Gemotions

The distinct scent of baking bread, something he rarely did, wafted from the kitchen. When she walked in, she saw him, meticulously kneading dough. He was also humming, a tuneless melody that seemed vaguely familiar, but something she couldn't understand. Then she heard him. It was a Ukrainian phrase.

He turned, flour dusting his cheeks, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. He'd been wanting to try and surprise her, and it had worked.

She leaned against the counter, suddenly feeling light-headed. She watched him, mesmerized, as he shaped the dough, his movements precise and purposeful. He looked up, and their eyes locked. She felt herself drawn to him, the anticipation a heady perfume.