The First Kiss
Enjoying the warm caress of the sun, we sat on the bench, watching the people stroll along the bank.
The soft ripples of the river carried something soothing in the air, an exhilarating feeling of tranquillity.
A gentle breeze played with my curls and the hem of my dress.
And the chocolate flavour melting in my mouth was my cherry on top.
“Shit!” Miles suddenly muttered under his breath, his tongue chasing down the long minty drips. “Mmm.”
What the hell? That scene practically made me catch my breath, wondering what it would be like to become that scoop of ice cream he’s holding in his hand. Or taste those frosty mouthwatering lips…I wouldn’t even mind the flavour… Well, maybe I would, but suddenly I didn’t care about it at all.
“It’s slowly turning into a milkshake!” he laughed, catching me staring at him. “Wanna bite?” he teased, offering his ‘fresh mint delight’.
“God, no! That’s gross!” I scoffed with a chuckle. “I assure you, I’d rather starve to death,” I giggled, raising an eyebrow at his cone, “than take that to my mouth.” You, on the other hand… Ugh! Good lord, Florence! I gave my head a little shake. Did you get a brain freeze or something?
“What’s with the newspaper?” he asked, as the wind ruffled a few of its pages on the bench beside me.
“Oh, that!” I smiled. “What’s your zodiac sign?”
“Seriously?” he glanced at me.
“Yeah.” I shook my head. “We are totally going to read our horoscope.”
Miles cocked his eyebrow at me, staring.
“Oh, come on? Please don’t make me read all of these and guess.”
“Fine,” he sighed. “Gemini.”
“Alright then, let’s see what the stars have to say about you,” I mumbled with the paper in my hands. “Oh, here it is.” I cleared my throat, my eyes following the Times New Roman font lines of some local daily news gazette. “Careful there, if you feel the urge to cut your hair—don’t!”
“Is that it?” he asked.
“That seems to be all,” I sighed, a little disappointed. “But I wouldn’t disagree.” Glancing at his fingers brushing through the shiny silver locks, I said, “I like it just like that.”
“Oh, wow.” A smile lit up his face. “There is actually one thing you like about me?”
“Well, maybe one,” I muttered, playfully rolling my eyes. “Anyway—” I shifted on the bench to face him. “—I have a question for you.”
“Shoot.” He too scooted closer.
“Why are you staying at my parents’? I get it, you came for the wedding. But two weeks in that house? Did Jo or Mark not warn you about my vicious mother?”
“Oh, come on, she isn’t that bad.”
“Excuse me, what?” My jaw dropped at once.
“Did that just really come out of your mouth? Wait, are we even talking about the same person? Because I definitely meant my mother, Elizabeth. Who did you think I was referring to? And,” confused at his reaction, I blurted, “why are you smiling at me like that?”
“There is something.” His hand deliberately reached for my face.
“What are you doing?” A jolt of panic shot through me and I jerked back, my brows cocked in confusion as I met his gaze.
“Chocolate,” he murmured with a faint smile playing on his lips.
“Oh!” I blinked a few times, staring at him. Leaning closer, he carefully brushed his thumb over the corner of my mouth.
“Um…thanks,” I whispered awkwardly, feeling my body slowly go limp and my heart ready to jump out any second now.
“Okay.” He quickly reached for the newspaper. “Your turn now.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” As quickly as I snatched it back, I shot him a pointed look.
“Well, there is not much to tell, really,” he sighed. “Growing up without parents can make you want to feel like part of something, even if it’s just for a fortnight, at someone else’s house.”
“Oh,” I managed, barely whispering.
“That’s why I said yes to staying over at your place.”
I furrowed, looking at him. “Your parents…are they…?”
“Dead? Yeah.”
“Um.” I leaned back, taking his blunt words in. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine, Florence. It was a long time ago and I’d rather not talk about it now.”
“Sure,” I said softly. “We don’t have to.”
“Alright,” he muttered, quickly flipping through the newspaper. “Let’s see what astrology has prepared for you.” Narrowing his gaze at me, he asked, “Your sign, please?”
“Here,” I said, peeking at the zodiac column, “Virgo.”
“Hmm.” He offered a wry smile, quickly leaning back from me.
“What? What is it? Is it something bad?”
“Um.” Clearing his throat, he nodded at me. “Florence.”
“Just read already.”
“Too many cocktails—” He raised an intrigued eyebrow at me, his voice low as he read. “—might lead to some seriously questionable ‘what happened last night?’ moments.”
“What?” I let out a surprised chuckle. “Let me see?”
“You might wanna be careful with the alcohol these days, Florence,” he laughed.
