Read Lips Touch: Three Times for Free Online Page B

wrapped in foil, and she was
wide-eyed with the elegance of it. If she had ever thought to dream up a
cemetery picnic, the cemetery would have been a different, better one -- in
Paris or New Orleans, somewhere " with moss and broken statues -- but the
picnic would have been just like this.
    "Nice," she murmured inadequately. Jack Husk smiled at
her, and he was so beautiful it almost hurt. A wave of skepticism swept over
her, not for the first time. Why, she wondered. Why me?
    "Silly girl --" she heard or imagined her grandmother
hissing in her ear.
    "Chocolate first," said Jack Husk, the raspy edge of his
voice erasing the faint, ghostly one. "That's my only picnic rule."
    "Well, okay," Kizzy said, feigning reluctance and
unwrapping one of the chocolates. It was so dark it was almost black and it
melted on her tongue into an ancient flavor of seed pod, earth, shade, and
sunlight, its bitterness casting just a shadow of sweet. It tasted ... fine, so subtle and strange it made her feel like a novitiate into some arcanum
of spice.
    The cheese was the same, so different from anything she'd tasted
she could scarcely tell if it was wonderful or terrible. They nibbled it with
the bread, and Jack Husk asked Kizzy if she thought it was too early in the day
for wine, which he produced from his basket and poured into dainty etched
glasses no bigger than Dixie cups.
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    It was as earthy and dark as the chocolate and Kizzy sipped it
slowly, softening and softening, stretched out on one elbow, her hip full as an
odalisque's hip, a lush hummock of apple green for Jack Husk to lay his head
on, and he did, and closed his eyes while Kizzy lightly teased the ends of his
unruly hair.
    After a little while he sat up and reached one more time into his
basket. He took out an apricot, which he cupped in his hand, and a peach, which
he handed to Kizzy. She took it and held it. Its skin was as soft as the velvet
of Jack Husk's jacket and the scent... she could smell the honey sweetness of
it even through the skin, and she lifted it and took a deeper breath. Nectar, she thought dreamily. But she didn't take a bite. She didn't want the
juices dribbling down her chin. She just smelled it again and watched Jack Husk
eat his apricot and toss the pit. Then he leaned back against one of the stone
urns, arranging the billow of ivy and blossoms around his head to look like a
wig.
    Kizzy laughed. "It's a good look for you," she said.
    "Like it? Here." He lifted a heavy cluster of ivy beside
his head to make a wig for her too, and he motioned her to sit close. She
scooted into the space at his side and held still as he arranged the flowers
over her forehead, pausing to gently tuck one stray curl of her real hair back
under her scarf.
    His face was so near hers. She couldn't keep her eyes from
straying to his lips; she could smell the sweetness of apricot on his breath,
see a trace of moisture on his red lips. He was looking at her lips too. She
was suddenly very nervous. He leaned closer. Kizzy froze, not knowing whether
to close her eyes or leave them open. She had a horror of being one of those
girls in movies who closes her eyes and puckers up while the boy sits back and
smirks.
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    And seconds later she was glad she hadn't closed her eyes, because
Jack Husk didn't kiss her. He took the peach from her hand, lifted it to his
lips, and took a bite. So close, the perfume it released was like a drug, and
Kizzy had a powerful urge to lean in and taste it too, to taste the nectar on
his lips. She couldn't take her eyes off his lips. She moved forward ever so
slightly. Jack Husk saw, and leaned closer.
    This time it was real; it was really going to happen. Kizzy was
going to kiss a beautiful boy. Why then was she thinking about the peach, of
how his lips would taste of it?
    Why was she imagining how delicious Jack Husk's kiss would be?
    She stared at him, and at the periphery of her vision something
glinted. It was the little silver knife, still impaled in the rind