Page 4 of Taming Georgia

“I have to go,” he says, this time with quiet remorse.

I know he wants to kiss me again just as much as I want him to.

“Okay,” I whisper.

He steps back, tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear. “Can I see you this weekend?”

My heart beats wildly within my chest. “I’d love that. Yes.”

“Do you know where Gallop Park is?”

I nod.

“I can meet you there at six. At the bench beneath the overpass by the river, at the far entrance. Do you know where that is?”

I know exactly where it is. My sister and I have ridden our bikes past that bench many times.

“I do,” I answer him.

“Okay then, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He smiles, and it sets my soul on fire.

“Six o’clock,” I say.

“Six o’clock.” He squeezes my hand before opening the study room door and walking out.

I let the door close behind him and lean against it.

I just kissed Wyatt Gates, and I want to do it again and again.

That was the best first kiss in the history of first kisses. I’m sure that I’m one of the last juniors in high school to experience a first kiss—another downfall of always moving around. I suppose I’ve never gotten close enough to someone to want them to kiss me. But now, I know it’s because I was waiting for Wyatt.

His lips were meant to be the first ones to kiss mine, and he was worth the wait.

A warm breeze rustles the multihued leaves of the trees. Some of them drop from the branches, swaying to the ground like yellow, red, and orange snowflakes. The sun sits low in the sky, its rays giving the leaves that remain in the trees a golden glow.

I’ve lived in a lot of places, and I can honestly say that autumn in Michigan is absolutely incredible. When I grow up, I want to live somewhere that has a fall season.

My toes tap anxiously against the ground as I pull out my cell phone to recheck the time.

Six thirty.

He’s late, and it’s making me nervous. He should be here.

He’ll be here.

Taking deep breaths, I attempt to bring myself to center, to calm my nerves. I take note of the beauty that surrounds me—the running river that splashes against the gray rocks, the color of the leaves of the grand oak trees, and the refreshing warmth of the wind that’s dancing halfway between summer and winter as it tickles my skin.

It’s a picturesque day, and it’s only going to get better when Wyatt gets here, which he will.

But he doesn’t.

I meant to ask him for his cell phone number at the library yesterday, but somewhere between the deafening echo of my heartbeats and the way in which his stare captured me so intensely, stealing my breath after our lips parted, I forgot. Surely, if I had it, I could text him, and all would be explained. He would tell me that he was on his way.

Of course he’s on his way.

I simply need to be patient and just stay right where I am, where he told me to be, until he comes.

I wait until the sun sets to the west, and darkness takes over. I remain until the wind turns cold without the sun’s warmth. I wait until I’m too chilly to wait any longer. And he still doesn’t come.

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