Max blew a deep, warm breath into a cupped hand and buffed the marble against his flannel shirt. This was his most prized possession, a gift passed down from Grandpa Wilson. It wasn’t really a marble at all, just a perfectly round stone embedded with tiny crystals and multi-colored swirls of turquoise and corral. Grandmother said it held magical powers.
Max found Cecelia under their favorite tree, where he’d carved their initials inside a heart last week.
“I have something for you,” he whispered, placing his hand in hers.
She opened her palm. “Oh great, a freakin’ rock. How woemantic.”