And so to the kiss that seals their fate and our story.
William’s intention was that Chloë should see Carn Galver. He offered the Good Life his voluntary services as a washer-upper if only they would excuse Chloë her shift.
‘Fine by me,’ said Jane, eyeing November’s dwindling clients dawdling over herbal tea refills. The proprietor released Chloë but demanded that William honour his debt the next Saturday night. Chloë whispered to Jane that she would gladly do her shift on that night.
It was a piercingly clear day and William knew that a walk to the summit of Carn Galver would afford them priceless views over both coasts and justify a hearty tea too. They did not make it. In fact, they would not make it to the top until late January, though they went there often. The pull of the ancient landscape was too strong in other directions, and it seemed to lure them invariably to places not on their itinerary. But always for a reason: a particularly beautiful sky, a peregrine falcon just yards away, sunlight turning the standing stones to gold. They were quite happy for chance to lead the way and were rewarded with the secrets and gifts such detours provided.
When William told Chloë that a journey through the pierced stone of Men-an-Tol would bring her luck and health, she bundled her jacket into his arms and wished her way through the rock. As he helped her through, a shot of sunlight, pink and warm, alighted on her face and kissed it before William could. It spun the stone soft, it pulled flame from her hair, it sank deep into her eyes and turned her skin truly into porcelain. She could have been the mermaid of Zennor and, just at that moment, William thought she very probably was.
As she came through the stone, the sunlight clung to her and caught on something shiny, shooting liquid silver into William’s eyes. Her brooch. Familiar. Why not! But he didn’t have time to think on it now. Chloë pressed her back against the stone and closed her eyes so that the sun could embrace her face fully. It defied the pervasive scent of winter and brought with it the reminder of summer, the promise of spring. She could feel just a whisper of breeze breathe over her cheek, lifting a lock of hair and gently laying it down again. She felt beautiful.
Do I look beautiful too? Does he find me so?
She opened her right eye and saw William.
He does. And he is lovely himself.
He came close to her, his gaze swallowing her whole.
He is now going to kiss me.
Cautiously, William stretched out his hand until his fingertips rested lightly on her shoulder. He came a step nearer and moved his hand to course the curve between collar-bone and breast. Closer still; with his forefinger, he traced the lines of her brooch. Lightly, quickly and deftly. He stepped towards Chloë once more, until his feet stood either side of hers. His heart seemed to be pounding in his throat but he had forgotten how to swallow. Then he let his hand drop further until it quite covered her left breast and he left it there for a tender, delicious moment. Chloë’s soul surged and she could discern her heartbeat deep between her legs. William could feel it too, but under his hand, through her clothes, beneath her breast.
The instant he eased his hand, he saw her eyebrows twitch almost imperceptibly. They told him: please, leave your hand, touch me still, touch me there!
I want to.
I want you to.
He knew then that she wanted to be touched as much as he wanted to touch her. Her lips were parted, his eyes were glassy and burning.
Kiss me, William.
I am going to kiss you, Chloë.
Now.
Right now.
The gesture was as spontaneous as it was long awaited; a moment’s desire that was momentous, an instinct that was far-reaching.
William’s face nears Chloë’s, the sun is blocked yet her beauty is not compromised. Eyes are open; they press their lips against each other and the relief that courses through William mixes with the delight that fills Chloë. They are saturated with emotion and share it at once. Soft lips lightly against each other, the sensation of another’s breath on the skin, eyes so close that focus goes, cold noses touching. Instinctively, the kiss changes from one of tenderness to one of passion and, opening their mouths, they gorge themselves on each other’s taste.
Chloë knots her fingers around the belt loops of William’s jeans and guides him close against her. She feels abandoned and comfortable. Oh, how he fits! William places one hand on her neck, the other is enmeshed in her hair and holds her as close to him as he can. His erection presses against the seam of his trousers, and against Chloë’s stomach; the sensation is fantastic for them both. Their tastes are distinctive and they find each other delicious. They hear sounds, involuntary expressions of warmth and desire. They are hungry and they have never been so full. The rock supports them and the sun allows them to kiss on, despite the diminishing afternoon. Deserted November affords them the privacy; the spirituality of the place, the prayer. One kiss against an ancient rock will give shape to their foreseeable futures. They knew it to be so before it happened. And after, they are content that it should be.