A kiss.

He drove me to Huron.

I sat next to him.

We talked.

We laughed.

We listened to his musical creations on a CD.

We sang and played bells.

We retreated from Huron.

I sat next to him.

We talked.

We laughed.

We listened to his musical creations on a CD.

Then, by some unwilling adrenaline rush bursting through my veins,

I asked him a question.

'Would you care for a kiss, Karl?'

He was drawn aback.

'Well,' he said with an inquisitive look, 'Yes'.

And I gave him a kiss.

How did I do this?

Easily.

I opened my gloved hand, revealing a green foil-wrapped Hershey's Kiss and held the chocolate morsel out to him.

He laughed.

His eyes shone in the dark car.

'Thanks,' he chuckled, 'Kelli'.

'Were you expecting a real one?' I laughed.

He smiled.

'I really don't know' was his reply.

We both laughed.

I easily could have leaned over and given him a quick peck on the cheek right then and there, but I figured that my act of flirtation was more than enough for the evening.

'Thank you, Karl, and Good Night' was my salutation.

He returned the kindness, and as I gingerly ascended the stairs to my home, I could not help but don the grin of a child on Christmas morning.