Ella's POV
The first time he kissed me, I froze.
Not because I didn't want it—God, that was the confusing part. I froze because I did want it. Because I wasn't supposed to. Because we were still technically broken, just trying to be civil for the sake of the tiny life growing inside me.
But when his lips touched mine, soft and cautious, something in me cracked.
Something I'd sealed up a long time ago.
And I kissed him back.
Now he does it all the time.
Quick little kisses when I least expect them.
On the forehead while I'm brushing my teeth.
On the lips when I'm carrying a plate to the sink.
In bed, when he thinks I'm half-asleep and won't remember.
I always pretend to be surprised.
Maybe I am, a little.
Not by the kiss itself, but by how much I've come to crave them.
But we never talk about it. Not once. Not even after the first one.
