Tough Love

The rain is warm on her skin, but still she shivers as she reaches out to cup the sky's tears in the palm of her hand. She sighs, smiles, and leans back against the rough bark of the tree.

“Stupid girl. Go home. You'll catch your death out here,” he says from the other side of the trunk.

She giggles and sidles sideways, one hand carefully searching for something never before found, the other pressed to her heart, clutching at her shirt because she's afraid her heart just may wash away with the rain. Her hand finds wet denim and her fingers dig into it until she's holding on tighter than one stranger should hold another.

“I already have,” she whispers. “Haven't I?”