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“Your hands are always so warm,” she says.
He’s never quite sure what to make of it or what to say whenever she brings it up. Maybe something snarky or witty, he thinks—no, that would kill the mood and turn her off. Maybe something disarmingly charming, though it is always difficult when put on the spot. Maybe something erudite, a quotation or anecdote with subtle profundity.
Maybe nothing at all, a blank slate to reflect her opacity.
Or maybe just something like, “Well, yours are always cold.”