Lock and Key

“You look good.”

She reached across the table and gave his hand a little squeeze. He smiled at her as best he could. When he couldn’t do it anymore he looked down and stared at the way her slender hand rested on top of his scarred knuckles. A quiet laugh.

“No I don’t,” he said simply.

It was true; the years of his exile had lent an unkempt wildness to his features that hadn’t been there before. His hair was long, reaching past his ears, and tangled. The sun had hardened his skin, and a layer of coarse brown covered his once clean-shaven jaw line. The effort of the years he had spent running and hiding were apparent in all of his features.

And yet the adoration in her eyes was unmistakable as she looked over the table at him.

“Do you remember when we used to go out in places like this?” he asked, looking around the brightly-lit restaurant.

She laughed, but it was a real laugh for once, not a sad one.

“If you didn’t like the waitress you’d stick her tip halfway through the table. She’d come around to get our check and we’d be gone and there’d be a one-dollar bill sticking out of it! You must have given so many people nightmares….”

She laughed again. He wished she would never stop. But she did. She stopped abruptly, as if her body couldn’t handle the strain of expressing yet another emotion. For the first time that day he realized just how worn she looked.

“You’ve been worrying,” he said gently. “You always get bags under your eyes when you worry.”

What a stupid thing to say, of course she’s been worrying.

But she didn’t snap at him. She stared right into his eyes and said, “will you do it?”

“Do what?”

But he knew what. All the contents of his stomach turned to ice; the blood in his veins was freezing. He couldn’t answer. Not until she said it.

Her lip trembled only slightly. It was obvious that she had been thinking of this moment for a long time.

“Will you… put us together?”