Hands.

Then she grabbed his hand and for the first time in a long time, he left it there, inside her grip. He let her caress his knuckles and felt the rings on her fingers. 

"I'm better now," she said.

"That's good." He replied, still not facing her.

"How about you?" she asked, in a low voice.

He hesitated.

"Dunno. Guess so."

"You can't not know."

"Well... I'm okay with you, and that's a lot more that what I've had for a while."

She kept holding his hand for a little longer, until it got sweaty and she had to let go to wipe the sweat in her pants and then took his hand again.

"I want to make you happy," she replied.

"I want to let you, I just don't know what to do or how," he looked at her eyes, his eyes tired, his gaze sad but the look was pleading. She pushed a strand of hair away from her forehead and sighed.

"I don't know if I can make you happy, but I can keep holding your hand for as long as you feel comfortable with, and that's a start."

He then looked at their hands, still together.

"Your hand is soft."

"Thanks."

He gripped hers a little tighter. The trace of a smile drew on her lips.

"I like it here," he said.

"The parking lot?"

"No," he intertwined his fingers with hers. "Here."

She kept smiling.

"I'm glad."

They grew quiet for a while.

"Uhhm... Can we get another pretzel?"

"If that makes you happy."

"I guess it might."

And so they did.