“Oh, I missed you,” she exhales into me. Sara is shorter than me—five two to my five nine—which is why she nuzzles closer, burying her face into my breasts like a burrowing rabbit. “Stop,” I groan through an exhausted laugh. “I didn’t realize this was a customary greeting,” Cliff says, leaning away with his hands in his pockets. “I’ve been saying hello wrong for months.”
