“Excuse me, could you pass the salt?” I asked the woman with flowing black hair at the next table. I had planned this moment endlessly in my mind.
“Busy,” she said, not looking up from her smartphone.
“But, there are no other salt shakers in the entire restaurant,” I begged.
She scanned the salt-less tables. Grudgingly, she handed her shaker across the gulf between us. Our fingers touched, lingering just a breath. A surprised smile warmed her emerald eyes.
It truly was love at first touch.
One day I must return the restaurant’s shakers hidden in the trunk of my car.