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Romanticized her story.
The truth was ugly though.
I onlybarelyblamed her for upending my entire life by bringing theGardendown.
“Assuming you’re still inBlackwood, you’re what, three hours ahead of me? So you should be good and sleep right now, but you claim there’s nothing wrong?”
Her mention of the time difference made me not feel as bad about calling at this time – it wasn’t as odd of an hour for her as it was for me.
“There’snotanything wrong,” I insisted. “I can’t sleep.”
“You called because you can’t sleep?”
“I called because I’m going to make candles.”
There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment, and then a quiet, happy chuckle. “You found your hobby.”
“I did.”
“Good.Good,” she repeated. “Does that mean you’re getting settled in pretty well?”
I shrugged, as if she could see me. “It’s fine. I guess. I got my tattoo covered.”
“Really?”
There was a hint of surprise in her voice, but no judgment. We’d talked, at length, about the mental block she’d had for so long about having hers covered or removed – a decision she’d come to realize was for the best.
And… maybe it was.
If she hadn’t been able to show it to me when she requested to meet with me, to helpmetransition as successfully as she had… I wasn’t sure I would have trusted her.
Hell, I wasn’t surenowthat I trusted her.
But that rose made her the closest thing I had to family.
“Yeah,” I answered, after a deep sigh. “It was either that, or I was going to end up carving it off.”
“I’m glad you went with a healthier option. What did you get it covered with? Does it look good?”
“It looks great,” I admitted. “It’s beautiful. The artist who did it, he… he did a wonderful job.”
“Hold up – what wasthat?”
My eyebrows shot up. “What was what?”
“Your whole entire tone changed when you mentioned the artist.”
“Did it?!”
It was an earnest question.
Tristan and his beautifully inked bicepshadflashed in my mind, but I didn’t think—
“Yes, it absolutely did,” she laughed. “So… spill the beans. You met somebody?”
“I’ve met a lot of people,” I lied, and she knew it, because the next thing out of her mouth was a scolding. “Fine,” I admitted. “The guy who did the tat for me… he’s been… not horrible to run into.”
Sonot horrible to run intothat I’d actively avoided it since the day he and his umbrella had rescued me from the rain.
