Saving Savannah

It went on for a while — the two of us just enjoying the physical closeness, amidst the silence of her shop. I wanted it to go on forever, really. But like all good things…

“Okay, give me your palm.”

Savannah slid into the chair across from me, and took my open hand. After staring at it for a good half minute, her eyes found mine.

“Your lifeline is long and strong,” she said, tracing something in my palm. “It’s also curved, which is a good thing.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“It means you’re dynamic,” she said. “Strong and enthusiastic about life in general.”

“You needed my palm to tell you that?” I chuckled.

“Hush.”

I watched her eyes flit back and forth, as she read some more. God, she was so fucking beautiful. I found myself memorizing every line of her perfect face; from her high cheekbones to her ruby lips to her soft, feminine jaw.

“Your head line is shorter, but it’s wavy as hell.” She glanced up at me again. “You’re impulsive, but sometimes unfocused. And you have a short attention span, don’t you?”

“What?” I joked.

“And your heart line…” Savannah made a ‘tsk tsk’ sound and shook her head. “Well, that’s no good. It looks like mine.”

She held out her own palm, tracing the curve so I could see the similarities.

“Why is it no good?”

“You’ve had many lovers,” she went on, “but very few serious relationships. And you fall too easily. You’ve had your heart broken a few times, and—”

She stopped herself rather abruptly, then moved to take her hand back. I held her wrist though, and traced a line of my own.

“Your heart line breaks,” I said. “Here and here. And here.”

“It doesn’t break,” Savannah corrected. “It separates.”

“Yeah, but it separates into three.”

A smile curled its way across my face as I gauged her reaction. It wasn’t a bad one. It was more… interesting.

“Who’s getting the reading,” she asked. “You or me?”

“Okay, okay.”

She took my palm again, this time holding it open. Using two hands she spread it wide, running her fingers lightly along mine.

“You have fire hands,” she said emphatically.

“Fire hands?”

“Yes.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because your skin is flushed, and the length of your palm is greater than the length of your fingers.”

I squinted downward, and damn if she wasn’t right. In relation to my fingers, my palm was big and wide and rectangular. I’d never really noticed.

“You’re probably an Aries,” she said. “Or maybe a—”