Page 32 of A Bucket List Birthday

I follow him out the door, and we walk through the bedroom to the hallway, Simon on our heels. “You’re sure you trust me enough for that?” I ask when he leads me to the guest bedroom, opening the door and waiting.

“What do you mean?” he says. “We’ve been married for ten years, Ellis.” I laugh at that. “Of course, I trust you.”

We stand in the hallway, smiling like idiots as I think about the thrill of tomorrow–the new adventure we are about to go on. If he seriously lets me give him a tattoo, it will single-handedlybe the best moment of my natural life. I’ve loved drawing for as long as I can remember, and he liked my sketches enough to trust me to do this.

I’m giddy.

And sleepy.

He must see it, too.

“Goodnight, Ellie,” he murmurs, and I don’t miss the way he uses my nickname. It warms something in my chest, and I realize he must have heard it during my conversation with Lennon.

I nervously play with the hem of his T-shirt. “Goodnight, Finn,” I say.

Griffin turns, walking back to his door at the end of the hall. Before he disappears, he looks back once, the smile still painted on his lips, and I can’t help the way my entire body lights up. I move into his guest bedroom, noting the made-up bed with the floral quilt stretched out over the top. I make a note to ask him about the quilt tomorrow.

What man has a floral quilt in their guest bedroom?

When I crawl under the covers, I feel the excitement of the day turn to exhaustion and burrow deep into my body, reminding me I probably should have been sleeping hours ago.

As soon as I close my eyes, sleep takes me, and I dream of tattoos and weddings.

Thirteen

Griffin

The sunlight floats through my window–tinted gray from the overcast winter sky.

I stretch out on my stomach, my sweatshirt and T-shirt deposited on top of the dresser in the corner, reminding me of the night before.

Ellis is still in my apartment

At least I hope she is.

I snatch my phone off the nightstand and glance at the time to readten a.m.before opening up my text messages. Ryan’s name pops up, and I’m seriously hoping what I said to Ellis will be the truth–that he can squeeze us in for tattoos today.

Ryan:Why the fuck were you texting me at four-thirty?

Ryan:I have an hour from eleven to noon. As long as it’s nothing crazy, it should be fine.

I smile at that, rolling onto my back to type a response.

Me:We’ll be there if it’s still open

Ryan:You got it

A loud crashing sound echoes from the kitchen, and my smile widens. At least she didn’t leave.

I quickly roll out of bed, glimpsing Simon sitting perched on the windowsill–ruining my fucking blinds again.

I snatch my T-shirt off the dresser and nod toward the door like the cat can understand me.

“Come on, let’s get you a late breakfast. I’m sure your bowl is empty.”

Simon leaps from the window, prancing into the hallway as I trail after him, following the sounds of dishes clinking and the sink running.

When I round the corner to the entrance of the galley kitchen, I see Ellis standing in my shirt and shorts, her black hair frizzy and uncombed. She grips an empty coffee cup, clearly in the middle of helping herself.