Gemotions

He’d always loved baking, a small, quiet pleasure he kept to himself. This morning, though, he was in the kitchen, carefully measuring ingredients. Maria, confused, watched as he worked, the familiar click-clack of the pans and measuring cups. He usually left this task to her.

She noticed a stack of Portuguese-language cookbooks on the counter. His brow furrowed in concentration as he kneaded the dough, a look she found…endearing. When he turned to her, dusted with flour, his smile was hesitant. "Eu fiz pão," he said, holding up a loaf. The accent was terrible, but the gesture… it was everything.

Maria laughed, a genuine, delighted sound. She reached for the loaf, her fingers brushing his. “It smells wonderful. Let’s eat.” The bread, imperfect as it was, was the best thing she'd tasted in a long time.