Page 76 of Cherry Picking

“Tomás was able to source it from somewhere in Boulder City in about four hours,” she says. “The man’s a genius. Wasted on us.”

“You said he owns a tattoo shop on Charleston, right?”

“Yeah.” The pause is small, but I catch it. “Actually, he asked me if I wanted to apprentice for him. Needs to fill a spot.”

“And?” I pull into my garage and cut the engine. “Are you gonna do it?”

“I don’t really have the time, do I?”

“Spring will be here soon enough.”

By then, she’ll be done working for me and my dad. We can be whatever we are without a paycheck sitting in the middle of it.

“I just can’t decide.” A cabinet shuts on her end. Tea things, probably; I know her sounds now. “I don’t know if it’s realistic. I already told my dad I’d go back to full-time at the funeral home once Murphy’s good to go.”

“Okay.”

“That’s it? Okay?”

“You want me to argue with you about your own schedule?”

“Everyone else does. Hazel drew me a chart.”

“Well, I’m not gonna push you if it isn’t what you want.”

The garage light times out and leaves me in the dark, the phone warm against my ear. She’s quiet long enough that I check the screen to make sure the call hasn’t dropped.

“Anyway,” she says, her tone brightening, “your dad’s been pestering me lately about what’s going on with us.”

My heart clenches. “Us?”

“Me and you.”

“Did you tell him we’re madly in love?”

“Mmm, you wish,” she says snidely. “He knows we’re back on good terms, and now he really, really wants his ship to sail.”

“Then the two of us are on the same page for once.”

She gives me a long, heaving sigh. “Briggs.”

“I like you, Evie. I think you know that by now.”

“Yes, but—”

“But you wanted to see how things went once I was back in Charlotte, and now we have. I’m still thinking about you all the time. Drowning in it, actually.”

“But . . . you hate Vegas.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to be wherever you are.”

She huffs a laugh. “Very smooth for a man who ran away from me in December.”

“I’ve had over a month to workshop it.” I lean my head back against the seat. “You want the unworkshopped version?”

“Obviously.”

“I think about your mouth constantly. I think about the sound you made when I finally got my hands on you, and I’ve been getting through some very long flights on that memory alone.” I let that sit for a second. “And when I do finally get you alone again, I’m not stopping for a phone call, an emergency, or the actual end of the world.”