A Love Story Part IV: Love's First Kiss

Again, if you haven't read Part III, you'll want to go here first. 

The next month was a blur—coming home to flowers on my bed, poems written in Steve’s hand, writing notes and holding hands during General Conference, snuggling with each other during each off-stage second of our performances of South Pacific, walking, talking, and spending every minute possible together.

This was my first real relationship ever, and it was absolute bliss.  I felt like a character in a movie or a book—valued, treasured, admired.  I started to talk about my mission less when Steve was around, but continued to work on my papers, and as my 21^st birthday neared, I could feel the tension getting stronger between us.  We both were beginning to realize that this was no fling, and as he walked me to the door one night after rehearsal, we fell silent, gazing into each other’s eyes.  I felt that I was close to drowning in the blue of his eyes, when he spoke.

“Okay, I have to say something—“ he blurted.  “I know about the goal you have.”

“Huh?”  I was confused.  “Goal?  What goal?”

“The one to not kiss anyone until you turn 21—Heather told me about it.”

Blast it!  Why had I ever made that stupid goal?!

He continued,   “And I respect that goal.  But I want you to know that—“ he leaned over and held my hand to his lips as he kissed it, gently, and then reached over and kissed my cheek “—this doesn’t count.”

I closed my eyes, treasuring the feeling of the tingle that was thrilling through my body, and he walked out the door, turning back.

“One more week ‘til your birthday.” 

I smiled.  To me, it couldn’t come fast enough.

Us hanging out at the Institute around this time in our relationship, circa 2006

I woke up and glanced at the calendar.  April 13^th.  I stretched, enjoying that magical feeling of waking up and realizing that it’s a special day.  It was my 21st birthday, and I had a feeling I knew exactly what I was getting for a present from my boyfriend.

I knew that Steve had rehearsal until 8:00 that night, but he had insisted on taking me out to dinner on my actual birthday, so I spent the evening after classes trying on different outfits, fixing my hair, and doing my best to look perfect for my big night—with the help and encouragement of my roommates, of course. 

“Okay—but you have to tell us about the kiss, no matter what!”  Heather insisted as she handed me a pair of shoes to try on.

I laughed as I surveyed myself in the mirror—greenish-blue eyes bright with excitement, flushed cheeks, my strawberry blonde hair curled to perfection, thanks to the help of my roommates—“You don’t know it’s going to happen tonight!”

Brie, who was already engaged, rolled her eyes.  “Of course we do.  You just have to tell us about it, no matter what time you get home, okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed happily. 

I had been dressed and ready for over an hour and was trying not to pace the front room by the time Steve showed up, an apology written all over his face.

“I’m so sorry—rehearsal went late—“ he started, then stopped short.  “Wow.  You look amazing.”

I flushed happily.  “You look pretty good yourself!”  And he did—blue t-shirt under an open white buttoned-down shirt, freshly shaved, tall and lean in my doorway.

“So, what’s the plan?”  I asked as we started out, walking down the stairs hand in hand.

“First stop is your old house—your roommate, Tiffanie, offered to help me with dinner, since I didn't have time to make it myself.”

“Really?  How thoughtful!”  I exclaimed.

When we got to my old house (affectionately known to all and sundry as "The Pirate's Booty"), Tiffanie opened the door, a knowing twinkle in her eye (as my previous roommate, she had known all about my Virgin Lips status and I'm sure was quite aware that said status was about to change) and showed us into the dining room.  As I walked in, I stopped short.  Yellow daisies with a blue ribbon (my two favorite colors) were in a vase in the middle of the table, and the meal was my favorite breakfast—biscuits and gravy.

Tiffanie excused herself quickly, winking knowingly at me (I fought the red that I knew was rising in my cheeks), and I looked at Steve, who was motioning for me to sit down.

“You are ridiculous!  How do you remember all of my favorite stuff?” I asked incredulously as Steve held a chair out for me to sit down. 

“It’s important to me, so I remember it.”  He looked at me, his smile touching the corner of his eyes, and I smiled in return. 

When it came time to open the gift, I was thrilled to find a book of quotes from the Prophet Joseph Smith. 

“Our first Institute class together—“ I began.

“Last semester,”  Steve nodded.  “I have to admit—at first, I thought you were way too chipper and talkative for someone who was going to an Institute class at 8:00 in the morning.” 

“That’s okay,” I giggled.  “I thought you were 17 and getting ready for your mission.”

