I find myself leaning back simply to test if he’ll hold me up. He does. One of his hands rests on my hip now, the other on the counter. I turn my head to look at him, and his face is so close.

Tilting my chin up, I press a soft kiss to his lips and whisper, “Thanks.”

When he opens his mouth to reply, I realize what I just did. Oh, crap. I struggle to get away, but his fingers curl tighter into the material of my pants, preventing my escape.

We agreed that kissing is okay to sell the relationship, but we haven’t done it since that practice one. And I didn’t even do this for Elise’s benefit. In fact, I completely forgot she was in the room.

I did it because it felt natural.

Craaaap.

Travis brings his free hand up to my face, thumb brushing along my jaw. Then he kisses my temple and says softly, right by my ear, “Any time.”

When he releases me and takes a step back so I can move, I turn to find that Elise has removed the cookies from the oven and is now fixing herself a cup of tea, seemingly minding her own business. I grab a large plate and a spatula and begin plating up the cookies, trying to appear unaffected by what just happened.

“Are you okay, Brenden?” Elise asks.

It takes me a second to realize she’s referring to how I burned myself. Not to how I kissed Travis, which was arguably even more stupid. “Yup, all good,” I tell her.

“We should put some burn ointment on it,” Travis suggests.

“Who the heck keeps burn ointment in their house?” I ask.

Elise tsks. “You should always keep a fully stocked first aid kit in the house, especially when you have children.”

Great. She’s found another way in which I’m a failure as a father.

Travis gives me an apologetic look. “I’m only used to having it around because burns happen all the time at the diner. Hazard of the business. I’ll bring you some to keep here.”

He’s moved on from me kissing him like it wasn’t at all weird. Maybe he’s a better actor than I would’ve suspected.

“Should we go pick out a movie?” Elise asks. “Hopefully their game will be finished soon.”

In agreement with her, I grab the cookies to bring into the living room. Before I can make it two steps, though, Travis swoops in and takes the plate from me. “For safety,” he teases.

“I’m perfectly capable of carrying one plate,” I insist, doing my best to look annoyed.

“I know you are, baby,” he says patronizingly.

I want to continue this bantering, but my mind gets stuck on the word baby.