Connor blinked, having no idea what just happened. Or what he'd done wrong. He pushed himself up and off the couch, ignoring the twinge of his wrenched knee at the abruptness of the movement. He took. Few steps toward her, but he didn't crowd her, somehow sensing that she wanted her soever. "Emily?" he ventured softly, feeling uncertain and clueless.
He hated to see women cry, much like most men. He wanted to make it better. "Emily... What's wrong?" It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what he'd done wrong.