Steve gasped, acting overly shocked, and I giggled even louder.  “You have to admit, you do look like a 12-year-old.”

He sighed.  “It’s true.  I even had people ask me on my mission all the time if I had gotten special permission to go out early.  I told them I had cancer and that the General Authorities had allowed me to go out as a 17-year-old.”

I guffawed out loud, snorting orange juice up my nose in the most unattractive way possible, and started to get up, slightly embarrassed.

“Wait.  You haven’t gotten everything out of the bag yet!”  Steve stopped me, laughter brimming in his eyes.

I sat down again, holding a napkin as daintily as possible to my now streaming nose, and then looked in the bag.  I first pulled out a CD—“It’s a mix of songs I picked out for you,” Steve said—and then a bag of Hershey’s kisses.  He smiled wickedly.  “That’s because it’s funny.” 

I immediately blushed, and his smile grew wider.

When we finished dinner, we walked to our favorite park a couple of blocks away, where we often went to swing, talk, and play tag with each other. 

As we played on the swings for a while, I could feel myself getting more and more nervous in anticipation of what was to come.  What if I’m a bad kisser?  I thought, feeling anxious.

At that moment, Steve took my hands and led me to a bridge. 

“I have to tell you something—something I wasn’t planning on telling you tonight,” he started apprehensively.

My stomach churned, but I nodded.  “Yes?”

He took a deep breath.  “I know that when we started dating, I thought that it would just be a fun little fling.  You know, you were going on your mission, and I was planning on going back to Glendale after this semester.  But then we spent more time together, and you were just so wonderful and beautiful and talented and smart and amazing—and…I love you.”

My heart jumped into my throat and started racing so hard I thought I might have a heart attack.  I could hardly breathe, much less think clearly, and Steve continued quickly—“You don’t have to say anything in return—I just wanted you to know that I love you.  I know you still want to go on your mission, and I completely support you in that.  I need this next couple of years to get established with school and finances anyway, but I just want you to know that, if you wanted to date when you got back, I’m willing to wait.  You can have your cake and eat it too.”

He paused, waiting for my reaction.

“I’ve never felt this way before,” I began slowly, carefully.  “I mean, I’ve never been in love with anyone before, so I don’t really know what love feels like, but—I think—I love you, too.”  I looked at his eyes, gauging his reaction.

He smiled, letting me know that it was enough, and then his smile turned teasing.  “Well, you’re 21 now.  Can I kiss you yet?”

I nodded, not trusting my voice to speak. 

He reached forward, cupping my face with first one hand, then the other, and slowly, ever so gently, kissed me. 

I melted against him, resting my hands on his chest, and then suddenly, almost before the kiss had even begun, he pulled away, carefully studying me.

I couldn’t keep from smiling.  My first kiss, and it had been as romantic as anything I’d ever seen in a movie or read in a storybook.

“Your smile is so beautiful.  I love the way you look in the moonlight,” he whispered.

Still not used to being called beautiful, I blushed, then had another thought that made me blush even deeper.

“What?”  He asked, noticing my change of expression.

“I really love you,” I said quietly, confidently.  He sighed, content.  I hoped he was feeling the same way I was—amazed, floored, overwhelmed by the entire experience.  “I have a question.” 

“Ask away,” he teased a lock of my hair with his finger. 

“Can I kiss you again?  I think I really like this kissing stuff.”

He laughed, then pulled me to him. Where the last kiss had been tender, gentle, and aching, this one nearly overpowered me with its passion and intensity.  I could feel his arms wrapped around me, my hands running through his hair, his hands pulling me to him.

“Oh,” I sighed, leaning into him as he pulled me near and put his arms around me.  “I can see what all the fuss is about.”

I could feel him chuckle.  “When you decide to do something, you sure jump in with both feet!  You’ve surprised me, Sister Flake!”

I pulled away a little so I could see his face.  “What do you mean?”

He smirked a little. “Well, I figured after your first kiss, you’d feel like that was enough for you for a while.  I didn’t expect that.”  I felt the heat rise in my cheeks again and felt like I somehow needed to defend myself.

“Well, I guess after 21 years of waiting, I’ve got a lot of kissing saved up!”

He chuckled again.  “As long as you’re planning on spending all of those kisses you’ve saved up on me, I don’t mind a bit!”

He bent down to kiss me again, and I eagerly returned it.  I somehow knew that these would be the first of many kisses to come.