Your morning routine was sacred—a carefully curated ritual of skincare, foundation, and precision. Standing in front of the mirror, you were in the zone, a makeup brush in one hand and a palette in the other. Rafe stood nearby, leaning against the doorway, watching you with a lazy grin.

“You’ve been at this for an hour, babe,” he teased, stepping into the bathroom.

You didn’t look up, focused on blending the blush into perfection. “And it’s going to take another hour if you keep distracting me.”

Rafe chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. He pressed a kiss to the side of your neck. “I’m not distracting. I’m just admiring.”

“Admire from over there,” you replied playfully, tilting your head away so he wouldn’t mess up your work.

But Rafe wasn’t deterred. “Come on,” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Just one kiss.”

You sighed dramatically, turning your face slightly toward him. “If I give you one, will you let me finish?”

“Maybe,” he smirked, leaning in to claim his prize.

The kiss was soft, lingering longer than necessary. When you pulled back, he grinned, his thumb brushing the corner of your lip where your lipstick had smudged. “Oops.”

“Rafe!” you scolded, laughing despite yourself as you turned back to the mirror to fix it.

Later, in the kitchen, you were focused on dinner, carefully stirring a pot on the stove. Rafe appeared again, his hair slightly messy, a boyish smile on his face.

“Hey, chef,” he said, coming up behind you. “Need a taste tester?”

“Not yet,” you replied without turning around.

“How about a kiss, then?”

“Rafe Cameron,” you said, exasperated. “You’re like a child.”

“Exactly. A child in need of affection,” he quipped, spinning you around gently and planting a kiss on your forehead.

Despite your protests, you couldn’t help but smile. He had this way of softening you, of making you feel like the most adored person in the world.