The Unasked Question

The words hung in the air between them, stupid and perfect. 'Will you go to the dance with me?' Aidan’s voice was steady, but his knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the picnic table. Annabelle felt a flush start at her collarbone and rush upward. Her mind, usually a whirlwind of calculations and theories, went utterly, blissfully blank. All she could see was the earnest set of his jaw, the way his fiery hair caught the afternoon sun, and the sudden, shocking heat pooling low in her own stomach.