“Oh, shut up. That’s probably not even true.”
“Not true, is it now?” he teased.
“I never said it was.” I rolled my eyes at him.
We sat there for nearly two hours, just talking.
Miles told me about the first race he won, the thrill of crossing the finish line, a taste of the glory he’d imagined on Formula 1 tracks.
But luckily for him, at the right time and place, the right people had noticed him.
And then it all took off; more races, more adrenaline, the devotion to what he loved, the drive, the rush in his veins, the pressure against his body, the threat and, of course, more money.
And once he got just enough, he was finally able to afford the car he’d wanted for half of his life.
And it wasn’t a flashy Ferrari like now.
It was a sleek, silver Porsche 911—the one he’d dreamed of since he was five.
He then apologised once again for the crazy driving the other day and assured me he’d never do anything stupid unless he was sure it was safe.
Which I obviously had my own opinion about, given my occupation.
And, of course, I couldn’t help but point out the speeding ticket he likely got away with had the police been there to catch him, or a confiscated licence, or, worse, an impounded precious Ferrari.
Fine, I was ready to admit, I might have overreacted a tad, but surely he deserved a fine at the very least.
Music came up next in our conversation and I laughed, confessing it was another reason…well, I couldn’t really bring myself to say, “I like you,” so “I don’t hate you for,” seemed a lot less awkward at that moment.
The time seemed to melt away and we just talked, easily, about anything really.
We laughed. Then he watched me tell him my stories, no matter how bizarre some of them were.
He just listened. Of course, not without occasionally raising an eyebrow at me in surprise, but through it all, he was there, present, with me.
Was I enjoying his company? Well, despite all attempts to resist my mother’s schemes, somehow she was still succeeding, because a part of me—a very tiny one—enjoyed every single beat of it.
So there I was, a tangle of conflicting emotions. The past echoed, reminding me how manipulative and controlling my mother was. And now, finally free, an unsettling feeling rose inside me. Was she doing it all over again? Was I willingly stepping into her web I once desperately fought to escape?
***
As we headed home, Miles kept the drive smooth and steady, which I was grateful for.
Hand resting on the rolled-down window, my fingers played an invisible piano against the wind along with the rhythms of our favourite band.
The breeze toyed with my hair, brown locks whipping it into a tangled mess I was yet to deal with.
Suddenly, catching a glimpse of a familiar turn we just passed, my neck snapped back.
“Wait!” I gasped, my eyes quickly travelled to Miles. “Where are we going?”
“Do you trust me?” he asked, looking ahead of the road.
A quiet and hesitant “No?” escaped my lips.
“Seriously?” He glanced at me at once.
“Well, no offence, Miles, but we’ve known each other for four days.”
“Wait.” His gaze flickered between me and the highway stretched in front of us. “You are joking, right?”
“Of course I’m joking, Miles.” I let out a short chuckle. “I might not be ready to share my Netflix password with you or reveal the name of the first boy I kissed, but something tells me you aren’t going to strangle me in the dark woods. Are you?” I added with a tease.
“God, I knew you’d say something like that!” he laughed.
“Oh, did you, now?”
“Yeah.” He shot me a quick glance.
“But seriously, tell me where you’re taking me?” I asked.
“Not if you don’t tell me the name of the first boy you kissed?”
“That is not happening,” I blurted. “Ever.”
“Why? Was it someone called Bartholomew? Or Percival?”
“What?” A sudden burst of laughter escaped me. “Who do you think I kissed? Some old man?”
“Reginald? Algernon? Was it Horace?” he continued.
“Oh my God,” I cried. “Stop it!”
“Come on, Florence, I’ve got to know it,” he said with a playful grin. “Was it Bertram?”
“Okay! Okay!” I chuckled. “I will tell you the name. Felix. It was Felix, happy?”
“Well, Florence,” he said in a low voice, “it looks like we’re finally taking our trust to a whole new level now.”
Rolling my eyes at him, my lips curved into a smile. “Sure.”
Five minutes later we pulled up to the old, abandoned warehouse. A large parking lot stretched out in front of it.
“Miles?” I let his name slip from my lips, gazing at the window. “What is this place?”
Without uttering a single word, he quickly unfastened his seat belt and got out of the car.
“Miles?” I called out, watching him stride around. “What’s going on?” I asked again when he opened my side of the door.
“I need you to trust me?” He motioned for me to take his hand. “Okay?”
“Um.” I hesitated. My gaze dropped from his eyes to his outstretched palm, waiting for mine. Then, slowly, my fingers brushed against his, a delicate, warm touch that sent a shiver down my spine.