Page 81 of The Enemy: Extended Edition

“Hi,” I say with a contented sigh against his chest.

“Welcome home, June Bug.” He kisses my head.

“Zoe doing okay? I can’t believe she’s still sleeping.”

“She’s much better. But she only napped for about an hour today—she was just too worn out to stay awake any longer, even though she was dying to see her famous mommy, as she referred to you all day. I took a video of her watching you on TV. Cutest damn thing you’ll ever see.”

I laugh quietly. “I can’t wait.”

“For real, though, you did amazing, June. I’m so proud of you,” he says, walking me backward down the hall toward our kitchen, but never breaking contact. I place my bare feet on top of his socked ones and use him like skis.

“Did you see when I accidentally puffed flour all over the front of Violet’s dress?”

He grunts a laugh while stopping us beside the fridge. “Yes. It was the best TV I’ve seen all year.”

“I think she was actually kind of annoyed by it,” I say as he leans around me, my arms still locked around his waist and his hand against my back while he pulls a leftover breakfast frittata from the fridge.

He backs us toward the microwave. “Well, hey—look at it this way, if you hadn’t ruined it, her puppy would have anyway.” After clicking thirty seconds on the microwave, Ryan slides his hands down to my waist and props me on the countertop, stepping between my legs.

“My favorite part, though, was when you said I taste test all your new recipes.” A wicked gleam sparks in his eyes and I know exactly why.

“I knew you’d like that.”

Because last time I had him taste test a recipe for me, it somehow ended up with us naked in the kitchen. Best day of cooking ever.

His eyes drop to my mouth and his hands—those hands I love more than sugar—glide up my thighs. And then the annoying microwave beeps and he twists around to pull the frittata out. Ryan is very serious about food and making sure we all eat three delicious meals a day.

And this, he knows, is my favorite meal as of late.

He hovers the plate between us while grabbing a fork from the drawer beside me. He looks sleepy as he cuts an eggy bite with the side of the fork prongs and then scoops it up, blowing on it and extending it toward my mouth. I’m smiling like a fool, watching him dote on me. “You really missed me.”

His mouth hitches up. “A little bit.”

And it’s these moments that make life feel so special. Yes—the big grand ones like I had this morning are incredible, but it’s these micro moments in the kitchen where my husband is feeding me a gourmet frittata from a purple toddler fork that I live for.

I can’t believe I ever used to fear falling in love with him.

“How was your day with Zoe?” I ask on the last bite. Ryan takes the plate from me and sets it aside, guiding my legs to wrap around his waist before picking me up off the counter. He carries me into the living room and deposits me on the couch, crawling on top of me and then wrapping his arms around my waist to flip us so I’m covering him.

“Let’s just say—I didn’t realize a person as small as Zoe could have so much liquid inside her.”

I laugh while simultaneously feeling terrible he had to take on the brunt of disgusting parenting today. But this is what we do. Life ebbs and flows for both of us, and when one of us needs extra help, the other steps up. It’s one of the many reasons our relationship works. “You think she’s past the worst of it?”

He nods, smiling softly as he runs his hands through my hair. “Yeah, she’s good to go now.” He pauses as his eyes sweep over my face. “You look pretty.”

“You look pretty,” I say, touching my finger to his full lips.

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head. I love his grin. I love when the black centers of his eyes eat up the brown. I love when I feel his heart rate pick up and his skin grows hot and to know that I do that to him. I love everything about him.

“You know . . . it’s almost the end of January,” I say, scooting up his body to level my face with his.

He runs his fingers lazily up and down my arm. “Mm-hmm?”

I lower my face and kiss him. Slowly. No hurry. “We should probably take the Christmas lights down before the neighbors complain.”

His hand slides down the curve of my spine, lower and lower until his big hand settles over my right butt cheek. He squeezes, and his smile is a wild thing. “I’ll get right on it.”

He doesn’t. He kisses me over and over again, his tongue slipping into my mouth and hands wandering all over the place. After a few minutes of kissing like we have all the time in the world, Ryan shifts and settles his lips once again against my throat. “I’m proud of you, June. And I’m so damn lucky to have you as my wife and partner in life.”

---