Page 81 of Our Long Days
I point at her. “You watch it.” Then, I turn my scowl on the man next to her. “You’re a fucker. I hadn’t eaten that morning. You swore you’d take that to the grave.”
He shrugs, salt and pepper shoulder-length hair bouncing. He’s in his late forties, covered head to toe in tattoos that are currently colored with purple and green felt tips, thanks to his twin boys. He’s a good guy, and the only person I trust to give Florence her first tattoo.
The joking stops, he resumes, and ten minutes later, he carefully wipes her arm. Florence vibrates with excitement, eyes on me.
“Florence, it’s been an honor.” Barry stands, gaze darting between the two of us. “I’ll give you a minute to show this brute your new ink, and then I’ll wrap it up. Take your time.”
He slaps me on the shoulder on his way out and leans in close. “I know that face, my friend. Made the same one the day I met my wife,” he murmurs before striding away.
Rising to my feet, I step toward Florence.
A deep flush paints her cheeks, fingers wriggling nervously. “You ready to see?”
I nod.
A slow breath blows through her lips. Then, she angles her arm toward me.
The tattoo travels from her wrist to halfway up her forearm: four intricate designs linked by fine lines loop and swoop over her skin, the area slightly raised and red.
“They all bring me joy and ground me. My favorite things. The flower is a New England Aster. An oak tree for my family, like the one outside our house. The camera.” Her voice wobbles. “The camera is for my dad; you remember his old Polaroid? And then the last one…”
The organ behind my ribcage falters. My breathing becomes uneven.Favorite things. Joy. It takes three tries to swallow.
Sitting over her pulse point, connected to the camera, is an axe.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Fuck, I need to keep her.
She belongs with me.
Not just for the summer.
For all 365 days.
All seasons.
I want to see her glow in the summer, cozied up in the fall, warming by the fire in the winter, and blossoming in the spring.
Adoration pours from her, heart constantly on her sleeve. Now, my mark is on her skin.
There’s one thing stopping me from putting it all out there.
Me.
CHAPTER THIRTY
florence
Tattoo hiddenunder a long-sleeved lace blouse, I trace the raised skin.
Harriet stares at my outfit in confusion. “Why are you wearing that in July, weirdo? You’re making me sweat just looking at you.”
Well, because I got a tattoo partially dedicated to the man I’m secretly sleeping with. Obviously, I didn’t say that.
I want to tell everyone who’ll listen that I’m with Dex.
Four weeks since the camping trip, and he’s made no move to tell Patrick.
