250 Words: Admission

Suddenly unafraid, I drew myself up a little and leaned forward, stretched out my arms, pushed aside the empty bowl that had contained our dessert and laid my hands, palm up, on the table in front of her.  If you only looked at the hands you would have expected that they were there to be taken, that they were being offered.  My body suggested otherwise, though, as I was far too tense for that.  Maybe I was just less afraid, knowing that I had to make this admission.

Looking into her face I said, "Look at my hands.  The empty, soft and barren palms, the little fingers growing out of them.  Too warm or too cold, I am not sure.  But I know these are not a man's hands.  They aren't worn, haven't seen a thing."  I lowered my head to see them myself, shaking it slightly in shame and conceded, "I have nothing whatsoever to offer you."

I told her, showed her even, because she had a right to know before we continued.

And then her eyes left my face and she looked down too.  Took in the empty valleys unable to support rivers and she saw something else.  The Loire or something, I don't know.  And she smiled, overfilled my hands with hers, brought her eyes up to meet mine and told me that it did not matter, I had plenty to offer her.  "Your hands aren't empty and I don't think they will be for some time."