THAT KISS
By Mindy Graham

The four o’clock deadline loomed over them, but it was last night’s kiss which choked the air. Chelsea blamed the frogs. It was better than blaming herself. Now Nate, the guy she wanted to hide from for the next hundred years, stood just inside the doorway of her one-room campus apartment clutching a box of candy canes to his chest like a shield.

“These are for you … I mean us … in case we need sugar.” He shoved the box at her as if it held snakes.

“Thanks.” She tore it open and poured the baby-size treats into a red and white striped bowl she usually reserved for Mum’s coconut ice.
Nate stuffed his hands in his pockets and blew out a breath that lifted the strands of sandy-brown hair from his forehead as he stepped across to the window. Great, just what she needed, a front row seat to how well a pair of Levi’s could fit.

If only she’d kept her mind on the frogs instead of Nate’s lopsided smile. Had focussed more on clinging to the log overhanging the dark, festy swamp instead of the way his voice brushed across her lonely heart.

If only. There was a whole list of them.

If only she was prettier. Popular. Hadn’t slipped.

If only she’d kept her lips to herself.

“So—”

“Well—”

Their words collided in the air which swirled with unspoken questions.

“Sorry. You first.” He said.

“How’d you go with the graphs?” Chelsea rearranged the pens on her desk.

“Not great. I … well … you know. I couldn’t get my brain to focus.” He shifted his gaze to something over her shoulder. Probably the sorry excuse for a Christmas tree she had decorated at three a.m. in an effort to stop the endless replay of the most embarrassing moment of her life.

Almost.

There was the time she accidentally told the guy on the other end of the phone when making dinner reservations she loved him. At least she never had to see him again. But here stood Nate in all his tousled-hair-glory with a t-shirt sculpted over the muscles which last night stopped her from ending up knee-deep in bullrushes and a thousand creepy crawlies she’d rather not ponder. Unlike Nate’s biceps, which she’d be content to admire well into the next millennium.

“I’ve got the data.” His voice pulled her from a string of thoughts she really shouldn’t be thinking. “Sorry about the mess.” He tugged a piece of lined notebook paper from his back pocket and dropped it on the desk.

“No worries.” She pulled out her neon pink office chair and planted herself in front of her Mac. “Pull up a chair and we’ll sort it out.”

He dragged over a dining chair and flopped into it like an oversized puppy. Wow, he was close. Too close. The spicy scent that had derailed her last night wrapped around her again. Man, he smelled good. Like cinnamon, nutmeg cookies and citrus. A girl could get used to that.

She opened the software program and pulled the mess of figures towards herself, studying the tangled web of numbers and arrows covering the page. In the corner there was some intricate scribble that may or may not have been some kind of sketch.

Before she could decipher it any further Nate reached to the shelf above her desk and pulled down one of the wise men figurines.

“You do it too.” He whispered.

“Do what?”

“Put your wise men away from the rest of the nativity scene.” He cradled the two-inch figure in his hand before placing it back on the shelf almost reverently.

“Yeah, my grandpa carved them for me when I was a little girl.” Chelsea looked across the room to where the matching stable along with all the other figures were set up. “He always told me the wise men had a long journey before they got to see the newborn king.”

“That’s what Mum always said.” Something sad slid across his face. “She died just before Christmas last year.”

“I’m sorry.” Two horribly inadequate words.

“Thanks.”

His breath, scented with grief and candy cane, warmed her cheek.

“She loved Christmas.” His shoulders rose and fell as he sighed.

“We haven’t put the decorations up since–”

“I’ll put them away.” She reached for the three wooden figures.

“No!”

Strong fingers curled around her forearm.

“They’re nice,” he said as he released her arm.

His smile wove its way into the darkest corners of her chest and she wanted to drown in the cobalt sea of his eyes.

“Anyway,” He cleared his throat. “Let’s nail these graphs.”

Right. Graphs. Get it together girl.

For the next five hours they discussed frogs. Just frogs. Well, frogs and their habitat, diet, and mating calls. As the minutes drained away, rainbow-coloured graphs emerged from all the black and white data. At last, Chelsea leaned back in her chair and rubbed her neck. “Phew. I think it’s ready,” she said as she loaded the file into the university’s portal. The arrow hovered over the submit button. She glanced at Nate. “All good?”

“Actually.” He leaned in closer. “There was something we didn’t discuss.”

When had his arm slid across the back of her chair? “Um. Okay.” She looked at the clock in the corner of her screen. “We’ve only got seven minutes, is it important?” Why did she sound like she’d swallowed a fur ball?

“Critically important.” He shuffled closer and electrical impulses that were supposed to fire up her grey matter zinged along her arms as their elbows brushed.

“We haven’t discussed the kissing,” he whispered.

“I don’t think frogs kiss.” Oh, for the love of frogs just shoot me now!

He pulled the sheet of scribbled data towards them. “Last night when I was supposed to be sizing up pie charts, I only managed this.” He pointed to the sketch in the corner and twisted it ninety degrees.
Chelsea’s heart landed at her toes. Shifting the angle of the haphazard array of lines and shading revealed a caricature of two frogs kissing. The tousled hair on one frog made it look like Nate, while the two braids echoed the ones she usually wore.

Message received. Loud and clear.

The best kiss of her life had been nothing more than a joke to him.

Her eyes strayed to the advent calendar on the shelf beside the wise men. She’d forgotten to open today’s door. Just like twenty hours earlier she’d forgotten things like common sense and that some guys were out of her league.

She refocussed her eyes on the screen. Her safe place. She might never get the guy but she knew how to get good grades and if she didn’t click “send” in the next one hundred and eighty seconds … it wasn’t an option. She cleared her throat. “We good to go.” Damn the tremble that snuck in on the last syllable.

“Hey, Chells?” His voice rumbled near her ear. “Look at me.”

She didn’t move her eyes from the screen. Not that they were seeing anything anymore. “It’s cool, Nate. I get it. Really I do.”

“What do you get?”

She sighed. Why did guys have to be so dense? “Guys like you don’t kiss girls like me. I’m sorry I—”

“Whoa. What?” His fingertips brushed her chin as they turned her face until she had no choice but to look into those eyes again.

“Is that what you think?” He smiled and shook his head. “Chelsea Adamson I have wanted to kiss you since your week three presentation on low birth weight among primates.”

She groaned. “Please don’t remind me.”

“I didn’t learn a thing about baby monkeys.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was gone at, I’m Chelsea and today I’m going to be discussing…”

“But you never spoke to me until two weeks ago when you asked me to do the frog assignment with you.”

“I know. It hasn’t been my best year.”

He looked up and blew the hair out of his eyes again. If he kept that up, she couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t kiss him again.

“Sitting in the dark listening to frogs with you was the most alive I’ve been since Mum died. Then you landed in my arms, kissed me and it was like someone switched the lights back on.”

“Nate.” Her eyes couldn’t have left his to focus on the screen, even if the life of every frog on the planet depended on it. “We have to…” For crying out loud, could she not turn off her nerd for just thirty seconds?

“I know.” His hand slid over hers and a quiet click sent their herpetology findings into cyberspace. Then he laced his fingers through hers and pulled her to him. He traced the curve of her cheek with his knuckle and her lungs forgot their job. A moment later Nate Spencer’s lips found hers. Tender and magical. She wanted to be lost in that kiss forever. Her eyes closed and every frog, graph and swamp vanished while somewhere in the distance the clock struck four.