Hands
Touch, Eyes Meet
038. Touch
The steam from coffee cups wavered; leaves skittered noisily along the pavement. A man cursed, battling to shake his newspaper out and trying to jam his hat onto his head. The breeze coiled around Clara, teasing the hem of her skirt. It playfully fingered the loose strands of her hair, toyed with the trimming of her hat, and then abruptly snatched it off her head. Letting out a cry, she ran in pursuit as her hat soared high over the fountains and statues, further and further out of reach…
Fabrizio swivelled around in the direction of the shout. At first he saw nothing, only the shop banners flapping limply in the dying wind. Something floated towards him; instinctively, he reached out and caught it. He caught it just as she came into view, golden hair streaming out behind her, cheeks prettily flushed…
She panted to a halt, breathing hard. He waited for her to catch her breath, then held the hat out shyly. "Fabrizio Naccarelli," he said. Again, louder this time, "Fabrizio Naccarelli."
She reached out for it. "Clara."
Their eyes met, and their hands brushed together for one fleeting moment.