Page 116 - Some Dance to Remember

86 Jack Fritscher

San Diego dawn, Kick whispered to Ryan.
“You won’t laugh,” he said. He rubbed Ryan’s belly frosted with dried
glaze. “I mean it seriously.”
He moved his golden face in close to Ryan’s and announced it like a
mandate to the writer whose cheek rested in the fragrant under-cove where
Kick’s arm and shoulder joined his chest.
“Someday,” Kick said, “I want us to be a story told at night in beds
around the world.”
Ryan’s hungry heart came running.

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