[There’s a subtle sense of something easing, a pressure or tension suddenly lessening, and she watches him step away from her, moving past the three feet they’ve been able to manage since she’d taken his flowers. The compulsion has come to an end. They can part ways.

He doesn’t move any further away, though, and she doesn’t, either. She’s not quite ready to leave his company, as much as that desire to run is building in her.

She does want to do this again. Kissing him. A lot, if possible. Even though she’s quite sure it’s some degree of a bad idea. It doesn’t stop the wanting.

She makes a face at him.]

I didn’t run away immediately after shoving gifts at you. We spoke a little... and then I ran away. [She can’t help but smile back, warmly.] You’re welcome. Let me know if the jar starts getting low and I’ll make more.