Page 78 of It's Always Been You
Molly’s voice is full of humor, and I pull her back down to me and kiss her, pouring every ounce of love I feel into it. I suck her bottom lip into my mouth and run my hands up her ribs underneath the sweatshirt to graze the sides of her breasts. Our mouths move together, and my hands explore every inch of her. It’s Molly who breaks the kiss, giggling a little when I chase her mouth as she pulls away.
“No. No distractions. I need to see your tattoo, and I need to see it now.”
“Right here?” I gasp in mock horror.
Molly makes a show of looking around the dark woods. “It’s midnight, and we’re in the middle of the woods. No one is here, and besides, you wouldn’t care even if someone was.”
I laugh at her knowing look because she’s right. I would fuck her completely naked against this tree without giving a single shit who was around.
She looks at me with satisfaction, like she can read my mind, and then slides back onto the blanket, settling next to me.
“Strip it off, Gabe.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Molly
Gabe hesitates, then looks almost sheepish as he slides back to lean against the tree, lifting his hips to push his joggers down. He pauses before he gets them all the way over his hips, looking up at me, expression so hesitant that I laugh.
“Uh, you know I’ve already seen you naked right? Just a couple of hours ago, in fact. And, like, wow. So there’s no need to play shy now.”
I expect Gabe to smile, but he doesn’t. Instead, he blows out a breath and looks…nervous, I think? Gabe never looks nervous, so I’m instantly curious.
“Okay, so here’s the thing. You know I missed you, right? Like, I really missed you. I missed you like I would miss my heart if it suddenly stopped beating. I pined away for you like I was a Revolutionary War wife waiting at the window for her husband to come back from battle while holding a handkerchief and clutching the last letter you sent me to my chest. It was the kind of missing that made me do weird things, like name a phone after you, and make questionable decisions like…”
He trails off and I know instantly where this is going. My smile spreads. Never has there ever been a more perfect man.We were made for each other. “Gabriel Sullivan did you get a tattoo to remind yourself of me?”
“Tattoos,” he mutters. Even in the dim glow of the twinkle lights, I can see his cheeks heat, and I want to cover them with a thousand kisses. Feel all that warmth against my lips. I love him more than words.
“And how many tattoos are we talking about?” I ask gleefully.
Gabe groans. “Might as well just see for yourself.”
He tugs down his pants the rest of the way and rolls up the hem of his boxer briefs. I lean over, and the second I see his thigh, my breath catches.
“Gabe, Jesus,” I breathe, reaching out and gliding my hand over the ink. It’s a scattering of smaller tattoos. A perfect image of the tree we’re sitting against right now, complete with the heart and our carved initials. The northern lights done in swoops and swirls of blue and green so intricate they look like they’re moving. A tiny pair of toe shoes hanging from a barre and a Lego. A Redwood phone and the scales of justice. A replica of the diner we loved near campus and a Captain America shield and Captain Marvel’s logo.
I stare at it, trying to take in the enormity of what I’m looking at. Separately, each tattoo is ordinary. Random, even. But taken together, they tell our story. The whole thing. Even the time we spent apart. Without knowing if he would ever see me again, Gabe made me a part of him for eternity.
I run my fingers over a string of numbers and look up at Gabe. “Coordinates?” I ask.
He nods.
“To where?”
He reaches out and takes my free hand, running his thumb over my knuckles. “To right here. To?—”
“Our most sacred place,” I finish for him.
“Yes. I wanted coordinates to home. For me, home isn’t a place. It’s you. And when I couldn’t be with you, here is the only place I could still feel close to you after I let you go.”
I squeeze Gabe’s hand, my eyes fixed on his thigh.
“When did you get the scales of justice?”
“Two years ago.”
My head snaps up to meet his gaze. “I started my firm two years ago. Publicly, at least. The planning started way before that.”
