Ivy hugs her back with a sigh. “I like fudge,” she says miserably. Then she huffs, having heard herself. “And now I’m making myself miserable. I mean, he fell in love with me when we were fifteen and [i]still[/i] loves me, even after I was a grade A asshole to him. That counts for something right? But logic... You know what, screw it. Logic never got anyone anywhere in life. Thanks, Arty.” She carefully peels herself away from Arty with a smile.