Page 35 of When Love Comes Home

"This one right here is my favorite," he whispers, his thumb tracing a slow line across my cheek.

I'm about to ask,Favorite what?—but before the words leave my lips, his warm mouth brushes against my skin, stealing my breath and scattering my thoughts.

"There are so many to choose from," he murmurs, pressing another kiss to my cheek. So incredibly close to my lips—yet so infuriatingly far.

"I don’t want any of them to feel left out," he adds, his voice husky, before pressing another lingering kiss to the other side.

I want to point out,You missed a spot, but I’m utterly captivated—by every touch, every word, every slow, measured breath.

"I can't tell you how many times I've counted every single one," he confesses. "Wondering what it would be like to be here with you. Like this."

With each whisper against my skin, something inside me tightens, winding with a delicious intensity I can’t explain, let alone define. What this man does to me is new. Incredible.Absolutelythrilling.

When he pauses for a second, the fog lifts just enough for clarity to slip through. And then it hits me—he’s talking about my freckles.

The man is kissing my freckles.

One by one, I feel him move across my face, grazing each one with his lips until I'm certain not a single one is left out.

When he pulls away, a chill rushes in to replace his warmth. I open my eyes and find him studying my face, his gaze sweeping over me like he’s memorizing every inch, committing me and this moment to memory.

"Pancakes," he whispers.

"Wuh—" I murmur, feeling dazed and weak at the knees.

"It's what's for breakfast," he adds before turning his attention back to the ingredients on the counter.

I blink, still lost in the haze of his touch, my heart pounding in my ears.

"Pancakes," I echo dumbly, watching as he cracks an egg into the mixing bowl like he didn't just turn my world upside down.

He glances at me with a knowing smile. "What will it be, master chef—blueberries or chocolate chips?"

Oh, there's only one master standing here right now, and it's most certainly not me.

***

My sisters stare at me in rapt attention, their elbows propped on the counter, chins resting in their hands. Their eyes growing wider by the second as I recount this morning's events, leaving nothing out.

"So he didn't kiss you?" Laila asks, looking dumbfounded.

"No," I sigh. "He made me blueberry pancakes instead."

"I think he's trying to maintain some safe boundaries," Loren chimes in, looking hopeful.

"Does Justin maintainsafe boundarieswith you?" I ask, using air quotes around the words.

"As the wedding gets closer," Loren says, lowering her voice as if someone could hear us, "I've almost had to beat him off with a stick."

"Loren," I say, my tone growing impatient. "We're the only ones here, for Pete's sake!"

"Loren," Laila begins, her tone cautious. "Have you two—"

"No," Loren murmurs. "No. He would never. I would never. We're waiting."

"Focus, you two!" I blurt out, snapping my fingers. "We're talking about me right now."

"Adam has to be careful," Laila says, turning her attention back to me. "Honestly, I don't blame him. He's probably walking a fine line between wanting to be closer to you and making sure he respects Dad and has his approval above all else."

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