"Can I read your palm?" Claire asked Charlie, her blue eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"Sure, luv," he replied and offered his left hand to her, palm up. She ran her fingers over his, her tips silk on top of his calloused skin, rough from plucking his guitar strings late at night.

"You have a long life line," she noted, drawing out a line on his hand, running up and down it.

But Charlie wasn't listening. All he could hear was his heart pounding, and all he could see was his hand in hers.

He just wanted to hold her hand.