A screen door slammed, and Kit waited in the half-light streaming from the kitchen window onto the back porch.  She rubbed her hands together and then burrowed them into her hoodie pocket for warmth.  She hadn't planned on being out there for more than a minute, just long enough to see if Ben came out after dinner like always. 

A second later, Ben stepped off his back porch, his hands thrust into the pockets of his letter jacket, and he crossed the length of his yard to the small copse of trees bordering the long field stretching behind both their houses. 

She followed him then, picking up her pace, dodging the long shadows, the careless coil of water hose left across the path. 

"Ben, wait up," she called to him. He didn't stop.

"Ben," she tried again.  "Please."

This time, he did stop, his back still turned away from her. 

"What are you doing, Kit?" he asked, his words quiet in the cold dark vault of the field.

"Following you," she said, the night air raw in her throat.  "When your car wasn't there after school, I—"

He cut her off.  "I couldn't stay," he told her.  "I just—I just needed to get home is all."

"I thought you would be happy for me," she said.

"I am happy for you." Ben dragged one hand through his hair. "Kit, of course I am happy for you.  It's a tremendous opportunity. Only—" His eyes met hers.

"It's just for one year," she told him softly. "And I'll be back."

"I guess I thought you'd always be here, Kit," he said. "I didn't ever think there would come a time when you wouldn't be next door."

Much later—when she thought about how the right kind of kiss should feel—she thought of him.

She thought of that night, just the two of them, the sharp tang of cold in the air and a sky smeared with more clouds and less stars.  His breath came in short puffs as they walked in from the field, and his hand found hers.

"Stop," he said, with a tug. "Please."

And for one short breath, she did. She turned and faced him, her eyes on his, dull from the ache of tears not shed. She knew what it meant to want and love, and how it hurt to lose.

"I can't," she said. "I can't."

And in one split beat of her heart, he pulled her to him.

"Can't? Or won't?" he asked, his eyes pained.

Her heart spoke now in low dull throbs, a sort of fierce pain of want, and in the next beat, he kissed her—his breath and her breath, and his lips on her lips, and the warmth there from his hands on her face. Just this once, she told her heart, and closed her eyes.  The cold night air stood still, and the snow fell past them in a slow slant like the fall of stars.