The second we were clear of the stairs, she turned on her heel and launched herself into my arms.
I locked her there, locked my lips to hers, breathed in the smell of her soap and shampoo and her. She smelled like books and paper, like fresh laundry and the gentle sweetness of baby powder.
She smelled like mine. The week since I’d held her last was gone with one deep inhale.
Her arms threaded around my neck, mine around her waist, and when I stood straight, I kept ahold of her. Her feet dangled, toes inches from the ground. I knew because they thumped my shins as I hurried toward my bedroom, kicking the door closed behind me.
I’d thought to ask her where she wanted to be, but I couldn’t be bothered to break the kiss. So I opted for my room where we’d gone every time, guessing it was be
