Page 66 of Ink & Stardust

“Anything.”

“What do they mean? Your tattoos?”

I’ve spent so many nights studying them while he slept that I feel like I have every one memorized. And while I obviously know what some of them are, and I have a pretty good idea what they mean, there are others that aren’t quite so clear.

There’s a phoenix that covers the entirety of his bicep—rising from the ashes. A dragon that swirls down his forearm, the tail wrapping around his wrist—strength. A quote from Julius Caesar that readsthe fault is not in our stars, but in ourselves—the strength to change one’s circumstances. Those I have figured out. But it’s the others, the ones written in different languages or symbols I don’t understand, that I’m the most curious about.

“I mean, I know what some of them mean. But this one, for instance.” I let my hand drift to the back of his upper arm. “Why a lotus flower?”

“Because it grows in muddy waters,” he says simply. “We have that in common.”

“And this?” I touch the unfamiliar lettering that sits just beneath his elbow—μητ?ρα.

“It’s Greek for mother.”

Oh.

“And this one?” I touch another—Ora ti porto con me.

“It’s Italian. It says, now I carry you.”

For his mom... Emotion clogs my throat.

“And the night sky?” I run my hand the full length of his arm where the dark ink fills in the remaining gaps between the others, woven so seamlessly that together it looks like a beautiful piece of art, and I guess, in a way, it is.

“That I just got because I thought it looked cool.” A semblance of a smile touches his lips. “What are you doing next Thursday?” The conversation takes an abrupt turn.

“Um... Next Thursday.” I think about it for a second. “That’s Halloween.” I quickly realize.

“It is.” He nods softly.

“Maisie and Char are trying to drag me to some Halloween costume party.”

“Skip it.”

“Skip it? You mean you’re not going?”

“I’m not much for the party scene.”

“Pretty sure I met you at a party.” I point out. “And that you’ve been to basically every party I’ve been to.”

“You just answered your own question.”

“I didn’t ask a question.” I crinkle my nose in confusion.

“I’ve been to every partyyou’vebeen to for one very specific reason...Youwere there.”

“Yeah, right.” I snort a laugh.

“I’m serious.” And he looks it too. Nothing about his expression says he’s messing with me.

“Why?” I croak, feeling like I suddenly might take flight from the butterflies that have awoken in my stomach, flapping wildly.

“Would you believe me if I said that from the first time I saw you, I feltdrawnto you?”

“No.” It’s barely a whisper on my lips.

“That first night, after I left, I looked you up,” he continues.

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