Chapter 1: The Brownie Kiss
The timer on the oven read 7:42 when I pulled the last tray of brownies from the heat. Steam rose in a fragrant cloud, carrying the heavy scent of dark cocoa and vanilla through the kitchen. I'd made a mess, as always—flour dusted the countertops like a light sn
I'd made a mess, as always—flour dusted the countertops like a light snowfall, and a smear of batter clung to the edge of the mixing bowl like it was begging for one last taste. The brownies sat cooling on the wire rack, their tops crackled and glossy, and I'd already cut myself a corner piece while they were still warm enough to melt on my tongue.
I was licking the last bit of chocolate from my thumb when I heard the key turn in the front door.
My heart did that thing it always did when James came home—that little flip-flop, that skip of a beat that reminded me I was still, after all these years, utterly gone for him. I wiped my hands on my apron—the one with the flour handprints that had become permanent decorations—and listened to the sound of his boots in the hallway.
Three weeks. Three weeks he'd been gone, crisscrossing the country for meetings that all blurred together in his retelling. Three weeks of sleeping alone, of eating cereal for dinner, of reaching for him in the middle of the night and finding nothing but cool sheets.
The kitchen doorway filled with him, and suddenly the room felt smaller. He stood there, all broad shoulders and warm eyes, looking rumpled from travel. His flight had been delayed twice, and he'd texted me updates with increasing levels of exasperation, each message ending with some variation of I just want to be home.
He was home now.
"There she is," he said, his voice that low, gravelly register that made my toes curl even from across the room. He dropped his duffel bag by the door and leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. A slow smile spread across his face.
I knew that smile.
"Welcome home, stranger." I tilted my head, letting my hair fall over one shoulder, playing casual even though every nerve ending in my body was firing signals straight to my core. "Flight wasn't too terrible, I hope."
"Longest three weeks of my life." He pushed off the doorframe and walked toward me, his eyes never leaving mine. "And that's saying something, considering I once spent eight hours in a Chicago airport during a blizzard."
I laughed, and the sound felt lighter than it had in weeks. "That bad, huh?"
His gaze dropped to my mouth, and his steps slowed. "You've got something on your face."
I knew exactly what I had on my face. I'd left it there on purpose, a tiny smear of chocolate at the corner of my lips, a promise of what was waiting for him in the kitchen. I'd been planning this moment for three days.
"What?" I touched my cheek with pretending innocence. "Did I miss a spot?"
He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell him—airplane air and stale coffee, but underneath it, that scent that was purely him. Something woodsy and warm, like sandalwood and Sunday mornings. "Right there," he said, reaching out and catching my wrist. His thumb brushed over my lips, coming away with a smear of chocolate.
"Brownies," I explained, as if he couldn't already smell them, as if he couldn't see the pan cooling on the counter behind me. "I made your favorite. Triple chocolate fudge."
"You made me brownies?"
"I made myself brownies." I couldn't help the smirk that crept across my face. "You just happen to benefit from my generosity."
He looked at the thumb still stained with chocolate, then back at me. His eyes had gone dark, that particular shade of blue that happened when he was thinking about something that had nothing to do with baked goods. "That's a shame."
"Why's that?"
"Because you're about to miss them." He lifted his thumb to his mouth and sucked the chocolate off it slowly, deliberately, watching me the whole time. The move was obscene, and it worked.
My breath caught in my throat.
"That was real subtle," I managed.
"Wasn't trying to be." He closed the distance between us, his hands finding my waist. The warmth of his palms seeped through the thin cotton of my shirt, and I felt the familiar heat building low in my belly. "Three weeks is a long time. Don't get shy on me now."
"I'm not shy." I settled my hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat through his shirt—steady, strong. "I'm just wondering if you're going to kiss me or keep talking about it."
His laugh was low and rumbling. "Demanding little thing."
"You saying you don't like it?"
"I'm saying—" He leaned down, his lips hovering just above mine. "—I've been thinking about this moment for three weeks. I've been thinking about you. About how you taste. About the sounds you make when I touch you in exactly the right place."
My mouth went dry, but I kept my voice steady. "That's quite a trip itinerary you had going on up there."
"Never stopped thinking about you." His lips brushed against mine, barely there, a tease. But then I tasted chocolate, and it broke something open inside me.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down into a real kiss, the kind that made up for lost time, the kind that said I missed you so much I ached. He groaned against my mouth, his hands tightening on my waist, pulling me flush against him. I felt the hard line of his body, the familiar shape of him, and I wanted more. I wanted everything.
