.
CHAPTER 45
Cassie
I bite the edge of my lip, not believing I just admitted that.
“Me?”
Hans looks so surprised, it’s worth the bit of ego I have to shed sharing this next part. “Yeah, so, I always wanted to—start the blog—but I didn’t want to waste the stuff I made. And it’s not like I can just make a single cookie. Recipes are bigger than that. And I need extra to make sure I have a good one for photos. Ya know?”
Hans nods slowly.
“Well…” I sigh. “I was embarrassed about not being good, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask any of my previous neighbors if they’d want anything. And for the last, I dunno, several years, I’ve worked from home, so I didn’t have an office or something to bring them to.”
“You didn’t have someone to share with,” Hans says, putting it together.
I nod, even though his eyes are on the road. “I did my first posting the weekend after we met. I thought, maybe, a guy who lived alone wouldn’t mind some extra food now and again.” I bite my lip. “I don’t know if you remember—”
CHAPTER 46
Hans
Banana scones.
“I made banana scones.”
She says it like I haven’t memorized the entire history of her blog.