Lynch by Peter J Merrigan Page A

kiss. Just one. But as Jesse pulled back and looked down at Scott, Scott smiled. They both smiled. Jesse had laid back down, a hand on his own chest, and said, ‘I guess it’s nearly six o’clock.’
    Scott swallowed and nodded. ‘Time to get the horses back,’ he had said.
    As they rode back to the Silverwood Centre, Scott casually mentioned seeing a flyer for a drag act competition in town next Friday. At first, Jesse had scoffed, but Scott had said, ‘It’s not really my scene, either, but it could be a laugh.’
    ‘But,’ Jesse said, ‘let’s not wait until Friday for our next date, eh?’
    Riding side by side, Scott agreed. ‘I had fun today. I’m really glad we did this.’
    ‘The day doesn’t have to be over,’ Jesse said.
    ‘What have you got in mind?’
    When they dropped the horses back at the stables, Sylvia gave them each a tight squeeze and a kiss on either cheek. She waited until Jesse had walked off with the mares and then touched Scott’s shoulder. ‘Well?’
    ‘Well what?’
    ‘You know perfectly well what I mean,’ Sylvia said, lightly punching his arm.
    ‘You don’t really expect me to kiss and tell, do you?’ he said with a smirk.
    ‘So there was kissing?’ She turned and walked away, chuckling to herself. ‘Glad to hear it,’ she said, flapping a hand over her shoulder and dismissing him.
    As they got back into Jesse’s car, Jesse said, ‘Let’s do something extravagant.’
    ‘Like what?’
    ‘I don’t know. Anything. Something…different.’
    Scott thought about it. The kiss still hung in the air between them, threateningly close to a promise. ‘We could go for ice cream,’ he said.
    ‘Is that as extravagant as you get?’ Jesse asked.
    ‘Let me finish,’ Scott said. ‘Let’s go for ice cream—in Scarborough .’
    Jesse laughed. ‘I love it.’ He keyed the ignition. ‘Let’s go.’
    They turned the radio up loud as they pulled out of the Silverwood Centre and headed east along York Road towards Scarborough on the coast. In the early evening sunlight, the fields were lush and the scent of summer, thick and heady, filled the car.
    As they drove, they sang along to the songs on the stereo, neither caring about how bad the other’s singing voice was, almost trying to outdo each other with how dreadful they could be to Whitney or Britney. The ease with which they had bonded during the course of the day was apparent in their relaxed demeanour with each other in the car, at times comfortably silent, at times exploding into song at the same moment, as though there had been some prior agreement, looking at each other and grinning through lyrics.
    It seemed like a new experience for Scott, this casual acceptance of immediate friendship, of maybe something stronger. It was that feeling of having known someone for years even though it had only been weeks, a feeling of the simplicity of being.
    The hour and a half journey for ice cream passed with ease. They stopped once so Jesse could top up the car’s fuel, and he refused when Scott tried to offer him some money towards it, considering Scarborough had been his idea, and they continued the countryside journey, through A-roads that dissected fertile pasture and farmland, with the memory of that single kiss trailing behind them.
    When they parked and walked the short distance to the ice cream parlour, not far from the beachfront, Scott thought that at one point Jesse was on the verge of reaching for his hand. He couldn’t be sure, but the way Jesse’s fingers brushed lightly, momentary, across the back of his hand, certainly seemed to suggest the desire for physical contact. The nervous tingle that traversed his arm made Scott smile and point out the ice cream shop.
    Jesse bought two of the biggest cones available, both with Flakes and sprinkles and syrup and a generous topping of miniscule marshmallows.
    Outside the shop, in the early evening sun, Scott caught the scent of wood smoke, something that took him back to