He tasted like cinnamon.

It was a wet Saturday afternoon, and we were browsing for books. I watched him walk around the store studying the back of each book with determination. Eventually, I found a secluded part of the bookstore and sat down. My eyes gazed up and down looking for something to read; he appeared next to me. He sat next to me and grabbed my face for a kiss. It was our first, and I never wanted it to end. The other customers in the store disappeared, and I was only focused on the gentleness of his lips parting against mine. Our tongues touched. There was no remnant of the iced coffee he drank prior to this. I wondered if he could taste the latte I had had. His mouth was sweet. I pulled away, and his taste lingered in my mouth. It was familiar, something I’d had in some of my drinks before or perhaps a candy I once enjoyed. He tasted sweet and firey all at the same time; he tasted like cinnamon.

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