The Touch

By: Psudo

He stabbed at his food with his fork. Hunger was beyond his ability. All he could see was her, sitting across the circular table from him, her face lit by the candle centerpiece's yellow light. She looked like she was glowing, and to him she was.

She took a bite and chewed. "Good," she mumbled just before taking another bite. He could only stare. After she swallowed again, she said, "You're not eating." He took a bite and chewed mechanically, but his eyes never left her.

'She's perfect,' he thought. It was the only thought he could concentrate on.

She reached for the salt, but he touched her wrist gently to stop her. He carefully raised her hand, leaned forward, and softly kissed her open palm. Her hand pushed up his chin line and cheek, and his held it close, as something precious.

He'd never told her he loved her, but she now knew far more surely than words could have spoken. His heart was hers and had been forever. His gaze, his warmth against her hand, his kiss on her palm, they each were proof far beyond the words

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