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You take my hand and gently trace the lines on my palm. "Did you know that I can read palms?" This makes me chuckle. "No, you can't, Stu." He's never done this before, so that's why I know. He keeps tracing the lines, his fingernail going back and forth, as if he's trying to remember them for when he lets go of my hand. I'm sitting on the couch while he's lying down, his head resting on my lap. While you hold one of my hands, I start gently combing my fingers through your hair with the other. Your hair is like a destressor for me, as whenever my fingers snag on a knot I can work on untangling it. I try to be gentle, remembering how sensitive your scalp is. If I start to snag too many, I know it's time to wash your hair so I can detangle it.
"Yeah, I can. Never told you 'cause I figured it's nice to keep you on your toes."
"Alright, so what does my palm say?"
I'm expecting a long, detailed listing of what you see, as I'm curious. You always make me curious about what's to come or the next thing you'll do. You're a person of habit, but sometimes you do something out of the ordinary, and it catches me by surprise. That's what I love about you. You bring my palm closer to your face and then move it into the air, your eyebrows knitted together.
"You're a dependable, logical person who's very good at giving advice, but you also fall in love easily. Your interests guide you in your career, but you should probably take a break from workin' so hard an' enjoy life."
You go back to tracing the lines again, "How'd I do?"
I didn't realize I had stopped combing your hair, hanging on every word that you spoke. It's not the first time that I've found myself on the edge of my seat, waiting for what else you'll say. You have a way about yourself, but I don't think you've realized it. Sometimes you say the most out-there sentence, and the next you're speaking like you have advice from living for a thousand years.
I resume brushing your hair out with my fingers, "Very on point."
"Or you're just very easy to read."
I take my hand out of your hair and very gently bop your forehead, "Stu!"
You laugh and grin up at me, your missing front teeth on full display. I roll my eyes and lean my head against the couch, wondering if he really did read my palm or if he was just playing with me. It doesn't matter, though, as I know you meant what you said. I feel your lips gently kiss the back of my hand before you nuzzle it.
"Love you, Nina."
"Love you too, Stu."