He looks up too swiftly to totally guard his expression, which for a minute I could swear shows blinding relief, but he clears it quickly. “That’s good,” he mutters, thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets and rocking back on his heels almost nervously. I stare at him, wondering who this stranger is in front of me these days. He bears little resemblance to the man I’ve worked for, for such a long time. Catching my gaze, I see a faint flush on his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he mutters.
