Page 54 of The Death of Kisses

“Later,” she said softly, her eyes sparkling with a secret that made my pulse quicken. “I’ve got something way cooler upstairs.”

A flicker of confusion crossed my face for just a moment, but I trusted her entirely, following her lead with a grin that couldn’t disguise my curiosity. She was practically buzzing with excitement, and my heart was pulled into her joy.

In the loft, a stunning king-sized bed beckoned, its plush softness wrapping us in a cocoon of comfort that felt like an embrace from the universe itself.

“Oh my god, this is the nicest bed ever!” I laughed, sinking into its plush pillows as Charlie rolled onto her stomach, her face lighting up as she looked down at me.

“Right? It’s really incredible,” she giggled, nudging my cheek with her finger, her smile glowing brighter than the sun.

“Guess what else it’s good for, huh?”

I squeaked in surprise as her lips brushed my neck, planting feathery, delicate kisses that made me giggle uncontrollably, her touch sending tingles zipping through me like lightning—an irresistible mix of tenderness and thrill that made my whole body feel alive.

Charlie playfully pinned my arms above my head, her lips brushing against mine in a teasing, fiery kiss that ignited every nerve in my body. Her grip tightened with an almost maddening intensity, sending a thrill—and a rush of longing—straight through me.

“Charlie,” I breathlessly pleaded between those fiery kisses, but she was lost in her own world, her eyes closed as she nipped and sucked on my lower lip, her touch both maddening and undeniable.

A soft, involuntary whimper escaped me, a plea for air as her grip grew even more relentless. She immediately pulled back, her eyes shining with a mischievous, magnetic energy.

“Sorry, I got carried away,” she murmured softly, her smile warm and tender as she pressed a gentle kiss to my nose.

I couldn’t help but smile, shaking my head while laughter bubbled up from within me. “It’s okay.”

But in her gaze, I saw something deeper—an intensity that made my heart race. Sometimes, it felt like she was looking right through me—seeing someone I’d never become, or someone she’d already lost.

Later, when we returned downstairs, Charlie dove into unpacking with a quiet focus that told me she was trying to settle her thoughts. I stretched, wandering around the small front room toward the kitchen, eager to explore every corner of this cozy little haven.

“I’m going to explore,” I called out, a thrill in my voice.

Without missing a beat, Charlie stood up, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “I’ll come with you.”

I chuckled, amused. “Charlie, it’s just a cabin.”

“I know,” she said softly.

“I can walk around by myself,” I insisted, feeling a flicker of independence.

But she smiled warmly, her voice gentle yet unwavering. “Humor me.”

We clasped hands as we wandered through each room, our fingers intertwined. I paused at times, mesmerized by the elegant curves of the built-in furniture, as if every detail of this cabin was crafted with love—and a longing for perfection that somehow made everything feel even more special.

“Promise me you'll stay close enough that I can see you always,” Charlie's voice was gentle, a tender whisper as she brushed her lips softly against my hand, her eyes filled with a quiet desperation. I laughed, trying to brush off the ache in my chest, “You’re ridiculous.” But her smile only deepened, warm and unwavering, as she replied with a tenderness that made my heart race, “I know.”

“I promise.”

42

COOKING FOR IDIOTS

Present day - November 21st - Town of Ashwood - Population 1,576 - 18 yrs old

The glow of the sunset from the cabin is etched into my soul—something I will carry with me always, a timeless masterpiece no one could ever truly recreate or replace. Anna slept peacefully on the couch, her gentle breath whispers of innocence, while I stumbled through preparing dinner, chasing a hope to give her something warm and nourishing. I had no real plan, no experience to speak of, but my only desire was to see her smile with a full stomach before everything else faded into the background. In my attempts, I overcooked the pasta, filling the air with a harsh, unforgiving burn that woke Anna with a jolt.

“Do you want me to cook?” she murmured softly, her sleepy eyes fluttering open as she leaned her head against my shoulder, yawning as innocence met exhaustion.

The pasta was discarded—forgotten in my clumsy attempt at caring—replaced by a simple craving for something genuine. I reached into the fridge for hotdogs, the humble comfort I knew she’d love, grabbing buns from the cabinet as my heart beat faster in anticipation of our little escape.

“Nah," I said, a genuine smile breaking through the chaos. "Let’s go down to the lake. There’s a firepit, and fire-roasted hotdogs are simply the best anyway.” I handed her two skewers, eyes shining with a quiet excitement.