a breakfast serial

One bite-sized story every morning to uplift, motivate, or provoke thought.

buckled up

< by Jill >

“The weather has been pretty warm lately,” Nick said, reaching for something to talk about.

“Uh-huh, yeah, It’s usually a little cooler this time of year,” I replied.

We sat side by side, parked in his driveway. We looked up, we looked down, we looked anywhere but in each other’s eyes. I put my hands on the steering wheel and leaned toward the windshield.

“The moon is big.”

“Yeah.”

We shifted anxiously. The leather seats creaked. Outside, bullfrogs and crickets croaked and chittered, practically swelling to a chorus of “kiss the girl.”

I looked at my lap and then to my right. Nick straightened up and caught my eyes. We hung in that moment and gave permissions.

He leaned in. I leaned in. A little bit closer, and—CLICK.

My seatbelt locked up. I was suspended in midair, inches away from his face. I tried to push forward. The seatbelt resisted. Panicking, I blurted, “Come here, give me a hug.”

He lurched over the console, arms wide, and—CLICK.

His seatbelt locked up. We hovered in air for a millisecond, then snapped back into our original positions.

Facing forward in our bucket seats, we returned to tense silence. Eventually, he unbuckled, said a quick goodbye, and hopped out of the car.

Some people say you never forget your first kiss. As for me, I’ll never forget my first miss.

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