Warm Hands

My hands were cold.

We were sitting outside at a table, sharing stories of our exes, just friends spending time together, this wasn’t to be considered a date.

You took my hands into yours and blew warm air onto them.

I remember drinking delicious beer that tasted like banana bread.

We were having a supremely excellent time, being innocent, talking.

Hepcat’s “Dance Wid’ Me” was being covered by a live band.

All of these things culminating in a swirl of serendipity.

At that moment, in my chest, my heart took the shape of a ship passing yours in the night. 

Knowing if I didn’t say anything, this moment would continue sailing, turning into treasure lost at sea.

I couldn’t leave our time together, it didn’t matter that someone was dating you.

Blurting was the best I could do.

“I have a secret crush on you!” a primal, guttural, hindsight, embarrassing thing. 

Just standing in the street with my car door open, hanging in that awkward limbo, not ready to head home.

You had just finished walking me there, I still wasn’t ready to go.

“I have a secret crush on you too.”

Relief washed over me when you echoed it back, in the dark, in the quiet of the night that was turning into day.

That moment was the beginning of everything.

A smile locked on my face, our future full of possibility.

It persisted as I passed the threshold of my front door, as I laid down for a moment, after finally getting home.

We crossed out the word friends, replacing it with lovers, our lives changing forever.

With you, my hands have always been warm.

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