For Keeps

The car hums softly in neutral, seven minutes after her curfew, as we sit together in silence, the almost end to a perfect date. She tells me to close my eyes and then traces her finger in the palm of my hand. Slow, angled strokes, letters overwriting themselves, but I can't imagine the shapes.

She leans over and kisses my cheek, but before I can remind myself to breathe, she’s already reaching for the door.

"What was that?" I ask.

"My initials," she smiles, and like handwriting scribbled on the inside of a t-shirt, I am hers to keep.