I watched his face for a moment, not needing to touch him to feel his regret. Idly, I looked down to my fingers, touching the now almost faded marks, trying to make sense of what he said, and of emotions so confused and tangled I wondered if I’d ever straighten them out. “You’re not going to leave her, are you?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again, his face hard and angular.
Having my answer, I touched the hair that swept back from his forehead to the nape of his neck. Ben’s hair had always been gorgeous, and now, worn about four inches long, brushed back and curling slightly on the ends, it made me want to run my fingers through its silky lengths. “You cut your hair.”
His gaze went to my head, a little smile on his lips. “So have you.”
“I liked yours better the way it us
