Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread usually soothed Liam, but tonight, it tightened his chest. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen, hands clenched, watching Chloe deftly knead the dough. Her movements, usually clumsy, were fluid, almost practiced. “C’est magnifique, n’est-ce pas?” she chirped, the French accent perfect, and a knot formed in Liam’s stomach. He’d been trying, for months, to teach her, and failing miserably. Now, she was speaking it fluently.

A possessive heat bloomed in his gut. He didn’t want anyone else to share *his* language with her.

He felt the sting of disappointment when she smiled at him, the knowledge in her eyes. He thought it should be *him* who had that knowledge. He wanted to hoard that skill.