Ritual.

She grinned like she had the pleasure of a secret. Lovely to see you. He pecked her lightly on the cheek and felt the suede warmth of her flesh. Closing his eyes and pressing his lips a little firmer, surprised with the elevating pleasure of the exchange, he inhaled and was mildly perturbed to discover the scent she wore – or had worn today – was the same fragrance his daughter favoured. But she must be three times her age? He kissed her face harder still, confused, put off his stride. His lips widened just enough for his tongue to emerge and faintly taste skin and perfume mingling with a mysterious womanly concoction of powders and creams. She stiffened; her grin waned. He looked away and mumbled a weak apology, his mouth dry with embarrassment. The moment had become horribly awkward, as social rituals do if you repeat them often enough.