Page 118 of That Rush

His mouth curves. “I’m adaptable.”

I laugh softly, mindful of the sleeping six-year-old down the hall. Aiden’s hand spreads against my lower back. He moves with the same quiet confidence he applies to ranch work, making dancing in my kitchen feel perfectly ordinary.

My cheek settles against his chest. His heartbeat is a steady, unhurried rhythm against my ear.

“Josie was serious earlier,” he says.

“About the fish?”

“About making this a Friday thing.”

I lift my head. “She asked. She didn’t demand a binding contract.”

“She saves those for bedtime.”

“Smart. People are weaker when they’re tired.”

His thumb moves along my spine. “Would it bother you?”

The question is careful. Not an assumption. Not a plan he’s already made on my behalf.

“I haven’t figured that out yet.”

“Fair.”

“You’re supposed to argue.”

“Would it help?”

“No.”

“Then I’m learning.”

I study his face. “Fridays used to be the night I recovered from everyone needing something from me.”

His hand stills. “And now?”

“Now you show up with an overpacked cooler, and Josie reorganizes my porch chairs according to her current reading preferences.”

“We can give you more space.”

The offer comes without disappointment sharpened into guilt. That makes honesty far more dangerous.

“I don’t want more space.” I slide my fingers into the hair at his nape. “You and Josie have become my favorite interruption.”

Aiden stops moving.

The admission hangs in the air, surprising me as much as him. “Interruption to my routine. That’s what I meant.”

His gaze drops to my mouth. “Too late, lady.”

“Aiden.”

He cups my jaw and kisses me.

There is no teasing in it. His mouth moves over mine with a slow, deep intensity that pulls my fingers tight in his hair. I rise against him and kiss him back, opening when his tongue strokes across mine.

The music plays on. The sink is still running. Aiden reaches past me and shuts off the faucet, never lifting his mouth from mine.