My Father-In-Law

I hadn't reckoned with him. Hans, my father-in-law, appeared on the landing below our apartment door. He was wearing a bicycle helmet and, smiling cheerfully, was brandishing a Tupperware container that he had taken out of his backpack.

“Good morning, Emma,” he called cheerfully, "Annegret has baked cinnamon rolls. They taste best when they're fresh. So I thought I'd bring some over to you right away.”

“Good morning, Hans," I replied, flustered, taking a step back into the hallway. I tugged at my dressing gown to make my appearance look a little more modest. My in-laws were certainly not prudish, but still, it seemed appropriate to me at that moment not to be too open-hearted. I put on a smile. In fact, I was really glad to see him.

“You didn't have to cycle here just for them. We could have picked them up. Thanks anyway, that's very nice and they'll taste delicious. You missed Fabian though, he's already gone."

“No problem at all. With my new eBike, it's only a stone's throw from us to you. And the exercise does me good,” he grinned, and had already easily climbed the last few steps. Exercise doing him good was an understatement. He did a lot of sport and kept fit. Without doubt, at 51 years old, he was in better shape than his son, who was only half his age.

My father-in-law could afford to do a lot of sports and live a healthy life in general since he took early retirement. He had worked as a branch manager for a construction company until a Chinese corporation took over the business and replaced the management lock, stock and barrel. Hans fought for and received a generous golden handshake and sold the company stock options he had received annually as a bonus in one fell swoop. He put the proceeds into other securities. I honestly had no idea how wealthy he really was. But he certainly didn't have to worry about money.

He was now standing right in front of me, I could smell his tart masculine aftershave and a slight smell of sweat, which somehow matched his appearance. Tall, muscular and with a slim build, he towered over me by a whole head. He took off his helmet nonchalantly and hung it on the coat rack. His hair was cut short, as dark as Fabian's, but with a few gray hairs at the temples. Overall, he cut a much more imposing and obviously more mature figure than my man. A better one, too? After all, he had managed to father a son.

I blushed when I caught myself thinking this.

“Well, now? Do you want?”

It took a few seconds for the question to reach my brain. I blinked and looked at him, confused and a little embarrassed. Had he been able to read on my face what had been going through my mind?

Only then did I realize that he was holding out the box of pastry to me.

“Um, yes. Thank you.”

I cleared my throat and tried to think of something meaningful to say.

“Would you like some coffee with that? I just made a pot.”

“Yes, please. Lots of milk, no sugar. But you know that.”

I turned around and led the way into the kitchen. All the while, I imagined I felt his eyes on my back. Why was I so nervous around him? He was my father-in-law, and there was nothing unusual about having coffee with him alone in our apartment, even if I was only wearing my dressing gown. Or was there?