The sound of distant pots and low kitchen music filtered up the stairs, but neither of them had moved since the earlier talk.
Izan, still lay stretched on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other lazily wrapped around Olivia's waist.
She was trying—not very hard—to wiggle out of it.
"You promised," she said, voice muffled against the pillow.
"We said we'd go down five minutes ago."
"I did say that."
"Liar."
"I meant it at the time."
She turned her face toward him, cheeks still warm from earlier.
"Izan."
He didn't answer right away.
Just leaned in and kissed the curve of her cheek.
Soft.
Then her jaw.
Then the corner of her mouth.
She tried not to smile—failed.
"Izan…"
Then her lips, this time longer.
Slower.
When he pulled back, she blinked at him once before he dropped a final kiss to her forehead, then dipped to the base of her neck.
"Okay—enough," she said through a half-laugh, shoving at his chest.
