Fiction: The kiss

I am laughing hard at something you just said. Your characteristic dry humour. Your ability to lighten up any situation. Your sheer optimism. They all attract me to you like a moth to flame. I know I should step back. But I find myself unable to do it. So we meet. Again and again. Coffee dates, walks on the beach…and sometimes we just sit on the shoreline and talk. Long conversations about everything under the blue skies. It’s the same today. Except that it’s not. You’re sitting just an inch closer to me than you usually do. You’re chatting animatedly and our arms brush. You pause. It’s a second, but it’s definitely a pause.

Today we’re in a cafe just across the beach. You casually lace your fingers around mine. Like it’s not a deliberate thing. Like it’s muscle memory. From some previous lifetime. I let you. I enjoy the feel of your fingers as you continue to talk to me. Your fingers tease the inside of my palm. Gently. Absently. And then suddenly, you stop talking. I look up at you, puzzled. You lean forward in your seat and look into my eyes. I can’t stop myself. I lean towards you. You caress my face gently. I close my eyes. And I feel the warmth of your kiss. At first gentle. Tentative. And then more urgent. More needy. And I savour the experience I return your kisses. That’s the beginning. Only the beginning