Derek breathes and relaxes back in the chair and I watch as his expression does ease a little, lips curving up into a smile. He could be pretending, of course, to make me feel less horribly guilty, but I don't think he is. Or at least that isn't his primary motivation. I hope.

"I know how that goes," I tell him with a soft huff of a laugh myself, squeezing his hand. "I'm pretty famous for that, actually. Especially back home. I mean, my team captain had to set up morning one-on-one practices just to try to teach me to not build things up in my head. It was that level of bad." I don't mention how I also tend to build up the good things, how I see things that aren't really there, how I hope for too much.

Ducking my head a little to try to see his eyes, I ask, "But it's not so bad now? Is it the cocoa? It's a long way to go for cocoa, but I think it might be the best in the city."