‘I don’t like to be touched,’ she said.
‘I know,’ Hephaestus replied. ‘It’s one of a thousand things I love about you.’
‘But you’re touching me, when you know I don’t like it.’
‘Because I want to be the one whose touch you like.’
‘You aren’t. No one is.’
‘You don’t mind when your owl flutters down and perches on your shoulder,’ he said. ‘You hold out your arm to him, so he can land more easily.’
‘He’s an owl.’
‘I think you could love me like that.’
‘I couldn’t.’