Part 1.8

I never tired of holding her hand, and still remembered the first time: the tentative reaching out, the awkward intertwining of fingers looking for that perfect match, the sweating of palms that would not be let go.
The breeze played with Molly's long auburn hair, causing it to rise and fall like waves of autumn gold. I could just catch her scent, like musky roses, always wildly exciting.
George bounded towards us joyfully, almost knocking Molly over in the process.
"Down boy!" I shouted angrily, but Molly just laughed.
"Let him be. I'm all right."
I turned to her, gazing at her laughter-filled eyes and freckled dimples. How lovely she is, I thought, and leaned forward to kiss her tenderly on the lips.
"What was that for?" she asked, surprised.
"Because you, Molly,” I replied, “are beautiful to me.”

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