Page 78 of Always to Remember
He plowed his hands through his wet hair. At least he was covered from shoulder to toe. Lord, how close he’d come—
“Are you decent?” Meg asked in a soft voice behind him.
He nearly jumped back into the water. “I’m dressed,” he barked.
She stepped out of the shadows and sat on the ground beside the boulder. She set her shoes beside her, and he could see the faint outline of her toes peering out from beneath her skirt. She bent her head, draped her hair over her face so the thick strands pooled in her lap, and began brushing her hair.
Her ebony hair, shining in the moonlight, reminded him of silk. His fingers ached to glide through it. He’d made a mistake working with stone all his life.
“Why did you and the others need to keep this place a secret?” she asked.
He leaned against the boulder. “We wanted a place where we could discuss things in private.”
“What sort of things?”
“Men things.”
She parted her hair down the middle and peered through the silken crevice at him. “Men things? Like war?”
He rubbed his chest. “Not exactly.”
She gave him an impish smile. “Women?”
He had a feeling she knew exactly what they’d discussed. Hell, Kirk had probably told her every conversation word for word. “We discussed things that concerned us.”
She laughed. “Women!” She patted the ground. “Why don’t you sit down?”
She went back to brushing her hair, and Clay slowly eased to the ground. He wondered if he could find a way to touch her hair without her noticing.
She flung her head back and her hair cascaded around her. She wasn’t gentle enough when she brushed her hair. He wanted to show her how she ought to brush it. She pulled her hair over one shoulder and began to attack the ends.
“Who was the first girl you ever kissed?” she asked.
Clay stared at her. She stopped brushing her hair and looked at him. “Did you promise her you wouldn’t tell?”
He dropped his gaze and started picking at the worn sole of his boot.
“Suck was the first boy I ever kissed.”
Clay jerked his head up. “Stick? Did he take you to the sawmill?”
“What do you know about the sawmill?”
“He told us he’d take girls on a tour of the sawmill after everyone left for the day. He had three kinds of tours: the kissing tour, the touching tour, and the—” He cleared his throat.
“The lots-of-touching tour?” she asked.
“Is that the one you went on?”
She shook her head. “The first time, he kissed me behind the schoolhouse, barely touching my lips. A couple of years later, he took me to the sawmill and surprised me by sticking his tongue in my mouth when he kissed me.”
“He stuck his tongue in your mouth?”
She nodded. “I was about thirteen. I wasn’t expecting it. I bit him.”
Clay laughed. “I remember when he couldn’t talk for a week. He wouldn’t tell us what happened.”
“So who was the first girl you kissed?”
