His lemon woody scent overwhelms my being as his coat drapes over my shoulder. So we're having dinner outside. This should be interesting. We continue our walk to the garden in silence, my hand in his. Looking at it, one can tell the contrast. My slim, slender hand in his big, large hands. The only similarity is our fingers. I have long, thin fingers, and he has long, thick fingers.
My cold hand snuggles into his very warm hand, and I love it. The setting of the dinner comes into view as we get closer, but just the side view of a particular person has me stopping in my tracks. My nails dig into my skin. Wait, it's not my skin.
"What's the matter?" He asks as he tries to figure out what makes me pause abruptly, but I give no response. My whole body turns cold, and I find it hard to swallo
