The air in my chest evaporates as I tilt my chin upward, thinking about his lips and the way Milo can burn fear away as if it never existed at all. I search his eyes, only finding certainty in them.
“Still think it’ll look good when I’m eighty and wrinkled?” I ask.
“You’ll always look good to me, Sadie.”
The butterflies come to life in my stomach, attempting to reach the one on my shoulder.
“Sadie?” Holly interrupts. “I’m ready if you are.”
Milo drops his hand from my waist, and as he steps back, my skin cools.
“Ready,” I answer, almost breathless.
I follow Holly and Milo trails me. She gestures toward a leather chair that is tilted forward. “If you want to sit here.”
I straddle the chair, my chest pressing into the leather of the seat.
“You can sit over here,” Holly tells Milo.
He takes a chair to my right, and I lay the left side of my face against the seat so I can see him. “Hi,” I say softly.
“Hi.” He grins, and I can feel the comfort of it settle through me from my head to my toes.
“All right, Sadie. You’re going to hear a buzzing noise, and I’ll let you know when I’m starting,” Holly explains.
“Okay.”
The vibration of the tattoo gun comes to life. Anticipation begins to tighten my throat and ache in my veins. Then I feel Milo grab my right hand with both of his.
“I’m here,” he murmurs.
I smile at him, thankful.
“Okay, Sadie. Here we go,” Holly announces before I feel the needle jab into my flesh.
It’s a sensation I’ve never felt before, painful and yet intoxicating, knowing this decision I made formewill forever be on display on my skin.
“Doing okay?” Holly asks.
“Doing great,” I answer, letting my smile melt against my cheeks.
Milo’s eyes glisten, and I breathe into the sting as Holly continues to outline the butterfly. She pauses every so often, wiping at my skin.
“Almost done with the outline,” she mutters from behind me. “Then we’ll reset for the color.”
I nod. Milo squeezes my hand.
When Holly stops, there’s a sense of relief for a moment until she says, “Okay, so color might be a little more painful. You did amazing, though. It’s small, so it shouldn’t take too much time.”
“Okay,” I say as Holly wipes at my shoulder.
Milo’s hand is warm around mine. “Is it looking okay?” I ask him.
He tilts forward, standing slightly so his chest hovers above me. “You wanted a chicken, right?”
“It’s not a chicken,” Holly says, her tone flat.
Milo grins. “It looks great,” he says before his lips brush against mine for afleeting second.
