I held a hand and I liked it

Last night we held hands. I said it wouldn't happen but last night, under a full moon, it did.
How could something so innocent feel so illicit?
We were walking, it started to rain, our umbrellas were up and imposing, I wanted to feel closer so I looped my arm around his, the way you would a close friend, we walked this way for a while. I was yammering about my mother's insistence on skipping out on hiring a babysitter and taking me to all her Al-Anon meetings as a child, I didn't realize how strange this was until I said it out loud, I can still recite all their mantras. For him I recited my favorite, "Keep coming back, it works if you work it, so work it, you're worth it!" He thought this was funny and asked if my hand was cold, it wasn't, but he wrapped his gloved hand around mine and we continued to walk, I continued to talk, the rain continued to fall, and my mind was busy. There we were, in the middle of Brooklyn, holding hands for all the world to see, I felt exposed, like at any moment my boyfriend would fall out of the sky and break up with me because there I was, standing on the edge of the world and holding the hand of someone who really cares about me, someone I think I really care about too. I'm afraid of what's to come. I realize how completely inane and juvenile this all sounds, but we held hands. I said I wouldn't, but last night, we walked down a street, under a full moon, in the rain, holding hands. People saw but I didn't want to stop. We held hands and I think I liked it.