Page 76 of When You Give a Lawyer a Kiss

Dammit. I must have forgotten to lock up.

My expression darkens, ready to unleash on whoever it is, but I stop in my tracks when I see Reese standing in the doorway. Her red hair spills down her shoulders, and her emerald eyes are fixed on me. My gaze moves down her body, a soft smile passes my lips when I notice she’s wearing her white sneakers with sunflowers drawn on the sides.

“Dawson, are you still there? Is everything okay? Martha asks over the phone.

“Reese is here. Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Yes, of course. Just make things right so we can meet her soon,” Martha says, her tone tinged with hope.

“Sweetheart, he’ll be fine,” Colby interjects. “We’ll talk to you later Dawson,” he says before hanging up.

I tuck my phone in my pocket, never taking my eyes off Reese.

“Hi,” she offers with a small wave.

“You’re here,” I say, stunned.

“I am.”

When she didn’t text back earlier, part of me was worried she had decided to end things but didn’t know how to tell me. Now I’m worried that she’s going to do it in person.

I’ve made up my mind that if that’s the case, I’m going to do everything in my power to change her mind. Because seeing her here solidifies that she belongs to me. There’s nothing moreimportant, and I’m prepared to put everything on the line if that’s what it takes to keep her in my life.

“What are you doing here?” I ask cautiously.

She takes a deep breath as she glances around the shop. “I’d like to get a tattoo,” she states confidently. “That is if you’re still open.” She gestures around the empty tattoo parlor.

I stare at her shocked—those were the last words I expected to hear.

It takes me back to the first night she was here. Her bubbly personality and natural charm were a breath of fresh air from my mundane existence. So much has changed since then, but the one thing that remains the same is the unrelenting need to draw her close.

“Really?” I ask.

“Yes.” She strides toward me. “Someone once told me tattoos that have a personal meaning are the best kind. I’ve thought long and hard about it, and I want one right here.” She motions to her wrist.

“What tattoo were you thinking?”

“A compass, similar to this one.” She reaches out to trace mine with the tip of her finger. “But smaller so it fits on my wrist, with sunflowers around it.”

I nod, the design already taking shape in my mind. “Follow me,” I say, guiding her to my station. Once we’re inside, she takes a seat in the tattoo chair and places her wrist face up on the armrest. She silently watches me as I gather my supplies, she winces when I wipe her wrist with a cold antiseptic wipe.

“You sure about this, Red? Getting a tattoo can be painful, especially here,” I lightly touch her wrist. “The skin is thin, and the nerves are more sensitive.”

She nods with a smile. “I’m positive.”

I retrieve a black surgical marker and crouch down on my stool, bending over Reese’s arm to draw. Most tattoo artistsuse tablets to create their designs, however I prefer drawing freehand on the skin as it gives me more creative freedom.

With slow, consistent strokes, I begin to outline the compass.

“Why this particular design?” I inquire, unable to hide my curiosity.

“Sunflowers were my grandpa’s favorite flower,” Reese says, her tone carrying a hint of longing. “When my mom got sick, she planted a handful of sunflower seeds in the backyard, but they didn’t sprout. One of my first memories was the following year when I woke up on a Saturday morning to find both my grandparents looking out the back window with tears in their eyes. My grandpa held me up so I could see the beautiful cluster of sunflowers that had bloomed, and told me it was a sign that my mom was watching over us.” I pause to glance up to find Reese has tears gleaming in her eyes. “The sunflowers are a way to keep their memory alive,” she adds softly, her voice cracking slightly.

“It’s a beautiful tribute, Red. I’ll do my best to honor their memory.” I lean forward to place a chaste kiss to her temple. “Thank you for trusting me to do this.”

Reese wipes away a stray tear with her free hand. “There’s no one else I’d rather share this moment with. I know you’ll create something special.” She rests her head as I return to outlining the tattoo. “The compass is for me,” she whispers a few seconds later. “A reminder to trust myself to navigate through life’s challenges and stay true to my own path. There’s also someone very important in my life who has a similar one and I like the idea of wearing a symbol that has significance for both of us.”

I briefly glance up from my work again. “He feels the same way,” I murmur, swallowing the lump in my throat, forcing my attention to the design taking shape on Reese’s wrist—the vintage compass has four cardinal points, encircled by a ring of sunflowers, the petals wrapping around the curve of her wrist.Once I finish outlining, I prepare the tattoo gun, and Reese squeezes her eyes shut, tensing up when the needle pierces her skin for the first time.

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