Page 89 of Silent Is The Heart

Whipping off the covers, I get up, intent on feeding him. Intent on living and loving, no matter what comes.

EPILOGUE

Aaron—Ten months later

“Manicki?”

Looking up from the counter where I’m talking to Shannon, I find Easton leaning against his stall with a smirk on his face. So, he wants to do the customer/tattoo artist thing, huh?

“Good luck,” Shannon says, flashing me a wink.

Smiling, I walk toward my man with butterflies in my stomach. He looks positively predatory right now. He’d better not look at all his clients like that.

Leaning in for a kiss, I’m met with a hand held up between us. “Ah, ah! Hands to yourself, please. We don’t want other customers getting the wrong idea.”

Oh, my gosh. He’s enjoying this way too much. Snickering, I roll my eyes and take a seat in the chair I’ve seen dozens of customers in, but have never once sat in myself. I never thought I’d want a tattoo. I can’t say that I even really do now, but I wantwhatit will mean. I want it with every breath in my body. It’s just a huge bonus that I’m going to get to experience firsthand the sight of Easton at work from this perspective.

“I was thinking,” he says off-handedly, pulling on a pair of nitrile gloves. “Why don’t we take a vacation?”

I guess this means we’re dispensing with the customer/tattoo artist dynamic now. Good. I think I prefer the specialtreatment of knowing it’s my boyfriend who’s giving me my first tattoo.

“You just bought a house. Why don’t we wait a while?”

“Webought a house,” he corrects, raising a challenging brow.

This again… I know he wants me to feel like I contributed equally to the down payment, but we both know the truth is that I didn’t. And his claim that him staying at my place for the better part of the past year after Wolf moved into his old apartment was payment enough holds no water is this debate. I would have settled for the home he referred to as the seventies drug house, but when he saw how much I loved the craftsman we looked at, he called the realtor when I wasn’t around. The rat… the sweet, spoils-me-rotten rat.

“I barely contributed anything,” I mutter, my face heating.

I get an eye roll for that remark, but it has no effect on me. I make sure to hold my own these days and put my foot down, knowing there won’t be repercussions. I know I won’t ever feel beholden or beneath him the way Jason sometimes made me feel; Easton would never let me. While it’s a wonderful feeling to have such a caring and compassionate partner, I’m still looking forward to the end of next year when my strict budgeting plan will have allowed me to pay off the few remaining debts that Sam wasn’t able to get cleared. Grace was none too happy about having to take over several of them, but in the end, she decided it was preferable to jail.

“So…youwon’ttake me on a vacation?” he tries to pout.

“Of course, I will. Just give me a few more paychecks, maybe. Why? Is there somewhere in particular you want to go?”

Leaning in, his lips give mine a sweet kiss. “Anywhere,” he whispers with a smile.

Oh. My. Word. I’d get a tattoo every week if it made him this lovable.

“You’re way too happy about this.” I laugh.

Smirking, he grabs his sketch pad and holds it out in front of me. I’ve seen some of the other artists put their designs on stencils that they can transfer to a customer’s skin, essentially using it as a pattern. I’d be wary about getting it done freehand if it was anyone else but Easton. I know that’s why he’s showing me the sketch—my last opportunity to change my mind or request any changes. The way I deliberate over little things, it’s almost comical that I have zero doubts about this. It’s absolutely beautiful just as he’s drafted—two halves of a heart that can join like puzzle pieces. His name is on one of them, mine on the other.

“It looks just as good as it did the other day,” I tell him proudly, giving him a thumbs up.

Lifting my T-shirt, I draw it over my head and hang it over the armrest. Settling back in the chair, I try to relax my muscles and take in the view of the shop from this vantage point.

“It’s going to hurt,” he cautions, tracing his gloved fingertip over the center of my chest. “You know that, right?”

I can see in his eyes that he’s really asking if I’m sure I want to do this for him. It’s as much for me as it is for him, though. He’s already permanently engraved on the organ inside my chest. I figured having it on the outside, too, might make me not feel like I’m going to burst with the overload of affection I feel for him every second of the day.

“And then it won’t.” I smile. “Because that’s what love does. It heals.”

His features soften, and he closes his eyes for a moment. Leaning forward, he rests his forehead against mine. “Don’t talk like that right now, or you’ll leave here with half a tattoo.”

“It’s okay. I know where you live.”

Chuckling, he brushes his nose against mine. I love the look he gets on his face whenever we talk about how we’ve officially moved in together. He gets this gloat about him like he’s absconded with sought-after treasure.

---