“I don’t know.” I shrug, not wanting to sound stupid but absolutely feeling it either way. “You touch her, and you pay all your attention to her and—”
He’s smiling now, pleased. Like he knew all along what he does with her, and he just wanted to make me say it out loud.
“You don’t like it,” he says, frowning a little, thinking about it. And it may be worth noting that I think he’s really, actually thinking about it.
I put my nose in the air, indignant. “No.”
He lifts his eyebrows a tiny bit. “Were you jealous?”
I purse my lips, feeling stupid again and hating it. “Yes.”
Peter nods once, frowning, as he licks his bottom lip. “What’s that word you say that’s for thimbles? But it’s the fake word, not the real word?”
I give him a look and a curt smile. “Thimbles is the fake word. Kissing is the real word.”
He blows air out of his mouth. “Kissing’s not a real word.”
“It definitely is.” I nod emphatically.
He gives me a look like I’m an idiot. “A kiss goes on your finger.”
“A kiss can go anywhere!”
“Well, I’d like to put one on your mouth,” he tells me unflinchingly.
“Oh,” I say rather quietly. I swallow, my heart suddenly bouncing around like a bird trying to get out of a cage. “Now?”
He takes a step closer towards me, swallows once himself. “Yes.”
“Okay.” I nod.
He tilts his head. “Ready?”
I just nod. I don’t have words left in my body now, just jitters.
And then he just stands there.
He doesn’t do…anything. He stands there, toe-to-toe with me, eyes open and staring at me.
I stare up at him. “You said you’ve kissed lots of girls.”
“I have.” He breathes out, looking confused and frustrated. “This is different.”
“Why?” I ask, and my voice sounds quiet. Nervous, maybe.
Peter shrugs. “Just is.”
“Okay.” I nod. “Do you know what to do?”
He scowls at me. “Course I do.”
I stare up at him, his eyes rounder than they were a moment ago.
“Okay.” I flash him a quick smile and take his left hand. “Well, as you’d know then, your hand goes on my waist, here, like this—” I place it on me.
Peter nods once. Swallows. “And this hand?”
“Here, if you like.” I wrap it around my lower back.
He nods again.
“My hand”—I lift it up to his cheek, laying it on it gently—“will go here.”
“Just like I knew it,” he says, voice low and throaty.
He swallows, and I get on my tiptoes.
“And then, of course, you close your eyes,” I whisper, and his eyes squeeze shut.
I stare at him for a few seconds, lock it away in the keepsake box in my mind, make sure I remember forever the splendor of the moment, how he looks right now, this tender clash of innocence and growing up.
And then, slowly, I press my lips against his.
I feel the sea kicking up around our ankles, and the sand under out feet pulls away and it feels like I’m sinking—maybe I am?—the smell of flowers blooming, and I swear to you, I felt butterflies flapping against our cheeks, kissing us as we kiss each other.
It’s slow and gentle and sweet. There aren’t fireworks, no big bang—just my kite-shaped heart floating up, up and away into a Botticelli sky.
“Whoa!” He pulls back a bit. “You’re good at that.”
I sniff a laugh. “Thank you.”
He frowns a little. “Now you say I’m good too.”
I roll my eyes, amused. “You’re good too.”
He cracks a smile, and I think the sun climbs back a bit higher into the sky again.
And this was the night he stopped building the pillow wall between us.
* * *
* Do you know what I mean? The kind that can feel almost too warm at times, yet it is the most beautiful, intoxicating summer’s day so you’ll never leave it.
* Though admittedly increasingly less so as the days trickle on.
? Haven’t I?
? I clean my teeth with sand and chew on mint leaves afterwards.
* Rye.
? Calla.
? Peter.
CHAPTER
SIX
It doesn’t take long for Peter’s kisses to get more and better and longer and braver. Their occurrences become more frequent, and the placement of his hands gets bolder as the days breeze by us. It is funny though, no matter what he does or how he kisses me, he still can’t quite seem to catch my kiss.