chunk of hair that covered his eyes. “You know, they look like little starbursts.”
“Whatever you say,” she replied, not seeing it.
“Give me the other one,” he commanded, as if her feelings weren’t involved. For some reason she obeyed and extended her other hand. He examined both palms, lightly trailing his thumb and fingers over the surface of her skin. Shivers ran up her arms.
“No, they’re not starbursts.” He continued to touch each mark. “They’re angel kisses. It’s like angels kissed your hands al over.” His eyes rose to meet hers. They were filed with kindness and compassion. Something she had felt little of the past year.
Only Peter could turn the violent scars from a devastating accident into something beautiful. He was the sweetest person she’d ever met. Without another word, he lifted first one hand and then the other and kissed each little mark on her tender, scarred hands.
Libby’s mouth opened in wonder. Peter bent over her damaged hands. His soft lips pressed to them. His warm breath tickled her skin as his lips gently moved. Goosebumps danced up her arms and her stomach flipped. Never in her life had she felt this way. His tender kisses were heaven. She never wanted this moment to end. For once she thanked God for the ugly scars.
Peter looked up, her hands cradled in his, as if it were a perfectly normal thing to do. His eyes, a deep pool of liquid brown, melted into hers. Libby’s breath slowed. Today her world was perfect. This beautiful boy held her captive. His expression confirmed he felt the same. They leaned their heads closer, just inches apart.
Something moved out of the corner of her eye.
“Ouch! Crap.”
They looked up just in time to see Peter’s brother Adam slip down the side of the boulder, and drop his fancy camera in the process.
“What the?” Peter exclaimed. They jumped away from each other as if guilty of some terrible act. Adam, crouched at the bottom of the large boulder checking his camera for damage.
“Adam, what the hel are you doing?” Peter yeled, their moment shattered.
“Looking for you, nimrod. Dad’s realy pissed. You were supposed to be back an hour ago.”
“Shit,” Peter said under his breath.
Adam resumed his picture taking, focusing on Libby and Peter.
“Stop it.” Peter reached for the camera. “Don’t make me break that thing.”
“Hey, I’ve got some great stuff here, this new lens is amazing.
I’ve heard the paparazzi use this type too. I got it al, Peter, including your nose hairs. You should realy trim them.” Adam ducked out of Peter’s reach before he could get smacked.
“Libby, please excuse my “little” brother. As you can see he is mentaly chalenged.”
“Hi.” Libby said, mortified to be discovered at such a vulnerable time.
Adam flashed her a huge grin.
“Adam here is going to hightail it back to the bus and tel them I’m on my way. That way I won’t have to break his fingers. Right?” Peter stood and glared at his brother.
“Dad would be pretty ticked if you did that. Plus, who’d play lead for you, so you don’t go off key al the time.”
“Libby, can you find me a rock? I need to throw it at Adam?”
“Geez, you realy know how to spoil a party,” Adam complained.
Peter faked a throw.
“I’m going, I’m going.” Adam turned and hurried down the trail, occasionaly jumping from one large rock to another, his camera held tightly.
Peter turned to her.
“I’m so sorry. My family is the worst. They drive me nuts.”
“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” Libby smiled. She would give anything to have a family again. Especialy one like his.
“We better get going. My dad hates to be kept waiting.” They rushed back, covering the ground in a fraction of the time it took to get there. Peter took her hand often to help her over large boulders that blocked the path.
When they arrived at the break in the woods, the engine of the grand tour bus rumbled impatiently. Adam leaned against a tree, futzing with buttons on his camera.
“This was great,” Libby said. She hated to see it end. The day was glorious.
“Hey, we head back down to Chicago on Saturday. I can’t promise anything, but I bet I can talk my mom into a stop here. Any chance you could meet me? Can I cal you?”
First excitement, then panic, hit. Visions of Aunt Marge answering the phone filed her mind. “No, you can’t cal. I’m sorry.” She softened. “But I can be here. I’l wait for you.”
“No phone either, huh?”