Hubby and I scuttled through the pouring rain. You were waiting under the restaurant canopy. Hubby dashed inside to dry off.
We stood, face to face. You looked into my eyes and smiled.
And all at once, out of nowhere, my courage soared. I drew you into a hug, tilted my face up, body to body, face to face, eye to eye.
Startled, you gave me a peck on the cheek, and started to pull away.
“No,” I commanded, “properly.”
Your jaw dropped, your eyes widened. You glanced over your shoulder at the restaurant.
“You know, whenever I say anything that shocks or surprises you, you say ‘really’, twice, just like that.”
“I do? I…”
“No words. Just kiss me. Like this.”
I pulled your head down, ran my tongue over your closed lips. And wonder of wonders, your lips parted, and we kissed, really kissed, pressed together, tongues questing.
And it was glorious.
Slowly we drew apart, astonished, elated, aroused.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for twenty years,” I said.
We cracked up laughing.
“I love you. Always have. Day one.”
You managed to look even more surprised.
“Day one. Fell off a cliff. But… you have a husband. I have a husband. And we love them. And we’re committed. Which is fine. So…” I gazed into your still astonished eyes. “I just wanted you to know. I just wanted the one kiss. Before it’s all over. Before the end.”
And then you kissed me again.