What made her swoon, however, were his hands, in both of which he cradled hers when she greeted him. Something about their size and squareness, the hard angles of his thumbs’ metacarpals and the pronounced, indented triangles where they joined his wrists, made her desire take flight and then bloom inside her chest like fireworks. She was a deeply loyal person, incapable of infidelity, and yet it took all of her self-control not to turn to my father and say, “Why don’t you go find something else to do?”
