“Here.” I take it from his hands, not missing the way our fingers brush but distracted now by his present. I hold it as carefully as a newborn kitten. He made it, I realize, seeing the wispy strings of glue hanging off the candy bars like shiny cobwebs. One of them catches on my wrist. Eli made this. For me. I will not be a grown woman crying in the lobby of an animal shelter over candy. I will not. “Don’t look too closely. It was my first time wielding a glue gun.” “You used a glue gun? For me?” “First and last time.” He chuckles,
