Hand In Hand
We reached for the same glass of wine, inadvertently our fingers entwined around the long stem. Neither would relinquish the glass.
Her eyes plumbed deeply as they met mine, her freckles took on determination as she realized I was no gentleman.
Brilliantly the wine server handed us each a straw that we brought simultaneously to our lips and proceeded to sip the bouquet, never losing our gaze.
Like meeting at a soda fountain in a movie except out gaze was one of struggle, one of triumph not residing in cotton candy.
Vigilantly the server watched our glass filling it again and again.
It may have been the wine or maybe the eyes but finally we put the glass down as we walked away hand in hand.
