I blink in surprise. “Really?” I didn’t expect that answer.
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “It allows you to pay attention to things. Architecture. People in their neighborhoods. Food. You don’t just pass through. There’s so much to take in.”
The fact that he notices things like that catches me off guard, causing me to lower mine long enough to blurt out my next confession. “I think I’m going to move here.”
The words land between us.
“Oh, wow.” His eyes widen. “That’s big.”
“Yep.” I heave out a big sigh. “I told Sadie today. I didn’t want her to think I was trying to follow her around, or invade her space.”
“I get that.” He murmurs, and I know he does, probably better than anyone else. He nods, thoughtful, then looks at me more closely. “You have really beautiful eyes.”
I laugh, but it catches. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he splays his hands playfully out in defense. “They’re just a cool color. Different than Sadie’s. A brighter blue.”
I study him in return. Up close, his eyes are lighter than I realized. They aren’t just brown, but a warm, almost golden color under the restaurant lights. “You have really pretty eyes too,” I don’t look away when I say it.
He blinks, then smiles. “Is that an analysis?”
“An observation,” I correct as I try to contain a smirk.
“This one I don’t mind.” His smile growing wider.
My gaze drifts to his arm, where ink peeks out beneath his sleeve. “Can I ask about your tattoos?”
He glances down, then back at me. “Sure.”
“This one on your shoulder?” I point to it.
“It’s a god.” He frowns as he pulls up his sleeve to expose the entire image. “With a name I don’t care about.” He stares down at it, his thumb brushing the ink absently.
“You don’t believe in gods?”
He shrugs, his brow furrowing in thought. “I believe in symbols.”
I tilt my head, his response surprising me again. “So, it means what then?”
He hesitates, just a beat. “Control. Quiet Strength.” His voice lowers. “Things better on my skin than in my real life.”
That shouldn’t matter, but it does. We’re both silent for a minute before I tap at the ink that’s on the underside of his bicep. “What about this one?”
“That was a mistake.” He rolls his eyes on a chuckle, lifting his arm so I can get a clearer view of it. It’s a pin-up style girl riding a guitar.
“But, you play drums?” My forehead creasing as I shift my attention to his face.
“Exactly.” He chuffs, scratching at the short beard lining his chin. “But I used to think I wanted to be a guitarist. Until Luc convinced me I was a drummer.” He shakes his head. “I’ll get it covered up with something else at some point.” He smiles over at me. “When I find something that matters more.”
That honesty lands quietly between us. Dinner stretches on comfortable and unguarded. Mikey doesn’t drink more than a couple beers. He listens. Really listens. When he laughs, it’s unforced. I find myself relaxing. That’s new, and I don’t hate it. As we stand to leave, he walks me toward the door, and as we step outside, the space between us narrows again. Not accidental. Not entirely intentional either.
“You’re flying out tomorrow, right?”
“Yep,” I confirm with a nod. “Early.”
He hesitates, then speaks, “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
