It was the taboo of the touch and although it was her habit, it still held the power to thrill me to comfort my distance.

We chatted as she scanned each item , especially the contraband cake, and it was as if we were conspiring, masking our planned insurrection.

I obeyed the card-only directive and, as the till printed the receipt in a flurry, she reached over, stripped it away and pointedly
held both hands out toward mine.

And just there – as I reached around the screen, she cupped my hand in hers and she gifted me her “Look after yourself, luv.”
- while I choked on my goodbye.