“This.” I gesture vaguely between us, the towel still clutched in my hand. “Working together. After, well, everything.”
Her eyes don’t flinch. “All the time.”
We stand there for a beat too long.
I should walk away. I really should.
Instead, I set the towel down and step closer. Not touching. Just near enough that her breath catches a little.
She doesn’t step back.
She doesn’t say a word.
The air is thick between us now, laced with garlic and tension and an intensity way heavier than sauce.
Josie blinks up at me, eyes wide, mouth slightly parted like she’s about to speak, but she doesn’t.
My hand brushes hers.
She flinches, not away, but closer. Barely, like her body’s betraying her better judgment.
I reach past her, slow, careful, grabbing the spoon again. Our fingers graze. Her breath stutters. I taste the sauce one more time. No comment this time, just a distraction. An excuse to stay this close.
“Still layered,” I murmur.
Her lips twitch into a ghost of a smile.
“Still aggressive,” I add, voice lower now.
She swallows hard, eyes flicking from my mouth to my eyes and back again.
And that’s when I do it.
I lean in, just a breath.
Our lips brush.
Not a kiss. Not yet.
Just contact. Static heat and a pause so thick it could split atoms.
She doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
Then her eyes flutter shut.
And that’s it.
The dam breaks.
I crash into her, mouth on hers, hands on her hips, pulling her in like I’ve waited lifetimes. She meets me with equal heat, one hand twisting in my shirt, the other fisting in my hair. It’s not gentle. It’s not polite.
It’s desperate. Hungry.
The kind of kiss that answers questions and sparks a thousand more.
She tastes like fire and salt, like everything I shouldn’t want but do. I press her back against the counter, and she arches up into me, reckless and warm and utterly unforgettable.
