Page 108 of Bottles & Blades

She stills. “I?—”

I cup her cheek. “It’s way better than okay, buttercup.” I drop my forehead to hers. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’smore.”

“Jean-Mi,” she says softly. “Honey, really, it’s just pancakes.”

My mouth twitches. “It’s more than that and you know it.”

A sigh. “If I don’t agree with you, are you going to start finding things to issue orders about?”

“Probably.”

She giggles and shakes her head. “I knew it.”

“So smart,” I brush my lips over hers, punctuating each word. “And sweet. And kind. And funny. And beautiful.”

“It’s literally just pancakes,” she says dryly. But I see the warmth in her eyes, the softness.

She knows, same as me, it’s not just breakfast.

“It’s more to me,” I tell her softly.

She exhales. “Okay, fine,” she says as she turns back to the pancakes. “It’s more to you. Just like”—she spins to face me, pressing her hand to my chest, resting it just above my heart—“everything you’ve been doing for me is more too.”

God, this woman is going to kill me.

Because what I’ve been doing isnothing.

And yet, it means as much as her giving me time to rest, as making me breakfast, as smiling up at me in that beautiful,beautifulway.

“Baby?”

“Yeah?” she asks, scooping up the pancakes, loading them onto a plate.

“You tell no lies.”

She grins and passes me a plate.

I take it, watching as she loads up the griddle for the next batch.

“Baby?” I ask again.

“Hmm?” she murmurs, her focus on the pancakes.

“After we eat, I’m going to show you exactly howmuchmore.”

Thirty-Three

Tiff

Bright green leavesrustle in the gentle spring breeze.

The mid-morning sun is warm on my bare arms as I walk, my face as I tilt it up toward the sky.

I inhale, drawing in the soft floral scent of the grape flowers into my nose, the earthiness of the narrow path between the vines that we’re walking along into my lungs.