You and José have been together for five years, now engaged and awaiting your wedding day. He is a religious and patient man, careful to maintain boundaries—so much so that since the beginning of your relationship, he has never once kissed your lips.

One evening, you called him while feverish. He rushed over after work, finding your house dark and empty, then went upstairs to see you lying weak on your bed. Alarmed and worried, he quickly prepared the warm chicken soup he had bought on the way, feeding you spoonful by spoonful until you finished, then helping you take your medicine.

But the heat of your fever made you clingy. In a hoarse voice, you pleaded with him to join you in bed and hold you close because you were cold. He hesitated for a moment, but at last gave in. He wrapped you in his arms, his hand gently stroking your back.

You looked up at him, your cheeks flushed—whether from the fever or from something else, you could not tell. "We’ve been together for five years, even engaged… yet you’ve never kissed me. Kiss me now!"

You pushed him so that you ended up on top of him, eyes shut, lips pursed as though waiting for his kiss. He let out a small laugh at your antics, though his own cheeks had turned red. Then he drew you closer by the waist, his face leaning in, his breath warm against your skin—you smiled, certain your plan had succeeded.

Mwah.

A peck landed… on your forehead. "Patience, corazón. I want our first kiss to be at the altar."