After spending the morning exploring downtown, we arrived at the house around 11 a.m. I rushed to the kitchen to whip up something for the both of us—Venetian crab linguine and a refreshing tropical juice blend. While I was focused on cooking, Levi strolled in, grabbed a can of soda from the fridge, and came up behind me.
"That smells so good," he said, his voice warm. He leaned in, planting a trail of small kisses from just behind my ear down to my shoulder.
"Levi! That tickles," I laughed, twisting to face him. I cupped his face and kissed the tip of his nose. "Let me finish cooking, okay?" I added, stealing a quick peck on his lips.
He stayed behind me, watching me cook. "It looks appetizing," he commented once I plated the dish.
"You think? Well, wait until you taste it," I replied with a laugh. A memory of my mom's constant critiques flashed through my mind—how she'd scold me for my early kitchen disasters, and how one day, somehow, I'd finally mastered her ways.
