[Rosie's POV]
He glanced down at the spreading stain, then back at me, his gaze softening just enough for me to see the flicker of concern he'd tried to hide too.
For a moment we just stared at the spill, the world narrowed to the sound of our breathing until he grabbed the napkin to wipe it off.
"Anelisa," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper, "you know I'd never… I mean, I'm not… I don't want you to think I'm…"
He trailed off, like he was contemplating whether to complete the statement, and I just stared again.
I wanted to reach out, to brush the stray lock of hair from his forehead, to tell him that the only thing I was scared of was the way my chest felt like it was about to burst every time he looked at me like that.
Instead, I swallowed, feeling the taste of the soup on my tongue, and forced a shaky laugh. "You're such a mess, Harry. Literally."
