He’s not even trying to stifle his chuckle. But I know behind that stupid smirk, he sees the gloves for what they are, an olive branch. “Do you have matching ones? We’ll be the cutest couple on the ice.” “Can’t you just say thank you and not make this weird?” I mutter. “No way. You knit me gloves and you think you’re going to get off easy?” he says.
