“Shall we do a kiss?” he asked, his tone of voice sternly matter of fact.
I stared hard at the purpling, mottled bruise on my knee and thought about how mortified I’d felt when I’d fallen off Misty in front of everybody at the gymkhana last Saturday.
"Okay," I muttered distractedly and turned to look at him. I stifled a giggle when I saw his face, all puckered up and ready. Leaning towards him, I waited.
And waited. The breeze blew warm across the vineyards, bringing with it the sweet green smell of ripening grapes and a bee flew past my ear with a swiftly receding buzz.
And I waited. Keeping my head still, I looked up at the sky, squinting a little in the sharp blue light, and watched a jet trail slowly puff out of shape.
After several eons my neck began aching. My damp swimsuit started itching and my feet, which had been dangling in the pool, began to grow numb with cold.
“This,” I thought crossly, “is really boring.”
I left him with his lips still puckered and dived into the pool.