Her hand reached up so her fingers could savor the feel of his snowy tresses. She watched it with fascination, unsure of what her hand was doing, seemingly of it's own accord. “Who cuts your hair?” she asked breathlessly. Though not what she had wanted to say, it was the only thing that made it out of her clouded thoughts to escape her lips.
His own hand came up to touch her wrist lightly. Not stopping her, but not advancing it either. “Jakin.”
There was a pause and she wondered if he was going to elaborate.
“He was my father's barber and he's getting up there in years. Maybe his hands aren’t as steady as they once were...”
It was the first time she'd heard uncertainty in his voice. This mighty man of business, who lesser men cowered in fear of, was self conscious. “No, no,” she was quick to reassure him. “It's nice,” her voice trailed off softly as his hand finally took hold of hers.