Page 80 of High Water

“I don’t know what the rules are around clothes. I don’t normally sleep in much, but if it’ll make you more comfortable, I can put a T-shirt and some shorts on.”

“Whatever you want is fine.” I shrug, carefully avoiding meeting his gaze.

“You sure? Is that what you normally wear?” he asks, his eyes shifting to my hands, and suddenly I realize why. It’s the same lotion as last night.

“Yes,” I lie as I glance down at the matching PJ set I have on. I normally sleep in whatever old T-shirt’s clean and underwear. I’m not ready for that level of comfort around Bishop. I spent twenty minutes deciding whether or not to wear a bra while I went through my skincare routine and another ten fixing my hair so it hopefully wouldn’t be a tangled mess in the morning. I’m going to have to adjust my schedule if this is going to be a nightly ritual. “What did Anson want?” I’m desperate to get us off this topic.

“Anson just had some questions about structural things. He wants to know if you want any input into the aesthetics or if he should trust me.” He turns, seemingly doing his best to avoid staring, and suddenly his entire back comes into view in the freestanding mirror. “You have a preference?”

I’m struck silent by the art I see in front of me—a massive piece that spans his entire back, shoulder to shoulder, and down his spine. It’s a vast forest with mountains rising in the background in a black-and-gray style. But it’s the foreground that makes my words catch in my throat. A singular aspen tree with bright yellow fall foliage.

“I can bring you options if you’re too busy with classes and Fallon’s extracurriculars?” He glances up and sees my face, confusion marring his for a moment before his eyes follow mine to the mirror, and he realizes what I’m seeing. He curses under his breath.

I clear my throat, trying to remove all the emotion from my tone before I speak. I can feel his eyes on me, waiting and watching for my reaction.

“I think if you’ve got a plan for the renovation, I’m happy to let you two decide. It sounds like it’s in good hands. Whatever you want is fine,” I say in the most neutral tone I can muster.

“Whatever I want is fine.” He echoes my words back to me.

“Yes.”

“Come here.”

“I’m right here,” I argue. If I get too close to him, I don’t trust myself. Not after seeing that. Not with all the tension of the rest of the day, or with all the fractured images of last night replaying through my mind.

“You’re not right here. You’re over there having a moment.”

I make my way around the bed, glancing at the tattoo’s reflection in the mirror again before I stand in front of him. I lean down to fix the edge of the comforter on the bed where it’s been pulled out of place, trying to find anything but him to focus on. There’s so much skin, and his gaze follows my every move.

“Look at me. Please?” he asks.

I turn my head, forcing my eyes to meet his. My stomach flips when I do. His gaze pierces through like he can hear every thought I’m thinking.

“When did you get it?” I ask.

“A long time ago. Not too long after I left. Why? Will that make you hate it less?”

“I don’t hate it. I just…” I don’t know how to explain it, so I decide to show him instead.

I grab the waistband of my PJ shorts and underwear and drag them down to show him the tattoo I managed to keep covered last night. His eyes rake down my body and follow the slow movement of the fabric as I uncover the second secret I’ve hidden from him. One less life-changing than having a daughter, but one that’s going to speak volumes despite its size. It’s small. So small you might miss it unless you know to look for it. A set of hearts, arranged to look like clover leaves on my lower left hip, well-hidden by underwear or a bathing suit.

Bishop drops to his knees and runs his thumb over it slowly, teasing over the tender skin there.

“When did you get it?”

“At my bachelorette party. It was a dare. Seemed like a good idea at the time. I hated that I couldn’t stop hoping you’d come back. I needed to stop thinking about you. I had to. I wanted to be completely focused on the life I was building with my new family. But I didn’t want to forget the good parts. At least for her sake. So I could tell her someday when she asked me what her dad was like. I got it to remember that time when we finally finished chasing down that calf and fell asleep in the clover field. Do you remember that?”

“Like yesterday.”

“When I woke up, you told me how pretty I was. You kissed me for the first time, so softly like you thought you were gonna break me. I wanted to be able to remember that story for her.”

He presses his lips to my skin, kissing the spot over the tattoo softly.

“I thought you were gonna break. Or slap me for trying.” He grins against my skin. “The way you kissed me back on that day made me think my heart was gonna rip out of my chest from beating so hard. I couldn’t believe you let me.”

“I had a crush on you for months. I was just too scared to say anything. Looking back, you were so clueless.” I laugh at the younger version of us.

“I was a ranch hand from the wrong side of the mountain living on borrowed time, and you were Kip Stockton’s daughter. I thought I was imagining all the hints you were giving until you spent a whole afternoon in that field getting dirty and sweaty and absolutely miserable under that sun, trying to help me. Then I figured there were only two options: you were inexplicably into me, or you had priorities that were strange as hell, and either way I wanted you.”