“I don’t like cuddling,” she says, and I tense, drawing my hands away but she stops me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so dry, and I didn’t mean I wanted you to move.” She pauses and exhales a shuddering breathing. “I don’t like cuddling with anyone, but I really like it with you. I like doing things with you. So, uh, if you want to, you know, hold my hand, or hug me or even kiss me, you can. Whenever you want. If you want.”
