he’s like my dad without being gross.”
“Because of the whole having a baby together thing?”
“Exactly, but damn is he a pain in my ass sometimes.” I exhaled going back to the kitchen. “Do you mind if I have a glass of wine?”
“Of course not.” He went back to check the grill before joining me in the kitchen. “You still care about him. No matter what you say.”
“Oh, sure.” I said, going over to hold his hand. I turned it over and traced my finger over the bold green 21 inked above his thumb. I noticed him flinch, but I played it off. “We’re like family now, I guess. You know I can fix tattoos?”
I wasn’t sure why I said it. Probably because it was how Patrick and I met—with me changing one of his least-favorite tattoos into something he could live with.
“Did you have something in mind?” he smiled, sliding my hair off my cheek. I looked up and scooted around the bar, catching his sexy jawline.
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Pulling him gently, he readily leaned forward to catch my lips with his. “It’s a surprise.”
* * *
The owner of the White Lotus tattoo shop in Toms River was a new client, Wren. She was a tall woman with short black hair and sleeves of ink down both her arms. One was a green-and-red rose vine with enormous thorns and the words Love Hurts. The other was several blue-and-green Hokusai-style waves with the words Love Heals.
As I’d helped her with form and increasing her strength, I’d admired the artistry, which led to talk about my past experience. I told her I wished I had access to a gun to touch up some of my own ink, and she only asked me to bring my license. She was more than happy to let me use her equipment—once I’d completed the necessary paperwork, of course.
After I finished my touch-up at Wren’s, I went to the small gift shop off the boardwalk. I’d seen a trinket weeks ago I’d forgotten until last night. I was kissing Slayde’s back, tracing my fingertips down the lines of the wings inked there, when the memory floated through my brain.
The cashier was kind enough to wrap it for me, and I headed home, stopping off to grab some take-out Thai food before driving to his studio apartment.
“You’re killing me with all the takeout,” he said, meeting me at the door with a kiss.
“It’s impossible to remember what you say when you kiss me like that,” I teased.
The bandage on my hand couldn’t be hidden, and he lifted my wrist before I’d finished unloading the bags.
“What happened?” He pulled it toward his chest, carefully lifting the gauze from my palm. When he saw what was underneath, he didn’t speak.
His face grew unbearably serious as he studied my palm. I felt like my chest was about to burst open.
“Please say something.”
He blinked up at me, his clear blue eyes fathomless. “What have you done?”
Feeling self-conscious, I tried to explain. “Tattoos are supposed to commemorate things, right?” Taking a quick breath, I continued. “When my husband died, I put the tear in my hand for all the tears I cried. Because I believed I’d never love again, and I didn’t want to forget.”
Blinking up at him, he watched me, that intense expression sending shimmers through my chest. “You’ve shown me that part of me isn’t dead.”
I waited, unsure if I was ready to say it. Inhaling a deep breath, I swallowed my nerves and just told him. “I know I can love again, because of you. I know... because I love you.”
He held my hand and when I said the last words, I felt his grip tighten ever so slightly. Blinking up at him, he stared at my palm with an expression I’d never seen before. It was something like wonder.
Then he lifted my palm to his lips and kissed it.
He studied it a moment longer before speaking. “Kenny,” he stopped and seemed so torn. I felt guilty for showing him. It was like I was rushing him again, pushing him into something he wasn’t ready for.
He caught my cheeks, and lifted my face. “Kenny,” his voice was barely above a whisper. “I love you so much.”
My insides melted at his words. “Slayde...” I couldn’t finish.
It didn’t matter because he wasn’t finished. “All this time, I fought. I fought myself wanting you. I fought myself believing I was good enough for you. I’m not. I’m not any of those things. I don’t deserve you. But dammit, Kenny, I love you.”
I was laughing and holding his face. Kissing him, and smiling. His hands were finding their way under my shirt, and I remembered his gift.