There was silence again, and I crumpled the paper bag and flung it into the recycling bin, angry at him, angry at my words, and furious at my damned pride.

Deciding to go before I made the rift between us even deeper, I turned on my heel and walked past him, trying to get to the door.

I didn’t get past the table.

Something cold caught the crook of my elbow and pulled me back. I was sent spinning before I came to a stop again.

“What are you doing?” I asked, sounding much like a discontented cat as I struggled.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he shot back. “Apologizing.”

“You’re not apologizing. You’re hugging me. The last time I checked, embracing someone and apologizing sincerely from the depths of your heart are two hugely different things.” Boy, I was long winded today, despite the fact I was muffled against his black sweater.

“Fine. I’m sorry now, okay?”

That stopped all my movements.

“You are?”

“I am.”

“Really?”

“Really, tomato head.”

I needed no more assurance.