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“Your arm. I thought I saw some ink. What did you get? I thought your new guy hated tattoos?”

“Oh,” she swallows hard and looks away then back again, “it’s just a small little thing. I don’t… it’s lame. And yeah, Leon hates it, but ya know, I had to do something for myself. You never told me about you.”

I want to press the tattoo thing, but I don’t want to scare her off. “Yeah, still at the shop full time. I have a client tonight after the deep clean. He wants a wolf on his back. I have it drawn up, just need to double check some details. You have big plans tonight?”

She rolls her eyes and sighs. “Leon has this party out at Rock Lake I’m attending.”

“And you’re not digging said party?”

She bites back a grin. “Is it that obvious?”

“Kind of. You guys never got on the same page?”

Her tone rises as she says, “We are… we’re on the same page. What would make you think we’re not? How about you? You seeing anyone?”

“Princess,” I fix my gaze on hers, “you know I’m holding out for the one that got away.”

Her cheeks turn pink, and she looks down, swallowing hard. “I, ugh, I should probably get headed out to the lake. It was good seeing you.”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said—”

“No, you’re good. We’re good.” The pink in her cheeks has turned red, and I fight the burning urge to pull her close. I probably look like an idiot, but what’s normal here? How am I supposed to react when the girl I’m in love with is standing in front of me after five years? When I know a tattoo on her arm is for me? When I know she’s not happy?

“That’s an ace of hearts on your forearm, isn’t it?”

“What?” Her breath picks up.

“Your tattoo. You got the tattoo to match mine.”

“No.” She laughs under her breath and turns away. “It was good seeing you. Take care, okay?” Dark hair flies behind her as she twists away quickly, leaving the shop in a hurry. I watch her move across the busy afternoon street, checking both ways before she flutters toward her car.

What the fuck just happened?

I should go after her. I know what I saw. That tattoo was there, a memory etched on her skin to look at forever. It’s a sign that she’s still in love, a sign that she misses me as badly as I miss her.

The espresso machine grinds and drips again, and the earthy-sweet scent of coffee permeates the room.

I should go back to the tattoo shop. I should push her out of my mind. I should stop following her, stop hoping she’ll come to her senses.

Truth be told, I should do a lot of things, but for the first time in years, I’m gonna do what feels right.

Chapter Four

Evie

I should be home taking long deep breaths as I try to deconstruct the conversation I had with Sawyer earlier. Instead, I’m sitting on a docked boat at the lake while men ogle women wearing next to nothing the night before my wedding.

My stomach turns and I take a small sip of the ginger ale I’ve been carrying around. At least the weather is pleasant. There’s a warm breeze, and the sky is perfectly clear, giving way to thousands of sparkling stars.

Sawyer brought me out here one night back in the day. He’d thought of everything. A soft blanket for us to lay on, a slice of raspberry pie, and two cups of warm tea. We laid under the stars for hours that night talking about life beyond Earth, human connection, and cosmic order. The funny thing is, we laid under the stars, but I’m not sure we ever saw them. We were too busy staring at each other.

His hands were in my hair, on my skin, and against my face. I wished so many times that he’d have gone further with me, but I know he was desperately trying to respect my wishes. I told him early on that we could never be physical in that way, knowing I wasn’t going to be his forever. That said, it was a struggle some nights to walk away without feeling him. Those nights, I went home and touched myself to thoughts of his big, rough hands on my body… to thoughts of the way his teethscraped across the base of my neck when he kissed me… to thoughts of how perfect the weight of his body felt against mine.

My clit throbs just thinking about it. I should’ve fucked him. At least then, I’d have something warm to look back on. Instead, I have a pile ofwhat-if’sthe size of a house, and an ache so deep I’m afraid it’ll never be filled.

God, why did I have to go to Rugged Mountain today? It’s my brain playing sick tricks. Why else would I go talk to the man I’m in love with for the first time in five years the day before my wedding? Clearly, I’m repenting for some past life of sin and gluttonous glory.

“Oh fuck.” Some skinny dude with short black hair bumps into me, spilling his liquor on my dress. I’m not angry about the dress. I’m angry he interrupted my memory. I could’ve sat in that thought for hours, remembering the way Sawyer’s calloused hands felt on my skin or the way his deep voice sounded in my ear. I could’ve easily taken those memories and disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes to set them free.

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