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“Spontaneous Meg,” he whispers, reminding me that this week I can say whatever I want to—no muzzle required. The corner of his lips brush my cheek before he confesses, “You smell like chocolate.”
Chocolate? I was so sure I smelled like those menthol pain patches I use on my feet after a very long day of kindergartening.
I don’t know if he means it, and yet the tone in his voice makes me think that he does.And why would he say it if he didn’t mean it? He owes me nothing—certainly not insincere compliments.
Huh. Chocolate. To Kal, I smell like chocolate. Did Kyle ever say that I smelled like anything good to him? Once he said he was sure he smelled goldfish crackers whenever he came near me. He told me he might be allergic to children that day.
Kal’s scruff grazes the apple of my cheek, and that delicate touch sends waves of electricity into my toes, tummy, and head.
My head lulls against his chest, letting the rhythm of his heart beating at my back fill me. My body—certain it’s gained a mind of its own—circles around. I need to see his face. His hands don’t move, just brush along my back and stomach as I whirl to face him. My eyes land on his, and Kal’s hands on my hips tug, pulling me close.
He studies me back, asking questions and offering answers all at the same time.
And while none of this feels like something Sensible Meg would do—I’m not her this week. Here, in this moment, I want this—I want him.
Strong and steady hands slide up to my neck, then my jaw, cupping my face. My arms tangle around his waist, holding him close as he hugs me back. His head dips, his mouth finding mine. Kal’s teeth graze my bottom lip, slow and hungry. He presses sweet, gentle kisses to my top lip and again to my bottom. He’s in no hurry. He doesn’t care that we’re surrounded by a crowd. He’s exploring, taking his time, and turning me into a melted pile of goo in the process.
Kal’s lips tease mine open, kissing me deeper, telling me he wants me too, without ever saying a word. I believe him. He makes me believe him. He is my guide, and I let him lead.
Warm and wet, sweet and commanding—Kal kisses me as if this is what the great creator made him for. This kiss is the entire reason for the event tonight. It was held in our honor. Because this kiss is award-winning.
I wonder if every part of Hawaii is this beautiful, this glorious. Because this might be my favorite part yet.
Holding my head in his hands, Kal’s lips go off trail, surveying from my jaw, to my ear, and down to my neck. I am jelly in his arms. I am clay to be molded. I am his for the taking.
And I don’t even care.
Or maybe, I care a lot. This is exactly where I want to be—with no disruptions.
I’m not sure how long we stand there, how long his hands hold my face, and my arms hug him close. No sense in rushing perfection. The dancers are done, the fire is out, and the pig is eaten by the time we break apart. I don’t know how long.
Not nearly long enough.
24
Meg
Seven days in Hawaii. That’s what I get. Kal keeps telling me not to count. It’ll only make it go faster. But the part of my brain that loves label makers and color-coded calendars also enjoys a good countdown. Even if I don’t want what we’re counting down to come. My brain produces one automatically.
Day one: I met Kal.
Day two: I literally lost my shirt and swam in the ocean.
Day three: I ziplined through the jungle, learned to hula. And best of all, kissed Kal.
Day four: We spent a lazy day on the beach, eating and kissing, kissing and swimming, and reading and kissing.
There may have been an abnormal amount of kissing on day four. I’m not complaining.
Day five: We shopped until we dropped—right onto the beach where we did a little more sunbathing and a lot more kissing.
The thing is, as much as Kal tells me not to count down. As much as I’m trying not to, there is a timer constantly ticking in my head—not caring that I am Spontaneous Meg this week. That countdown tells me that time is running out. Soon the day will come that I don’t get to kiss Kal. He’ll be here, in Lana‘i, and I’ll be back in Love. Back with my friends, back in my little house, back to my job—all things that I love and adore and want to keep.
But I won’t be with Kal.
I’ll be back to reality.
And Kal isn’t my reality.
