I remember something, but not all about my first kiss. It took place on the sidewalk outside of all places, my church. I know I was grammar school age, but have no idea what grade I was in, or exactly how old I was. The boy’s name was Ricky. He asked to kiss me me and, as an experiment, I agreed. It wasn’t much, just a quick peck. It had barely registered, before he’d dashed way.
I have no further recollection of where he fit into my life, also no idea where he’s wandered off to since then. He played his role and vanished into oblivion, except for what lingers in my mind: the memory of my first kiss.
by Morgan Mandel
In Her Handyman, the heroine fantasizes about being kissed by Jake, her handyman, when she wonders, “How would it feel to be held in his arms, close to his heart? How would his kiss taste? Dare she imagine further?”
Further into the book they do kiss, and that kiss is reflected on the book's cover.
What about you? Do you remember your first kiss? If so, please share. Or, if you’d like, share a line or two describing a first kiss in your book or someone else’s.
FIRST CHAPTER EXCERPT:
“Handyman, please, you’ve got to help me. The water, it’s everywhere.”
“Calm down. Tell me more.”
A toy in the toilet, a messed up chain and flapper -- flood time!
“I’ll be right there.”
Like a fireman, Jake knew the drill. He grabbed his jeans and shirt off the bathroom hook, and slipped into his rubber boots by the back door to the alley.
The Hawk, Chicago’s nickname for its malevolent wind, blew a dark strand of hair over his eyes. He pushed it away and continued down the stairs of his Northwest side two-flat. His pickup truck, loaded with sundry supplies, awaited him in the detached garage.
A round of February snowflakes began as he pulled off Wrightwood Avenue and turned toward the River North area.
As Jake of All Trades, he willingly performed tasks others couldn’t or wouldn’t do. Like an old-fashioned doctor, he stayed on call all hours. A certified plumber, electrician, and overall handyman, he loved facing and conquering challenges.
Merging onto Trendale, he evaded a Camaro weaving into his lane. At two a.m. on a Saturday morning, drunks were a common sight on the almost empty road.
Twenty minutes later, he pulled up to a brownstone high-rise on a prime site.
Another rich chick.
From their conversation, a mental picture of Sandra O’Toole flashed in his mind: blonde, helpless, about five years younger than his thirty. Far from the level-headed Angelina Fortunata, Jake’s intended bride and future bearer of their children. He smiled, remembering Angelina’s pleased smile when he’d gotten down on his knees, and said, “I love you. Will you marry me.”
They’d been a couple since grammar school, knew each other inside and out, and were partners in every sense of the word. Still, that moment last Sunday, at her family owned Fortunata’s Restaurant had been special, as they took their longstanding relationship to the next level. Magically, word spread. It wasn’t long before all her relatives descended upon them, hugging, kissing and cheering, as smiling patrons watched.
Weddings weren’t cheap, so he’d agreed to pitch in to make their wedding day special.
No daydreaming. His client awaited him. Jake grabbed the toolkit and wet-dry vac from the back of the truck, and loped onto the walkway.
Her Handyman is now on Kindle for 99 cents at http://amzn.com/B0097EVXBK
Thanks for letting me share.