by L. A. Witt
He held his breath and I held mine, the universe coming to a complete halt as our hands made contact. He watched his fingers wrap around mine. A silent, breathless eternity passed before I convinced my own fingers to respond. They laced between his and closed, completing this subtle reconnection.
Then he looked at me, and we both smiled. He touched my face gently, drawing me closer with only his fingertips. The warmth of his breath on my skin made me shiver, and it was only then that I caught the vague hint of mint. Probably gum he’d chewed on the way down the sidewalk. The cigarette he’d had outside must have been an afterthought, a last-ditch effort to settle his nerves, even if it diminished the effect of the mint.
But still, the mint was there. He may not have known he was going to kiss me, but he’d hoped to.
And now that he was so close I could almost taste him, I realized I’d hoped, from the second his Zippo lighter had broken the silence earlier, that he’d kiss me.
“Zach, I need to give you something,” he said, drawing me still closer. “Something I should have given you a long time ago.”
Our lips were nearly touching, but I managed to say, “And that is?”
Just before he kissed me, he whispered:
“Everything.”
About the Author
To learn more about L.A. Witt, please visit www.loriawitt.com. Send an email to [email protected].
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