Ripe

Sometimes when they kissed she thought he might be ready. She would send a hopeful breath to mingle with the air between their lips and wait for him to draw it in as if that breath inside his body might convince his tiny cells that it was time. Those tender kisses made the boundaries of her skin soften, her heart race, every particle of her body want to mesh with his. In the orchard, on the plaid blanket, with the sun warming and the trees dancing around them, they kissed that way. She welcomed it. And she hoped, prayed even, that this would be the month.

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