The rope swing had once been a place to think. It was a place to be alone and feel the wind in her hair, the balmy summer breeze rushing past her sun-kissed skin. Who had tied the rope originally was a mystery. She had come upon it one afternoon while wandering the banks of the Snowbourn river. A twisted, gnarled oak tree grew from the bank, thrusting its crooked branches over the water. Some happy soul had decided that a knotted rope would do well to hang here, allowing children to swing to their heart’s content, and if they were feeling especially bold, to let go and plunge into the cool waters below. Sometimes, other youths were already there, and she would keep a distance, watching and waiting, hoping they might leave and let her take a turn in peaceful solitude.
“I’m not even sure it’s still there. It’s so old by now, maybe it’s fallen down.” Her light, melodic voice drifted on the warm, sun-drenched air as she walked the familiar path through fields overgrown with wildflowers and golden tufts of dried seedheads. A simple, thin dress, its color hard to determine in its worn, threadbare state, fluttered around her ankles and bare feet, and she reached a hand up to the middle of her back, untying the ribbon that bound her long, blonde braid.
“Where’d you get that dress?” asked the boy walking beside her. He waved a hand vaguely at her shape, his voice less than impressed, though his eyes shone with appreciation for the curves and swells beneath the bland cloth.
Brynleigh paused and peered up at him. “Why?” Something in the manner of his question pricked at her pride.
Théo stumbled to a hasty stop beside her. His reddish brows rose up, along with his shoulders, and he shook his head sheepishly. “I...it just...I’m just used to seeing you in your other clothes!” he stammered.
Her fingers raked through her hair, freeing the plaited strands from each other, while the ribbon was held between her lips. “It’s just an old thing,” she mumbled around the ribbon. “I’ve had it a long time.” Her dark blue eyes squinted in suspicion. “I don’t always want to wear trousers, you know.” She heard her voice lowering into a sulky grumble, and she wanted to slap herself for it.
The red-haired boy’s grin spread wide and careless over his face. “I like it,” he quipped, a little too quickly, but his expression was sweet enough to scatter her defenses, and she gave a snorting chuckle as she turned and continued down the path. Théo had remained as warm and friendly as he’d ever been, despite their awkward moment in the stable some weeks earlier, and she was grateful for it. She found herself looking at his pale eyes now and then, watchful for that same expression, that alarming, intense, masculine thing that she hadn’t been prepared to see. It had not come again, at least not that she had noticed, much to her relief. Though, now and then, the relief was tinged with a peculiar disappointment that puzzled her.
“Ah, there’s no one here!” she called out gayly as they came in sight of the river, and its companion oak tree. Her feet pranced into a light skip, and she danced her way down the riverbank, singing in a loud, silly voice, “It’s ours! It’s ours! All ours!”
“And the rope is there!” Théo cried as he trotted after her.
Brynleigh let out a girlish whoop as she reached the tree and its hanging swing. She took hold of it and leaned her head back to look up along its length, beaming happily. “Who will go first? Should we…” She glanced over at Théo and gasped, cutting off her question. He was bent down, his shoes already kicked off, and his hands working to tug his shirt free of his trousers.
Hearing her gasp, he looked up. “What?” he asked in complete innocence.
“You cannot take your clothes off!” she squealed, her eyes wide with disbelief and shock. She felt heat rushing into her cheeks and knew that she was blushing.
The boy froze. His eyes slid from left to right, before focusing on her again. “But, what if we want to swim?” he asked, his words slow and careful, treading precariously along the edge of her sudden hysteria.
The logic of his question threw her mind into a tangle of jammed gears. “Well...well...then...y-you just swim with your clothes on!” she sputtered. Her fingers clenched the rope furiously, as if hanging onto it for dear life.
Théo straightened up slowly, frowning in bewilderment. “With my clothes on,” he echoed in a quiet murmur. He stared at her for a moment before giving a surrendering shrug and a half-hearted grin. “All right.” He hitched up his trousers a little and then pointed at her. “But if I drown, it’s your fault!”
The quick flash of humor disarmed her, as he seemed so gifted at doing. She felt herself smiling, blushing all the more in the wake of her outburst. “Oh, you aren’t going to drown,” she mumbled, chuckling a little as she turned her attention back to the rope. “So, who’s going to swing first?”
“Oh, no, no!” replied Théo, swaggering over to her with a cocky smirk. She turned to him, and suddenly thought of what she might be seeing if he had, indeed, removed his shirt. Her own thought shocked her, and her mind went blank, utterly missing whatever he was saying next.
“What?” she heard herself blurting out. Théo was looking down at her with another puzzled frown.
“Brynleigh,” he said, nearly choking in his attempt not to laugh. “You’re blushing clear down your neck. What’s wrong with you?”
She scowled at this. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with me. What’s wrong with you? What did you just say, anyway? I couldn’t hear you...you mumble too much!” Her cheeks were on fire. She could feel the flushing heat crawling over her ears now.
