he had a tattoo of a broken heart on his chest . he spied through the stray tendrils of his chin-length hair , watching her sit on the floor next to the oil lamp without much care either way . the wind kicked up again and nudged a single , stray curl down over her forehead . it was the way he said it , the way he was looking at her . their row , and the gulf it created , had shown him the folly in pushing her away . she wants to win me , fair and square . 