He has lemon cookies. He is accepting her inability to deal with this at the moment and affection pools in her chest, warmth spreading through her, making her dizzy again but not in a way that makes her feel like she's going to pass out again.

Releasing his hand, she firmly presses that same hand to his chest so he won't move, circling around him until she is standing on the step above him, bringing herself eye level.

Her fingers fist into his shirt, pulling herself forward to finally return his kiss. It's late, but she doesn't think it's too late, and her mouth lingers against his, inquisitive and careful, feeling the coarse hair of his mustache and beard tickle her pale skin, the warmth of his hands on her face, thumb brushing against her cheeks. Fear sees her draw back again, swallowing past it to look at him with clear eyes.

The small fists release his shirt, absently smoothing away the wrinkles in the fabric across his chest. "My favorite."