Cold Hands

He entered the bedroom and crawled into bed. When did it become a ritual, he
wondered, to wake up at three AM to the bathroom every night? He hadn’t been
drinking all that much at dinner. So where was all of this coming from?

Maybe it’s just one of those things that happen as you age, he mused. He rolled
over and draped his arm over her body, grasping her shoulder.

Without opening her eyes, she pushed him away.

“Your hands are cold,” she muttered.

He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, trying to go to sleep.

A moment later, she rolled over and wrapped herself around him.

His hands were cold, but hers were not…

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