I twist my fingers tighter together. Maybe baking was a mistake. I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of Hans’s new friends. The object of my own infatuation is the last to step into the room, and his eyes are already locked on mine. And just like that, the tension building inside me lessens. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks of my cookies, Hans will always love me. Something warm wraps around my heart. Hans will always love me. The last of my tension vanishes, replacing itself with something so light I feel like I could start floating.
