Simon’s halfway through brushing his teeth when you walk past, pause, and lean in to kiss his cheek. Toothpaste still foaming in his mouth, he nearly chokes.

You smirk, shameless. “Morning,” you say, like that explains anything.

He squints at you in the mirror, brow furrowed. Something’s off.

By the time you make it to the kitchen, he’s already there, coffee in hand, leaning against the counter. You walk right up, cup his jaw, and kiss him again. Not a quick peck, either — a slow, lingering kiss that leaves him blinking like you’ve knocked a thought loose.

“Love?” he asks, wary now.

“Hmm?” you reply, like nothing’s unusual.

You carry on like normal — or at least try to. Stirring eggs? Kiss over his shoulder. Unloading the dishwasher? Quick kiss to the side of his neck. Reaching for the laundry detergent? You sneak up behind him, lips brushing the soft skin just below his ear.

By noon, you’ve kissed him at least seven times, each one catching him completely off guard. Not that he’s complaining. Far from it. But still—he’s watching you now, like he’s trying to figure out what game you’re playing.

You press another kiss to the corner of his mouth as you pass by, and he finally stops you.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you say, sweet and innocent. “Can’t a woman just enjoy kissing her husband?”

He gives you a look. “Sure. But this much? You’ve been on a mission since breakfast.”

You grin. “And you’ve loved every second.”

He opens his mouth, probably to argue — then closes it again, sheepish. “Maybe.”

You just smile and let him stew in the mystery.

It’s not until that evening, when he glances over at your phone screen and sees the notification, that it all clicks.

June 22: National Kissing Day! Pucker up! 💋

“…You’re unbelievable,” he mutters.