“She savored their conversation, and often, when doing her chores, she remembered the words he said to her and how hopeful he was that she might kiss him again. Now she wished she had. because one kiss is not enough.”

“He kissed her, slow and tender, like she mattered. Because she did, at least to him. And she thought she might even be able to believe it.”

“It was over. He knew, but she did not. He could tell by the way she nuzzled him, how her body relaxed in his embrace, how she sighed when he kissed the top of her head. She was still hopeful, he thought, and that made her beautiful. Suddenly he could not bear to imagine a life without her.”

“She remembered a story she had once heard: a woman had gossiped about her neighbors and later regretted what she said. She went to the rabbi and asked how she might take back her words. He instructed her to take a feather pillow to the top of the highest hill and tear it open, letting the feathers fly every which way. Then, the rabbi said, she should return to him and he would tell her what to do. She did as he said and when she returned, he told her to go outside and gather the feathers. But that's impossible, she cried. They're already scattered all over the village. He looked at her and smiled. The same is true of your words, he said.”

“When we do it again," he told her, his hands hot on her, "it'll be where I want,when I want,with spotlights if I want.""I don't think so", she said and he kissed her again and she thought, Oh, hell, wherever you want, and kissed him back."Whatever I want," he whispered in her ear."Okay," she whispered back.”

“He kisses her. She kisses him. They kiss.”