A heavy sigh was his first answer, and he laid a long-fingered hand against his hip. She peeked at his face, saw the patient, good-humored confusion and exasperation, and abruptly looked away again. “I said,” he replied, “We’re not going to just swing. We’re going to swing...and jump!”
She turned back to him with widened eyes, and he laughed merrily at the look on her face. “Aye!” he went on. “Both of us! No dipping toes or going in slowly. Swing and let go, right into the river.” Thoroughly pleased with himself, he leaned back on his heels and grinned toothily.
Brynleigh shifted her gaze to the water. She had swum there many times before, and knew the river well. It was deep and slow-moving, with no large rocks to make such a stunt dangerous. A soft little whimper rose up in her throat as she pondered his dare.
“Ohhh, come now, Bryn,” he cajoled in a quieter voice, stepping up behind her and laying an arm around her shoulders. “Want me to go first? Are you....” A finger poked teasingly at her ribs, making her twitch away. “...scared?”
“No, I am not!” she proclaimed at once. Perhaps a little too quickly to be believable, for she heard him laughing again over her shoulder. Her lips pursed and she glared up at the rope, growling a little. “Fine! I’ll...I’ll…” She couldn’t seem to get the rest of the words out, and her heart was hammering too wildly to catch her breath.
“Brynleigh’s frightened of a swim!” Théo howled, and she turned to see him sitting down hard on his backside in the shady grass, holding his stomach as he guffawed at the sky.
“I am not!” she shouted. His eyes glanced at her, briefly alarmed at the sharpness of her voice, before swiftly falling into more chuckling as he fell over on his back. “Let’s see you do it then, Mister Big Mouth!” she crowed at him. She held the rope out towards him and jutted her chin forward.
The lanky boy flopped his arms and legs flat against the ground for a moment, catching his breath. He rolled his head to grin up at her, and a surge of fury mixed with charm roiled in her breast. She bit her lips together and waited.
“Fine,” he conceded, jumping to his feet and walking over to snatch the rope from her hand. He was a full head taller than she, and her neck craned to hold his eyes while he smirked down at her. “What do I get for going first?”
“What do you mean?” she answered with a little frown puckering the center of her brow.
He tugged on the rope, glancing up its length as if he were testing its strength. “Well, I’m about to risk life and limb to placate your wrath,” he sighed in a dramatic way. “I should be rewarded if I survive with all my arms and legs intact and I don’t drown. Don’t you think?”
Innocently naive, she crossed her arms and stared boldly at him. “What do you want then? What have I got to give you? A pitchfork from the barn? A horseshoe?”
While she was speaking, the boy’s face had quietly lost its cocky arrogance. He still looked up at the rope instead of at her, and she could see his jaw working from side to side. He remained quiet for a moment, and the only sound was the soft sloshing of the river in its banks, and a gentle, rustling breeze through the leaves of the oak tree. Then, still without turning his face, he spoke again. “You’ve still never been kissed by a lad, have you?”
Brynleigh blinked, confused by what she perceived to be a random and strange turn in the conversation. “...no?” she answered hesitantly.
His head shook once. “I haven’t kissed a girl, either.” He said nothing more, but stood quietly and stared at the rope and the tree. Waiting.
Her eyes flicked from his face, to the rope, and back again. “Wait, is...is that what...you’re asking me for?”
She could see the muscles in his jaw, tensed and bulging, and his lips were crushed together so tightly they were nearly invisible. Without speaking aloud or looking over at her, he nodded tensely. The freckles on his cheeks were swallowed up in a deep, crimson blush.
The awkward thrumming in her chest returned in full force, as powerfully as the day they stood together in the barn and he had gazed on her with wistful, yearning eyes. The innocent sweetness of the afternoon was snatched away, the playtime of two children wrecked in a single moment that could not be undone. She felt herself standing there again, blinking, her heart hammering in an odd manner that she now discovered was not entirely unpleasant.
Théo finally mustered the courage to turn and look at her. She had never seen him so unsure, so embarrassed. Waiting for her reply. Waiting for her to shore him up or crush him under her foot with a single word. She hated the look on his face. She hated seeing him so vulnerable, so easy to hurt. And in the same moment, that expression thrilled her to her core. A boy wanted to kiss her. The melange of emotions was bewildering and heady.
“All right,” she heard herself whispering, and felt shocked. She didn’t want to say that, did she? Didn’t she? Dear Béma, the words were out and there was no going back.
The relief on Théo’s face was palpable. His breath was let out in a whoosh, his shoulders dropping, and he smiled. Without another word, he grabbed onto the rope and hoisted himself up. Why had she never before noticed how strong his arms were? Beneath his rolled-up sleeves, the muscles knotted and twitched as he lifted his weight from the ground. His bare feet sprang up to catch the thick knot. He reached a hand out and grabbed a nearby branch and pulled himself up with one, hefty tug. Just before letting go, he looked down at her and grinned, and her stomach somersaulted at the sight.
With a bold wink, he pushed away from the tree and swung out over the water, a loud whooping cry echoing over the fields. She watched, enamored, as the wind ruffled his red hair and fluttered his shirt and trousers. Reaching the end of the swinging arc, he fulfilled his promise and let go with another holler, hovering in the air as the rope dropped away, and then he plunged down into the river with a tremendous splash.
