We kissed, heating that very spot on the island where we stood. He wrapped me in his arms, connected his lips with mine, which caused me to feel dizzy, and pulled away. “That’s a promise kiss,” he said. “I rarely, if ever, give those out.”
I joked, “A promise to bury my body so the Erie police won’t find me.”
He went along with my teasing and placed a kiss on the tip of my nose. Then he pulled me with him, over the next two hundred yards of Duskin Trail, until we reached our final destination.
“What is it?” I asked, looking up into the treetops.
“My tree house. The rungs on the side of that oak will take us up there.”
I looked at the three oaks holding up the tree house approximately sixty feet off the island. The rungs on one of the oak’s trunks looked crooked and weak. Then I turned
