My hand is wrapped around hers and I’m moving us through the crowd before I comprehend what I’ve done. Thing is… it feels… nice. Her petite fingers. Her gentle grip. I don’t move my hand from hers until we’re through the crowd and at the back of the line for the hot dog stand. When I finally let go, she looks from my hand to hers, then lifts her gaze to mine. Something so intense, charged even, passes between us that I have to drag air into my lungs, desperate to feed my mind.
