Her laugh cracks through the tension in her shoulders, and I swear it’s the best damn sound in the world.
She takes a sip of coffee, then says, “You know…that was sort of brilliant.”
I raise a brow. “Me? Always.”
“No,” she says, smirking now. “The plan. Letting me be around Finn so you could keep me safe. You knew I’d find a way. And if you weren’t close… You couldn’t stop it.”
I lift my mug. “We’re not just pretty faces.”
A quiet beat passes between us. Her stare lingers, warmer now.
“Thank you,” she says finally.
“For breakfast?” I grin. “I’m an expert at toast.”
She laughs, and it is the best sound in the world. “For everything.”
And fuck me if that doesn’t hit me square in the heart.
I nod, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “Anytime, peaches.”
She watches me over the rim of her mug, those blue eyes doing things to my insides I don’t want to name. I should stay on my side of the island. I should be good.
I’m not.
I round the island slowly. Her breath catches, and I swear I see her chest rise just a little faster. Her mug lowers, resting against the counter, and when I step into her space, she tilts her chin up—inviting.
Daring.
I brush her hair over her shoulder and lean down, just enough to hover. Close enough that I feel the warmth of her breath against my mouth.
“You always taste sweeter after breakfast,” I murmur.
She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks flush, and when I finally kiss her, she melts.
Soft at first. Just a press of lips. Then again—hungrier this time, her hand curling in the fabric of my shirt, her body leaning into mine to chase my lips. I grip her hips, tugging her from the chair, anchoring her to the counter, and swallowing the sound she makes when I deepen the kiss.
She sighs into my mouth, all heat and peaches and that soft little hum she gives when she’s just on the edge of wanting.
I could get lost in that sound.
Her hand slips beneath my shirt, fingers skimming over my stomach, and I groan, catching her wrist and pulling back just enough to look her in the eye.
“We have time, right?” she breathes.
And I almost say yes.
Almost.
But then her phone buzzes on the counter behind her, screen lighting up with a reminder.
“Practice,” I mutter, forehead pressed to hers, my pulse still pounding. “Isn’t that at ten?”
She groans, head falling back against my arm. “Why do I play a sport that requires so much cardio?”
I laugh, nipping at her jaw before stepping back. “You like a challenge.”
“You’re the challenge,” she mutters, grabbing her phone and finishing the last of her coffee.
