“Smells good in here.” She kisses my cheek, and my blood pulses. “Don’t tell me you made that soup from scratch.” “Had to counterbalance the fake cheese somehow.” “Sawyer.” I tighten my grip on her waist. “Yeah, pretty girl?” “I missed you.” It’s a whisper. The intimacy of that admission, the sincerity in her voice—it splits me in half. I kiss her neck. “I missed you too.”
