"Tighter," she demands. "I'm not made of glass."

I chuckle and tighten my arms around her waist, pulling her back into me. She tosses the spoon she'd been holding on the counter and leans back, tipping her head up and smiling. I kiss her on the tip of her nose and murmur, "The food is going to burn."

She laughs, the bright rich sound hitting me straight in the heart and then heading down to my groin. "When have I ever not burnt the food?"

She has a point. She's ...