My lips pursed. “You just seem . . . jumpy.” The glass pan rattled as he placed it on the oven rack. “I’m not jumpy. I’m just—” He blew a stream of breath from his mouth and pinched his eyes. “I don’t know.” Nerves tittered through me. I lowered my voice so the kids wouldn’t hear our conversation. “Look, if this is too much, you have to tell me. Just say it.” His dark eyes whipped to mine. “It’s not that. It’s not you or the kids. I just—” His shoulders slumped. “Sometimes I bake when I feel out of sorts.” My eyes went wide as realization dawned on me. “Are you telling me you’re a stress
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a stress baker!? Swoon
