I'm absolutely reading way too much into that statement, I know that much even when it hits my ears and makes everything inside me go warm. I know he's just complimenting my cooking, but it feels like so much more.

Get ahold of yourself, Bittle. Goodness.

My eyes fall back to the box on the table, skates gleaming and I let out a shaky breath before nodding. "I'm a little afraid to mess 'em up already," I confess, but I take a seat on the couch beside him all the same and reach out to pull the right skate out, my fingers reverent over the leather of the boot. Carefully balancing the blade in my lap, I pull the laces aside enough to slip my foot in, completely unsurprised to find it fits like a glove. It's still, of course, from lack of use, but I can already tell it fits perfectly. "Did you steal my skates when I wasn't lookin' to find out the size?" I ask, glancing over at him with a small grin.