He pulled back, just far enough to look at me. His pupils had blown wide, leaving only a thin ring of blue around the black. "How many brownies do I have to eat before you let me take you to bed?"
"Appetizer first." I reached back and broke off a piece of brownie from the corner, holding it up to his lips. He took it, his mouth brushing my fingers, and I watched his eyes flutter closed as he chewed.
"Jesus, these are good."
"I know." I fed him another piece, letting my fingers linger. "I'm incredible."
"You are." His voice had gone rough, scraped raw with want. "You're also still wearing this apron, and I have very strong opinions about that."
"Oh yeah?" I undid the knot at the small of my back and let the apron drop to the floor. "Better?"
"Getting there." His eyes tracked down my body, taking in the thin sundress I'd picked out specifically because it was easy to remove. "You did this on purpose."
"Did what?"
"Made brownies. Wore that dress. Left chocolate on your lips like a greeting card." He shook his head, a slow grin spreading across his face. "You're trying to kill me."
"Is it working?"
He answered by sweeping me into his arms. I let out a yelp of surprise, wrapping my arms around his neck as he carried me out of the kitchen. The bedroom was dark, but we didn't need light—I knew the path, knew exactly where the bed was, knew the shape of him against me as he laid me down.
His hands found the hem of my dress, and he started pulling it up. I lifted my hips to help, but he paused, hovering above me, his breath ragged. "Wait."
"What?" My heart seized. "What's wrong?"
He looked down at me, and the intensity in his eyes took my breath away. "I didn't get to say it yet." His thumb traced my cheekbone. "I missed you. I know that's not enough of a word, but I don't have a better one. I just—" He shook his head. "Everything's easier when you're here. Everything's better."
Something hot and tight formed in my throat. I reached up, cupping his face in my hands, feeling the roughness of his jaw against my palms. "Three weeks felt like three years. I don't want to do that again."
"It's done." He leaned down, pressing a kiss to my forehead, then my nose, then lingering on my lips. "We're done being apart."
I kissed him back, pouring every moment of longing and loneliness into it. When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against mine, and we just breathed together for a moment. The rest of the world—the flour-dusted kitchen, the cooling brownies, the long empty weeks—all of it faded away until there was nothing left but him and me and the space between us that kept shrinking.
Then he moved, and there was no more space at all.
Then he moved, and there was no more space at all.
His mouth found the curve of my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below my ear. I arched into him, a sound escaping my lips that I'd been holding back for weeks. He took it from me like a gift, swallowing it down, answering with a low groan that vibrated through his chest and into mine.
His hands were everywhere at once—rough palms skating up my thighs, calloused fingers catching on the hem of my dress. He'd always been like this, all hunger and heat when he finally had me in his arms. But there was something different in the way he touched me now. Something reverent underneath the urgency, like he was relearning every curve, every dip, every inch of skin he'd been forced to go without.
"God, I forgot how you feel," he murmured against my collarbone. His breath came hot and uneven. "I mean, I remembered. But I forgot." He laughed, a broken sound. "That doesn't make any sense."
I threaded my fingers through his hair, tugging gently until he lifted his head to look at me. His eyes were wild, pupils blown so wide they'd swallowed the blue. "It makes sense," I said softly. "I know exactly what you mean."
He kissed me again, slower this time. His tongue traced the seam of my lips, and I opened for him without hesitation. The taste of chocolate still lingered between us, sweet and dark, and I wanted to bottle this moment—the weight of him above me, the warmth of his mouth, the way the world had shrunk to fit just the two of us.
I pulled at his shirt, tugging the fabric free from his waistband. He broke the kiss just long enough to yank it over his head, tossing it somewhere into the darkness of the room. My hands found his chest, spreading across the broad expanse of muscle, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath my palm.
"Three weeks," I whispered, tracing the line of his collarbone. "That's too long."
"Agreed." He caught my wrist, pressing a kiss to the inside of it. "Which is why I'm not planning on leaving this bed until Monday."
"James—"
"I mean it." His voice dropped, that gravelly register that made my toes curl. "I'm not letting you out of my sight for the entire weekend. You're going to get so sick of me you'll be begging me to go back to work."
I laughed, but it came out breathless. "That's a big promise."
"I'm a man of my word." He ducked his head, pressing a kiss to the hollow of my throat. "But first, I need to taste you properly."
