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- 36 -
There was a broken compact beneath their bench, and of course, Angela just had to comment on it.
"That's a shame. Bad luck, you know," she said, kicking it with her shoe until she could see the distorted sky in the mirror's cracks.
Gill was burrowed in his scarf. He pulled it down to free his mouth as he looked down his nose at her. "Superstitions? You shouldn't waste your time believing in such nonsense."
"There's a grain of truth in all things," she argued. "Besides, it's fun! Here, lemme show you – I can read your palm."
"What? You can't. There's nothing to read. It's a hand," Gill remained a stickler as Angela scooted closer and brought her leg up between them. Still, he relinquished his hand when she grabbed for it, and she took off his glove and rested the back of his hand on her knee to study it.
She was awfully concentrated for a few moments, pulling his fingers this way and that and tracing the lines she found. Gill watched her in growing intrigue as she smirked. She pointed to one of the horizontal creases in his palm. "See this? It's your head line. Says you're a realist. And this means you're focused."
"It means my hand bends," Gill muttered.
"Typical coming from someone with such a short heart line," Angela teased. Tingles ran up his spine as her finger followed another line. "It's parallel here, so this means you're in control of your emotions. Hm…"
He found himself getting caught up in all of her jargon. She released his hand and he stared at it like it would tell him what she saw. "What?"
"Oh, it was nothing. I don't remember the rest," she lied. Truthfully, it did seem like something foolish to get excited about. After all, a hand can't really tell when a person's in love… right?