Lara stepped into the kitchen. She walked over to the counter, her bare feet making no sound on the hardwood floor. Instead of keeping her distance like she had the day before, she slid right up next to me, leaning her hip against the counter.
She looked down at the golden-brown pancake in the skillet, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
"Rosie would be proud," she murmured, her voice still carrying that low, husky edge from sleep. She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against my bare forearm as she leaned closer to inspect the stove setting.
The brief contact felt like a direct current of electricity shooting straight up my arm. My muscles flexed instinctively, my chest expanding as I fought the urge to drop the spatula, wrap my arms around her waist, an
