Mate.
Mine.
I stare at the little streak of chocolate.
Then at her whiskey-colored eyes.
She's watching me.
Waiting.
I lean closer.
“Tell me to stop, Honey.”
The words come out rough.
Barely louder than the waves.
Her breathing catches.
Those beautiful eyes dance with equal parts curiosity and mischief.
“I don't want you to.”
That is all I need.
I close the distance carefully.
Giving her every chance to change her mind.
She doesn't.
Our lips meet.
Softly.
Tentatively.
Like we're both discovering something we've waited our entire lives to find.
The world disappears.
The waves.
The boardwalk.
The motorcycles roaring down the avenue.
Everything fades.
There is only her.
She tastes like chocolate and summer.
Like hope.
Like every lonely year of my life has finally found its purpose.
