“Are you just saying that?”
“I would never joke about picnic food.”
We filled our plates. While we ate, Dorian shared stories about his adventures here as a boy and then a teen. “Had my first kiss right here,” he said. “Sheila Camp.”
“Really? How old were you?”
“Fifteen. She was sixteen. Total cougar.”
I laughed as I tore off a piece of chicken from the breast I’d chosen. “Was it a successful kiss?”
“I’m not sure one would describe it that way, no. She kind of kissed with her mouth clamped shut. There was no getting in there. Kind of like a closed clam shell. I would have needed a special tool to pry it open.”
“So you just pressed your mouths against each other? I don’t know if that counts.”
“It was lip to lip contact,” Dorian said. “Which meant it counted to my buddies and me.”
I stacked a piece of cheese onto an apple slice and handed it to him. “Try this.”
He popped it in his mouth. “Excellent pairing.”
“Like us?”
“Ms. Delacroix, are you flirting with me?”
“I’m just hoping to get one of those clam shell kisses later.”
He chuckled, and leaned closer. “I could give you one now, if you don’t mind the taste of lingering cheddar.”
“I guess that would be okay.”
He kissed me, and there was no need for any additional effort on his part. My lips opened just fine. And I kissed him back, as if I’d been born to do so. Hedidtaste of cheddar, and I didn’t mind at all.
“I’d say you’ve improved since the clam shell kiss,” I said.
“Let’s hope so.” He leaned back, peering at me in the dim light. “What about you? First kiss?”
“Well, technically it was when I was thirteen, but that was an accident.”
“Accident?”
“I didn’t know what happened in the closet,” I said.
“Wait? What?” His tone turned to concern. “Did someone force you?”
“Not exactly forced, no. It was a game of truth or dare. Melanie Smith’s thirteenth birthday party. There were boys there, obviously. It was Robert Sykes’ turn and he chose a dare, which was to take the girl of his choice into the closet. He chose me. Which kind of thrilled me a little. I was beyond nerdy at that age. Bad haircut. Braces on my teeth. Not exactly the popular girl type. And like I said, I had no idea what it meant if you and a boy were sent into the closet. So there I was, standing in the dark—couldn’t see a thing—and all of the sudden I feel this wet mouth on mine and his tongue trying to poke its way through. Unlike your first, I didn’t know to keep my mouth closed and he got in there. He tasted like cherry soda, which wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Regardless, I screamed and practically knocked him over as I burst through the door. Everyone was still in the circle, only now they were staring at me.”
“You poor thing. Were you all right?”
The concern in his tone touched me. “I was fine. Mad and embarrassed, but I shrugged it off like it was nothing. The way kids do. But I went home after that. I had to walk because my mother was always drunk by eight.”
“Was it far?”
“No, just a mile to the trailer park where we lived. Melanie lived in town, two blocks from the middle school.”
“Where was this?” Dorian asked.
“A small, rural town not far from Fresno,” I said. “I couldn’t wait to get out of there. That was all I thought about in those days. I got a scholarship to art school in San Francisco. I left and never went back.”
