Page 109 of The Seven Miracles of Beatrix Holland
With relief in her voice, Reno said, “Good.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Reno tugged off the hat, rubbed both shaved sides of her head, and then shoved a hand through the dark curls on top.
Could she be nervous, too?
Reno opened the door of the small fridge. “Ginger ale?”
“Yes.” Not that she was thirsty—she’d already had a beer and three lemonades. She just wanted to agree with Reno. About anything. She’d have accepted a glass of warm milk spiked with bathtub gin; she didn’t care.
“Outside?”
Outside, inside, upside down, it didn’t matter. The day was catching up to Beatrice and nothing had made sense for a while, but this? Right here? This made sense.
In the garden, they sat on a wrought iron bench.
On the other side of the gate, a group of children holding sparklers ran over the grass without glancing in their direction. The roses and hollyhocks were high enough that Beatrice felt hidden again, as she had with Cordelia.
Only this was different.
Reno’s thigh was so close to hers that she could feel the heat of it.
This wasreallydifferent.
But she was probably imagining all this—Grant had always said she was too prone to flights of fancy.
She had to say something. She had to break the silence. “It’s dark out here.” It wasn’t really, not with the twinkle lights hanging above. But it was something to say.
“Are you scared?”
“No.” That wasn’t quite true. “Maybe.” Out there, past the garden where the cemetery began, that was the darkness that chilled her. A low film of dread filled her as she thought about meeting Minna there at midnight. But Cordelia would be with her by then, and maybe they could recruit Reno to come, too. She needed to keep her eye on the time, make sure she got back to the party to tell Cordelia first about Minna wanting to contact her father, then—
“Hey.” Reno spoke gently. “I’ll know if something really bad is coming. I’ve had a couple of waves of something unpleasant roll through tonight, but they pass by quick. I don’t think we’re in danger.”
Beatrice frowned. “It’s not that.” But her words came out rough, and she could almost feel Reno retract into herself.
Looking straight ahead, Reno said, “I get it. I wouldn’t trust me, either.”
Oh, god. How could she fix this? Somehow, she knew she’d trust Reno with her life. “No, I swear. It’s not about you. I’m just—just a little overwhelmed with everything.” But it wasn’t enough. She wanted to give Reno something real, something tangible, as sturdy as the carved bookholder. Something to show that she trusted her. “Minna gave me my first tattoo today. Cordelia doesn’t know yet, and I guess I’m a little worried.”
It worked—Reno’s shoulders relaxed. “Ah. Wondered why it looked like she’d been cleaning her tools. Show me?”
Beatrice rolled back the sleeve of her blouse. “Am I allowed to pull back the plastic?”
“If you’re careful, yeah.”
Her heart beating faster, Beatrice said, “I’m right-handed, so I’m not sure I’ll do a great job with my left hand. Would you?”
Reno’s eyes caught hers, smoky with heat. As she unwrapped the plastic, her fingers were so gentle that Beatrice’s stomach flipped. The tattoos that covered Reno’s arms seemed to move in the dimness, swirling on top of her skin, blue lines blending and shifting. Beatrice’s eyes traced each one.
Then her own tattoo was revealed.
“It’s good.” Reno tilted Beatrice’s wrist slightly toward the strings of white lights above them. “It’s really good.”
“For my stepmother.”
“You loved her.”