Brynleigh ran to the edge of the sloping bank, her bare toes slipping in a patch of mud and nearly toppling her over. Her eyes raked the river’s surface hurriedly until she saw the ruddy head pop up with a gasp. “Théo!” she cried, waving a hand. “You did it!”
He gave another whooping shout, and then laughed. “Aye, I did! Ah, that was incredible!” He flipped forward onto his stomach and began swimming towards her, moving smoothly against the gentle current. “You must try it next, Bryn!”
Caught by his contagious excitement, she smiled brightly, reaching a hand down to grasp his cold, wet fingers and help him climb from the water. She squealed softly as droplets sprayed down on her skin, while he clambered out and straightened up. He panted heavily, grinning from ear to ear, then looked at her. His smile faded slowly, like a tide ebbing out to sea, and the light of his sky-blue eyes grew more somber.
“Sh-should I…?” she whispered, gesturing vaguely towards the rope, which still swung back and forth in a lazy fashion from its recent use. But the boy standing over her didn’t seem to hear her. He stepped closer, ready to claim his prize, and in his face she saw a fascinating and enthralling clash of anxiety and determination. There was a faint comfort in seeing that he was nervous, and she hoped his heart was clamoring as frantically as hers.
He loomed over her for a few seconds, uncertain of how to proceed. Drops of river water continued to fall steadily from his auburn hair, and she could see them making glistening trails along the curves of his cheeks. He breathed deeply with his mouth slightly open. She had never looked so closely at his eyes before. The bright depths of blue were shot through with gold around the dark pupils, wide and alert now as he beheld her.
His hand moved towards her shoulder, and his fingertips brushed her sleeve, then continued up towards her cheek. His touch was cold, leaving trails of dampness on her skin. His other hand was felt against her waist, trembling and clumsy. Her hands didn’t know where to go. Her fingers touched his forearms, then moved hesitantly over the cool wetness of his soaked shirt to his biceps, and then to his shoulders, resting there awkwardly. She wasn’t ready. There was no way to be ready. He was leaning down, she could see his eyes staring at her mouth. She felt her body going stiff, not knowing what to do, her pulse galloping wildly out of control, making her dizzy. At the last moment, she squeezed her eyes shut. Somehow, she could still hear the wind, the river, the world carrying on around them. The moment felt surreal.
His lips collided with hers. Their mouths were too nervous, too inexperienced; two pairs of hard, tense lips butting lightly together. And still how soft it felt! How warm! She had never felt anything so soft and warm in her life. He pressed them against hers for the briefest moment, and quickly pulled away again. Her eyes popped open, stunned, anxious to see if he were as bewildered and enchanted as she. But his eyes were still closed, and he had not moved but a fraction of an inch away. His features were a shadowy blur. She saw the sunlight dappled across the bridge of his nose as the wind tossed the leaves above them. Without warning, he moved in again, she felt his lips on hers, softer this time. She felt her body shivering from the tightness that vibrated in her muscles and bones. Her chin was slightly uptilted, offering her mouth to him, but beyond this, she knew not what to do, how to kiss him back. His lips were bolder now, exploring, seeking, moving ever so carefully. Warmth, wetness, the gentlest hint of suction on her plump bottom lip. The hand on her cheek pressed a little more firmly, and the fingers at her waist tightened against her flesh.
She could feel the dampness from his clothes seeping through her dress. A gust of warm, flower-scented wind rushed past, tousling her hair so that it tickled her cheek and neck. How long had they been standing here like this? Seconds? Minutes? What if one of the other youths happened along and saw them? She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She didn’t know whether to breathe through her mouth or her nose. Was she supposed to move her lips as he was doing?
Théo made a soft little grunt, deep in his throat. The tiny sound exploded through her with the power of a thunderclap. It was the sound of pleasure, of desire. Pleasure that she was giving to him. Her heart stuttered and wheeled behind her breastbone, her stomach did some sort of intoxicating turn in her gut. She heard herself exhaling shakily against his mouth.
Somewhere in the distance, a voice shouted. Like a slap, it jolted her back to her senses. Her eyes flew open and she pulled away from him. For a brief flash, he hovered there, eyes closed and lips puckered, before blinking in surprise at her sudden absence. The voice called out again, and he turned to look across the sun-bright field. “Someone’s coming,” he murmured in a thick, husky voice, coughing sharply and withdrawing his hands from her.
Her own hands wilted slowly back to her sides. Her head was spinning dizzily and she drew a deep lungful of the warm air. She glanced down at her dampened dress and ran her hands over it slowly, as if wondering how it had become wet.
When she lifted her gaze back to Théo, he was watching her with a wide, sloppy grin. She could not help but immediately echo his smile, and a breathy giggle welled up in her chest and shook her shoulders. He took a calm, cool step away from her, folding his hands casually behind his back as the prancing, high-spirited figures of the other village youths came running through the grass towards them.
