Hands

I reached in my purse and dug for my business card holder. "Here, this is my contact information," I said handing him one of my color cards with my guitar on the front. 

"Wow, that is a beautiful card," he said, pulling up his sweater to access his shirt pocket. He slid a small spiral notebook and pen out and scribbled his name and phone number on the first page. He tore the page out and handed it to me while little pieces of lined white notebook paper fluttered to the floor. 

I extended my arms, leaned in to hug him. He was tentative so I straightened up and enlarged the space between us. We shook hands instead, but he put his free hand on top of mine. Holding hands had been safe, a moving expression between us. 

Would you be as tentative about a good-bye hug as Andrew was?