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Heating up his hands?
The frequently used word 'heating' just sounded so awkward in this context.
And I could say for sure, he wasn't heating them; he was roasting them.
Haven even explained he was roasting his hands because I wouldn't hold them.
I had no idea what he was talking about, but I couldn't just watch my fiancé's hands get roasted to a crisp.
I stood up and pulled Haven's hands toward me. Despite his large size, he slid over easily.
I sat him next to me and held his hands, then said, "Stop roasting your hands. I'll hold them."
"They are not roasted."
"Yes it is. Look, they're really hot. Almost cooked."
"They won't cook at this temperature."
"Even if they don't cook, stop roasting them. Why are you doing this? You really don't have frostbite?"
"Back then…"
Haven started, then stopped and looked down. He was hesitating, appearing either upset or embarrassed, so I urged him to continue.
"Back then?"
