Emma reached down and touched the back of his head. His hair was soft. She’d forgotten how soft.
Mark blinked. “What?”
“Put them on me,” she said.
“I know.”
Emma turned to look at him. The porch light caught the side of his face, the stubble he hadn’t shaved in three days, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes that hadn’t been there on their wedding day. Cold Feet
A long pause. The neighbor’s cat wound between the porch railings, gave them both a disdainful look, and disappeared into the bushes.
When he finished, he didn’t let go. He held her ankles, his head bowed, and she saw his shoulders shake once, twice. Emma reached down and touched the back of his head
They stood up together. Mark’s hand found hers—not the ring hand, the other one, the one that had been hanging empty at her side. Their fingers laced together, hesitant at first, then tighter.