His right hand is holding the teaspoon, stirring his tea, while the left one is lying on the tablecloth. I can't take my eyes off it. He has the most beautiful hands I ever saw. Delicate and graceful, but strong when necessary.

I remember this hand on my shoulder. Confident. And suddenly, all I want to do is grab it, raise it to my lips and kiss it. Not so suddenly. I know. But maybe, maybe tonight I'll be brave enough.

My hand moves forward. Imperceptibly. All of a sudden, his own is gone. He pushes his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. I'm about to fold my napkin to regain my composure. But his hand quickly comes back to its exact previous place.

After hesitating, I start moving again. Inch by inch. Holding my breath. I don't understand what he's saying but as long as he keeps talking, everything will be all right. I do my best to avoid staring at the decreasing distance between our fingers.

No. I can't. What if he frowns ? What if he removes his hand ? What if he gets up and leaves ? I just can't.

And then… He puts his hand on mine. Quietly. Simply. Easily. He's still talking, like it's not a big deal. But I'm not listening. I'm focused on what he's saying without a word. "Don't be afraid. I know. I've always known. I was only waiting for you to be ready." Just through the warmth of his hand on mine.