“I hear the unmistakable sound of glass breaking and I start apologizing to no one, trying to pick it up again, but I can't. I can't get my hands to work because they're too cold.”

“Come on." He jumped up and grabbed my hand. "Let's do something fun.""I can't! I have to work, and then I have a date.""Frying-pan boy again? I thought you guys broke up.""No! Why would we break up?”

“I can't sit still and see another man slaving and working. I want to get up and superintend, and walk round with my hands in my pockets, and tell him what to do. It is my energetic nature. I can't help it.”

“But I'm getting to it. I can't come at it cold. I'm warming my hands over old stories.”

“I watched you wake up and try to wake me up too. I could still feel you touch my face and my cheek. I liked the way you brushed my hair back with your hand. I liked the way held onto my hands with your hands. They must have felt a little cold and a little wet but they started to feel warm again when you held onto them. I want you to know that I stayed there with you and held onto you too.”

“I can't pretend this isn't important. I can't act like it doesn't exist. It's ironic, but true. There are a lot of things I'm really good at keeping secret. But I've learned I'm not too good at that with you. I can't pull it off. I don't want to just hook up. I don't want a secret relationship.""Well, that's a relief," I said, grabbing for both of his hands and holding on for dear life.Doubt started giving way to recognition, but he needed to hear it. "Why's that?""Because I'm really sick of secrets.”