Heartstrings
It wasn't so much the time he made the flowers bloom in the shape of her name, although that was lovely. It wasn't that sunset on the cliff either.
Neither was it the song, although that had made her cry (he'd been so contrite, afraid he'd done something wrong as usual).
It wasn't the beautiful things he made with his hands; they left her breathless, yes, but sometimes they also made her wish she could give him more than pie and kind words.
No, it was those shoulder-to-shoulder silences — so warm — that filled Glenda with fresh pink candyfloss every time.