Vulnerable by Elise Pehrson Page B

and he figured that that was the reason why she spoke through it so fluidly without moving a muscle.
                They walked slowly over to the picnic tables; her hands were still twisting, her fingers entwining one with another, his were sweating and linked behind his back. “So are you having a good time?” she asked, again biting her lip and playing with a free strand of hair that came undone by the loose twisted bun now bobbing on her head. Michael was amazed at how perfect she still looked to him. He wondered how she had no men falling on her doorstep for her. Maybe there was more to her than met the eyes of others; Michael always was a good judge of character… then again… he did marry Lindsay… but she was ill…
    He almost forgot to answer because he was so consumed in the wave of his thoughts.
                “Yeah, I am,” he quickly piped.
                “Me too, but…” she hesitated before softly adding, “I’m glad to be able to spend more time with you now.” Michael felt his face burn white hot. The beads of sweat turned to enormous splats of sweat leaking down his neck like a rusty faucet.
                “Me too,” he replied, his voice shaking. They made it to the table and began eating soft sandwiches. The bread was like a comfy cloud pillowing the room of his mouth as he tasted the sharp taste of cheese and the smoky taste of ham trickle along his tongue. He looked over at Millie; she had bits of sandwich sticking to the corners of her mouth. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself about it.
                “What?” She asked with a mouthful of sandwich.
                “Nothing,” he said with a teasingly alluring smile. She looked at him in a panic, so he decided to let her in on the joke. He pointed at his lips and motioned towards the corners or hers. She reached up and felt the soft bread sticking to her mouth and laughed as well as turned a soft shade of burgundy.
                “It’s okay,” he said, “You’re funny.”
                “Without meaning to be!” She laughed.
                “Well, I like it,” he said. His eyes traced the outline of her face, studying her features. They were both quiet and he was wanting to make things a little less uncomfortable, so he changed the subject a little, “So how long is this retreat, anyway?”
                “Just until tomorrow night.”
                “Oh wow.”
                “Yeah,” she shrugged, “I wish that it could be longer but people have busy lives and two days is better than nothing.” Her eyes sparkled of innocence and charity, which is where, Michael realized, her true beauty lied.
                “I always wished I could be someone like you,” he said, still gazing into her eyes, pondering.
                She cocked her head, “What?” she gave a confused snort.
                “You know,” he said, “Selfless.”
                She smiled humbly and looked down. “I’m not selfless,” she said.
                “Yes, you are.”
                She looked up at him.
                “And you have a beautiful soul,” he said. They looked at each other, feeling a surge of some powerful source of adoration. He scooted in closer to her and felt her fingers trailing beneath his. He moved his head towards hers so slowly that he swore his heart beat a hundred times in the mean time. By the time his lips made it inches from hers, he could feel her breath and took in the smell of ham and cheese like he never had before.
                “TIME FOR CAMPFIRE SONGS!” A teenage boy yelled through a megaphone. Michael and Millie both jumped.
                He turned around to see a rather chubby boy with greasy hair that looked like, in Michael’s opinion, the type of kid to eat the poisonous berries in