When the door opens, Steve tenses into something akin to a ready stance, not sure what to expect. His face is open (and he knows under better circumstances she'd chide him for it, but he's not a spy and can't hide his emotions like one), brow creased, mouth slightly parted. He immediately gives her a once-over, just to make sure she's really OK.

And only then does he relax.

"Hey," he answers, a tired smile sitting half-cocked on his lips. He hesitates, and then reaches out to brush a smudge of chocolate from her cheek with his thumb. "Whatever you're baking smells amazing."

He steps inside after checking the hallway, not wanting to linger where they're both exposed. It's a little twitchy, even for Steve, but after the last couple of months it's not going to be easy readjusting.