Page 6 of July
Eventually, he slows and helps me stop. I remain seated on the hard swing as he moves around to stand in front of me. Deciding to be completely honest and vulnerable, I tell him, “I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun.”
“Me neither,” he admits quietly, surprising me. I want to know more about his life––like why he is divorced from the mother of his child––but it seems too soon to ask such probing questions.
When he holds his hand out to help me stand, I gladly accept it. He doesn’t let it go when we begin walking, and I don’t have the strength to pull it away. We only take a few steps before he stops abruptly and turns to face me.
“Remember this spot?” he asks.
“You know I do, but I’m surprised that you remember.” I would never forget the exact location of our first kiss many years ago when he gallantly handed me a giant chocolate Hershey’s Kiss––my favorite candy––then pressed his lips to mine. It was an impossibly sweet gesture that completely stole my heart. I still think of him every time I pop a bite-sized Kiss into my mouth, which is fairly frequently, since I keep a bowl of the silver-wrapped candies on my kitchen counter, work desk, and bedside table.
“I could never forget,” he assures me in a husky voice.
When he angles his head to the side and tips down, my lips ache to feel his brush against them. It’s a familiar rush of desire, even though it’s been so long since we kissed each other.
Knowing I won’t have the willpower to stop him if we follow through on the kiss, I press my palm lightly to his chest as I say, “We can’t.”
He immediately stops his forward progression, even though my touch is light as a feather on his firm chest. “Wecan, but we won’t unless you want it, too.”
I want it more than anything in the world, but I’m not brave enough to risk my heart by admitting that to him.
