He pulled an aluminum tray from behind his back. A reusable bag hung from his wrist. Sunny watched me as I frowned. He slowly peeled back the aluminum top. Okay. He had me intrigued, I gave him that. I peered over the lip, but he raised the container until I was stepping onto the threshold and on my tiptoes.

“What is that?” I asked, inhaling the sweet aroma of something delicious.

He was going too high now. I grabbed his forearms, careful not to make him drop the contents. His skin was warm, and my body raged. His scent of shampoo and soap and deodorant crashed over me. Our body heat met and mingled around us, and I was about one flirty move away from pouncing on him.

Sunny stilled as soon as our flesh made contact, his nostrils flaring. Just my hands on his arms, but enough to command us. Our eyes locked and I lowered his arms down. Well, actually, he lowered them. At this angle and with those muscles, I could probably hang from his forearms like a monkey, and he wouldn’t budge.

I released Sunny so he could proudly reveal a tray of golden triangular pastries with a sheath of glaze and bluish-purple filling that had bubbled out during baking.

“Blueberry turnovers?” I asked, suddenly starving.

“Ube,” he corrected, his voice sleek.

My eyes flitted up. “What!”

He grinned. “Ah, someone’s excited.”

“You came all the way here, in the Tacoma rain, to bring me ube turnovers?”

He nodded, as if this weren’t a big deal, as if people did this for each other all the time.

I smiled. “Where did you even find these?”

“I made them.”

“Shut up. You did not.”

“Come look at the mess in my kitchen and tell me I didn’t.”

“How…where…” I had so many questions, but my focus was pinned to the pastries. “These are for me?”

“If you’d like.”

“I’d like.”

“And extras.” He lifted the bag. “For your anxiety.”

“What?” I choked out.

“Chocolate, ibuprofen, heating packs, candles. I don’t know. I read some articles on how to help. Talking, reading, movies, silence, shutting down tech. You might have to tell me what works for you.”

I stuttered, “How—huh?”

“How did I know? I can tell now, from the moments we spent together, I caught on. I thought maybe you were avoiding me because of what happened…and then I thought maybe you were anxious, too. Then I saw you on work meetings, and I knew.”

“Oh…”

No man, including those I’d dated long-term, had ever identified an episode without me saying so, much less from afar, much less brought me comfort gifts to cope.

He explained, “My mom has a lot of anxiety, and she tends to keep it to herself, too. When you told me about your anxiety attacks, I saw her symptoms in you. I always tell my dad to pay attention and be proactive, so here I am. Taking my own advice.”

I wanted to swing my arms around him and press him to me, to kiss him with the passion of a million kisses and keep him in my embrace for entire lifetimes. And maybe keep my misty eyes from spewing tears. “Sunny! Thank you. That’s so wonderfully sweet of you.”

“I’m aware that I’m quite wonderful.”

“And now you’re back.”

He grinned. Oh, how that brilliant smile lit up my entire world.

“I think I should enjoy my ube alone now.”

He frowned. “The hell. Are you serious?”

I laughed.

“Smart-ass. How about I come in and we can have coffee and turnovers, and if you want, we can talk? About anything that’s on your mind.”

I stepped back to let him in. In true Indian fashion, he removed his shoes, toes to heel so he didn’t touch them.

He followed me to the kitchen counter, where I poured coffee, asking how he took his. But as I replaced the carafe, I felt his body behind mine. It was perceptible, devouring.

He leaned past me, his arm brushing mine to get the cream, dropping a small amount into a mug. And then a big spoonful of sugar.

“Your teeth will rot like that,” I joked, my voice uneven.

Sunny didn’t take the mug, nor did he swirl his coffee. Instead, he hugged me. From behind. My entire body went off in flares, and my heart splattered against my ribs with every notion of love and lust and yearning and need.

I instantly melted against him, my eyelids fluttering closed, and inhaled this moment.

In his guttural voice, he said, “I see why hugs from behind are on your list.”

His arms snaked around my waist. “I hope this is still okay?” His words came out with a pinch of hope, as if he desperately needed me to say, “Yes, we are as we were last week.”

I nodded; I couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. In fact, my legs were turning to mush, and it was a good thing he was holding me because I might, in fact, melt into a puddle of goo.

His lips were at my neck when he confessed, “I really missed you.”

Goose bumps skittered across my flesh at that stupid Denzel voice, even as my body reacted to how my curves fit deliciously against his. “Well, I am a delight.” How I managed an entire sentence was a miracle.

His body shook with a chuckle.

“Think you can just hug me because you brought breakfast?”

“I mean…I did bring home the ube.”

“That’s cheesy.”

“Is it, though? I thought it was sexy.”