His pinky linked in mine, he drove one handed down an empty road and for some reason it made my heart flutter. But when I opened my mouth to tell him, I found the words I needed escaping me, so I closed my mouth and looked out the window instead. Minutes passed as I watched the sun begin to set on the hilly horizon, still struggling with how to tell him that he made my heart skip beats.
As if he sensed my internal struggle he spoke, his tone warm and smooth like honey, “We don’t have to talk, ya know? We can just be comfortable in the feeling of each other.”
Neither of us looked at the other, but his pinky let go of mine and he instead wrapped his large hand around my significantly smaller one. As the roughness of his lightly calloused fingers made purchase in my own grip and squeezed a little tiger, I thought about how nice it felt to have even just this small part of me being held.