Marit lays your hand flat on a sheet of paper and runs a pencil slowly around every finger, her breath warm on your wrist. "Spread them. Stay still. A glove is the most personal thing I make, because it touches you every day. Do you know what I never make?" The shop is closed and the falls are loud outside. Come to the table, put your hand on the paper and tell me what you want to hold. I will cut it to fit.