His mouth trailed lower, trailing fire down my sternum, my ribs, the soft curve of my stomach. I shivered as his hands pushed my dress higher, exposing more skin to the cool air. He paused at my hip, pressing a kiss to the jut of bone there, his breath warm against my belly.
"James." His name came out strangled, half plea, half prayer.
He looked up at me from beneath his lashes, that slow smile curling his lips. "Yes, love?"
"Stop teasing."
"Make me."
I reached down and grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling him up until his mouth crashed against mine. He growled—actually growled—a sound that rumbled through his chest and straight into my core. His hands hooked under my knees, spreading me open, settling between my thighs like he belonged there.
He did.
"Last chance to change your mind," he breathed against my lips.
"Never."
He kissed me again, deep and consuming, and then he moved. I gasped as he slid into me, the sensation so sharp and sweet it stole my breath. He stilled, letting me adjust, his forehead pressed against mine, jaw clenched tight.
"You okay?" His voice was strained.
"Perfect." I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Move."
He did. Slow at first, a gentle rhythm that built like a tide. Then faster, harder, each thrust driving me higher until I was clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in a world gone liquid. His hand slipped between us, finding that spot with practiced precision, and I shattered.
The orgasm crashed over me in waves, pulling a cry from my throat that I couldn't have held back if I'd tried. James followed moments later, his body shuddering above me, his face buried in my neck as he came with a groan that sounded like my name and a prayer.
We lay there afterward, tangled and breathless, the ceiling fan spinning lazily above us. His weight pressed me into the mattress, but I didn't want him to move. I wanted to stay like this forever, skin to skin, heart to heart.
"That was—" I started.
"Don't ruin it by talking." He lifted himself onto his elbows, peering down at me with a lazy grin. A lock of hair fell across his forehead, and I reached up to brush it aside.
"Ruin it? I was going to say it was incredible."
"Oh." He ducked his head, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth. "Then by all means, continue."
I laughed, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep and happy. "You're ridiculous."
"Ridiculously good in bed, you mean."
"That too."
He rolled off me, landing on his back beside me with a contented sigh. The bed dipped, the sheets tangled around our legs, and I turned on my side to study him. The lines of his face had softened, the tension he'd walked in with melting away under the heat of our reunion. He looked younger like this, unguarded in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.
"I missed this," I said quietly. "Not just the sex. This." I gestured vaguely at the space between us. "Talking in the dark. Being able to reach out and touch you whenever I want."
He turned his head, meeting my eyes. "I know. I missed it too." He reached over, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "The quiet moments were the worst. Coming back to an empty hotel room every night. Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, just... thinking about you."
"What were you thinking about?"
"What you were wearing. Whether you were eating properly. Whether you were thinking about me too." He paused. "I know that's stupid."
"It's not stupid." I moved closer, pressing my body against his side. He looped an arm around me, pulling me into the crook of his shoulder. "I was thinking about you too. I wore that dress you like to the grocery store on Tuesday. Just because it made me feel closer to you."
He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. "I love that you told me that."
"I love that you're home."
We lay there in silence for a long moment. The house settled around us, creaking and sighing like it was content to have him back too. Outside, the last light of the sunset had faded into full dark, leaving the room bathed in shadow.
"I should probably eat something," James said eventually. "I haven't had a real meal since the airport."
"I made brownies."
"I know. I can still taste them." He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. "But I was thinking more along the lines of actual food. Something with protein. Vegetables, maybe."
I wrinkled my nose. "Vegetables are gross."
"You're gross."
"You love me."
"I do." He said it simply, without irony, and the weight of it settled warm in my chest. "God help me, I do."
I reached up and pulled him down for another kiss, softer this time.
The brownies were long forgotten by the time we finally made it back to the kitchen. We'd drifted to sleep somewhere around midnight, only to wake an hour later to the sound of his stomach growling. I'd laughed at him, pulling him up by the hand, leading him through the dark house to the kitchen, where I flipped on the light to reveal the mess I'd left behind.
"Christ," he said, surveying the flour-covered counters. "Did you bake for an army?"
"Just for one very hungry man." I pulled him toward the fridge, opening the door and gesturing dramatically. "I have chicken. I have vegetables. I have leftover pasta from Tuesday."
He peered over my shoulder, his chin resting on my head. "What about those brownies?"
"They're on the counter. You can have one for dessert. If you're good."
"I'm always good."
"You're never good." I turned in his arms, looping mine around his neck. "But you're mine, and that's what matters."
He kissed me, sweet and quick. "I am. Always."