“Luck.” “So are you going to kiss me now or what?” he asks, lips twitching up at the corner. “I was expecting a welcome home. And instead, I got snow-filled boots.” He barely finishes the last word before my lips crash into his. He whimpers against me, his grip on my shirt tightening. It’s relief and happiness and the bitter sting of fear. But most of all, it’s coming home. His lips taste like home.
