“Wrinkles, Vale. They’re wrinkles.” “Evidence,” he corrects softly, his thumb following a crease that deepens when I squint. “That you laughed too hard at supper last week. That you frown in your sleep.” His touch drifts to the corner of my mouth, where the skin creases more than it once did. “That you’ve spent twenty years smiling at me when I don’t deserve it.”
―
Liv Zander,
Crown Me Yours