She laughs. “I hate to break it to you, but you also fit that very exclusive and specific category. My sister is obsessed with forearms for some reason. Especially when the guy is wearing a collared shirt and rolls up his sleeves. I don’t get it, but according to her you have good ones.”

“You don’t get why your sister thinks forearms are sexy or sexiness in general?”

“The forearms. They’re just arms. What’s appealing about them?” She laughs. “I understand sexiness on an abstract level. When something or someone is considered desirable to the eye of the beholder and all that.”

“Does it bother you that people find you sexy?”

“Are we going there? Really?” she teases. “Occasionally. Oh, and thank you, I guess? I’m assuming you meant that as a compliment.”

“I did.”

“Do you think I’m attractive, objectively speaking? I get called ugly and a whole lot worse on the internet. It’s been . . . interesting to deal with.”

“You’re not ugly, Joy.”

“There’d be nothing wrong with me if I was,” she clarifies as she halves the dough and begins stretching it for the dish. “I don’t view myself like that because it feels so negative. I feel like when people say ‘ugly’ they’re either trying to hurt you on purpose, imply you don’t fit conventional beauty standards as a fact, or bully you into being ashamed until you do something about it.”

“Hmm.”

“I like the way I look, so I don’t think I’m ugly. But I know not everyone feels that way.”

“Hmm.”

“When I was younger, I used to stare at pictures for hours trying to figure out the difference between people’s faces. I remember sometimes I’d be like, ‘Oh yes, this is a good face that makes my brain happy,’ and then there’d be others, ‘Now, people are saying this one is sexy, but why?’ and just on and on and on. I finally gave up, decided everyone is beautiful, and called it a day.”

“Hmm.”

“Am I talking too much?”

“No.”

“Then how come you aren’t saying anything?”

“I’m listening.”

Joy stops pouring the filling and sets the bowl back down. “I want to talk to you, not at you. All you say is hmm. I’m tired of hearing hmm.”

“Hmm.” He grins.

“Don’t be funny. Actually, yes, continue to be funny, it’s great. But my point still stands. I’m interested in what you have to say, what your opinions are.” She tilts her head back, pressing closer to him, her front flush with his side. “I want your thoughts. Give them to me.”

The left side of his mouth quirks upward, making his dimple pop.

“You know, every time you drop that hmm wall, what you say blows me away.”

“That’s why I don’t do it that often. I want to make sure you stay right here.”