Her eyes snap to mine, and she laughs, running a hand through her hair, snagging on the ends when she gets caught in a tangle. She frowns down at it and tries to pick it apart with her fingers, and when that doesn’t work, she reaches out, grabs one of the silverware roll-ups, and undoes it, taking a fork and using it to comb through the ends. Now I look at her. “I have a brush you can use.” She glances up from where she’s running the fork through her hair, her brows hopping high on her forehead. “Why? This dingle thing works just fine.” “Because it’s disgusting?”
ha!!!
