A Thousand Boy Kisses(7)

Rune pulled back, but his face stayed near mine. I tried to breathe, but my chest felt funny, kind of light and fluffy. And my heart was beating so fast. So fast that I pressed my hand over my chest to feel it racing underneath.

“Rune,” I whispered. I lifted my hand to press my fingers against my lips. Rune blinked and blinked again as he watched me. I pushed my hand out and pressed my fingers against his lips.

“You kissed me,” I whispered, stunned. Rune lifted his hand to hold mine. He lowered our joined hands by his side.

“I’ll give you a thousand kisses, Poppymin. All of them. No one will kiss you ever, but me.”

My eyes widened but my heart didn’t slow down. “That would be forever, Rune. To never be kissed by anyone else means we’ll be together forever, and ever and ever!”

Rune nodded his head, then he smiled. Rune didn’t smile a lot. He normally half-smiled or smirked. But he should smile. He was real handsome when he did. “I know. Because we’re forever always. For infinity, remember?”

I nodded my head slowly, then tipped it to the side. “You’ll give me all my kisses? Enough to fill this whole jar?” I asked.

Rune gave me another small smile. “All of them. We’ll fill up the whole jar, and more. We’ll collect way more than a thousand.”

I gasped. I suddenly remembered the jar. I pulled back my hand so I could get my pen and open the jar lid. I snatched out a blank heart and sat down to write. Rune kneeled before me and placed his hand over mine, stopping me from writing.

I looked up, confused. He swallowed, tucked his long hair behind his ear, and asked, “Did … when I … kissed you … did … did your heart almost burst? Was it extra special? You said only extra-special kisses make it into the jar.” His cheeks turned bright red and he lowered his eyes.

Without thinking, I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around my best friend’s neck. I pressed my cheek to his chest and I listened to his heart.

It was beating just as fast as mine.

“It did, Rune. It was as special as special can be.”

I felt Rune smile against my head, then I pulled back. I crossed my legs and placed the paper heart on the jar lid. Rune sat cross-legged too.

“What will you write?” he asked. I tapped the pen to my lip as I thought hard. I sat up straight and leaned forward, pressing the pen to the paper:





When I finished writing, I put the heart in the jar and closed the lid tight. I looked up at Rune, who’d been watching me all along, and proudly announced, “There. My very first boy-kiss!”

Rune nodded his head, but his eyes dropped to my lips. “Poppymin?”

“Yes?” I whispered. Rune reached for my hand. He started tracing patterns on the back with his fingertip.

“Can I … can I kiss you again?”

I swallowed, feeling butterflies in my stomach. “You want to kiss me again … already?”

Rune nodded his head. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while now. And well, you’re mine and I liked it. I liked kissing you. You tasted like sugar.”

“I ate a cookie at lunch. Butter pecan. Mamaw’s favorite,” I explained.

Rune took a deep breath and leaned toward me. His hair blew forward. “I want to do it again.”

“Okay.”

And Rune kissed me.

He kissed me and kissed me and kissed me.

By the end of the day I had four more boy-kisses in my jar.

When I got home, Mama told me that my mamaw had gone to heaven. I ran to my bedroom as quickly as I could. I hurried to fall asleep. Like she promised, Mamaw was there in my dreams. So I told her all about the five boy-kisses from my Rune.

My mamaw smiled big and kissed me on my cheek.

I knew this would be the best adventure of my life.





Rune

Two years ago

Aged Fifteen



Silence fell as she settled herself on the stage. Well, not everything was silent—the thunder of blood rushing through me roared in my ears as my Poppy carefully sat down. She looked beautiful in her sleeveless black dress, with her long brown hair pulled back in a bun, white bow positioned on top.

Lifting the camera that was always around my neck, I brought the lens to my eye just as she positioned her bow against the string of her cello. I always loved to capture her at this moment. The moment she closed her big green eyes. The moment the most perfect expression drifted over her face—the look she wore just before the music began. The look of pure passion for the sounds that were to follow.

I snapped the picture at the perfect time, and then the melody began. Lowering my camera, I focused simply on her. I couldn’t take pictures while she played. I couldn’t bring myself to miss any part of how she looked up on that stage.

My lip hooked up in a small smile as her body began to sway to the music. She loved this piece, had been playing it for as long as I could remember. She needed no sheet music for this; Greensleeves poured from her soul through her bow.

I couldn’t stop staring, my heart beating like a damn drum as Poppy’s lips twitched. Her deep dimples popped out when she concentrated on the difficult passages. Her eyes remained closed, but you could tell which parts of the music she adored. Her head would tilt to the side, and a huge smile would spread on her face.

People didn’t understand that after all this time she was still mine. We were only fifteen, but since the day I kissed her in the blossom grove, aged eight, there had never been anyone else. I had blinkers on to any other girl. I only saw Poppy. In my world, only she existed.