Eli’s big hand curls around mine. He links our fingers together, settling our hands on top of the papers so I can’t look. It’s a weird angle to hold hands, but I’m not complaining. I like the way my small hand looks wrapped in his, seeing his neatly trimmed nails next to mine with their chipped pink polish and chewed off ends. I like the warmth and steadiness of him. Maybe a little too much.
