What I remembered was the kind of kiss I would read about in books and chuckle over, and think the author was making a mountain out of a molehill. It was a very nice molehill, to be sure, but the over-the-top description belonged farther along that path, when the fireworks really started.

But that kiss in the river? It was the fireworks.

Even as I’d cherished that memory, part of me had wanted to forget it. That kiss was a false promise. It said that kissing should be like that, and if it wasn’t with Ricky, then I was doing it wrong. Worse, it said that if I really ever kissed Gabriel and it wasn’t exactly like that, I would forever be disappointed.

Now his fingers were on my chin, and he was tilting my face up, and I knew what was coming, and I was the one panicking.

All that lasted about 2.5 seconds, just long enough for him to tilt my face up and his lips to touch mine, and then it didn’t matter, because I forgot why I’d been panicking. I forgot everything. Every last damned thing. Because this…

This was not that kiss. It was better. The last time, I’d known it wasn’t quite real, and now it was.

This kiss felt like finding the one thing I’d been unconsciously searching for all my life. With that kiss, I remembered other Matildas, girls and women forever feeling as if they were missing something and never figuring out what it was. That had been me, my gnawing dissatisfaction like a trapped animal ready to chew off a limb. What I’d thought was only discontent with my sheltered life had been a symptom of what I’d been missing—Matilda and Cainsville and the Cŵn Annwn and everything that I could not believe hadn’t been part of my life until a few months ago. When I kissed Gabriel, the last missing piece fell into place, and all I could think was, Yes, this is it.

He started kissing me with one hand on my chin. And then both hands were on my cheeks and then in my hair, and my arms were around his neck, my body against his, and for once there was no destination in mind. This kiss was not only the first step along the path. It was the destination.

When something thumped beside us, I broke away just enough for Gabriel to murmur, “Hmm?” in a way that sounded like I’d woken him from a deep sleep.

We turned as Lloergan made her way out of the room.

“Good call,” I said, and Gabriel smiled.

And that’s when, from deep in the house, his phone started to ring.

“Next time you throw it at the wall?” I said. “Harder, please. That was a poor effort.”

“I don’t hear a thing.”