Page 111 of Business Casual
He flicks his gaze down to his wrist and the thin design I tattooed there.
“It’s a flower,” he says, bending his head closer to get a better look.
I nod and swivel back and forth on my stool. “Do you know what kind of flower it is?”
He shakes his head. “Frankly, I’m still trying to get over the fact that you had an opportunity to tattoo Colonel Sanders on me and you didn’t.”
I ignore him. “It’s a forget-me-not. I think my brain sometimes thinks in flowers and plants. My dad talked about them so much when we were growing up, it was inevitable. He had this big botanical book on the edge of his desk in his workshop. Always in the same spot. I don’t think he moved it once. I’d sit on the table while he worked and I’d flip through it. I liked to trace the stems and theflowers with my finger. Eventually I started tipping over flower pots to draw in the soil instead.”
Charlie grins. “I bet your dad loved that.”
“He didn’t. By the fifth time I did it, he went out and got me a sketch book. I drew every flower and tree and root system in that book. And when I finished, I just started all over again.”
“Ink and Wild,” he says softly, still with that smile on his face. “The flowers in your logo. What are they?”
“You noticed.”
His eyes are soft. Knowing. “I always notice you, Nova girl.”
I smile back. Yeah. Yeah, he does.
“Astrantia‘Roma.’ They’re for courage. Strength. I wanted a reminder that I have both of those things. That I can do this.”
Charlie’s thumb nudges against mine when our hands lay flat on my table. “Fuck yeah, you can.”
My smile tugs wider, something that always seems to happen when I’m talking to Charlie. I used to hate it but I think I love it now. I think I crave it. “I’ve always liked flowers best. They’re pretty, but more resilient than people give them credit for.” I trace my thumb along the bottom edge of the stem that curls along his wrist. The pale blue petal tucked carefully right next to that precious vein right under his skin. “Forget-me-nots, in particular. They’re one of my favorites. They’re almost constantly in bloom, always tilting toward the sun.”
Charlie’s eyes search my face. “And you picked this one for me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because—” I try to figure it out for myself, why I started drawing them on a pizza box while Charlie sat on the couch next to me, trying so damn hard to keep himself in bloom. “Probably because your eyes remind me of page seventy-three in theEncyclopedia of Plants and Flowers. Forget-me-not blue.”
Charlie swallows and looks back down at the flower on his wrist.“What does it symbolize?” He shifts in his seat like he’s afraid of the answer. “This flower. What does it mean?”
“Fidelity,” I explain. “Loyalty and respect.”
Charlie keeps looking at the flower. “You respect me?”
“One of the most beautiful things about you is your big heart and your faithfulness to the people you care about. I know you think you’re being selfish, taking affection for yourself, but you’re not. It’s generosity. The best sort of love. I know you feel like you need to earn your place, Charlie, but you don’t. Not in this town and not”—not with me, I almost say—“not anywhere else.”
I think of what Beckett said to me in my kitchen. The thing about love. “It’s just yours,” I whisper to Charlie. “Yours to have and yours to keep. You don’t have to earn anything. You belong here. And I…I wanted to give you this flower because I want you to know that you don’t have to be anything other than exactly who you are. I know you’ve been hiding, Charlie. But I see all of your colors. The bright ones and the dark ones too. I see how you’re always tilting toward the sun. Forget-me-nots were always my favorite, and—well. You’re kind of my favorite too.”
That big knot in my chest untangles a little more. He keeps staring at the flower. He stares at it for so long without a single word that my tiny prick of apprehension turns into a fist pressing right in the center of my back.
He doesn’t like it.
“It’s small enough that you can cover it with your watch easily enough,” I tell him quietly, trying not to let regret swallow me whole. He’s too quiet. Too still. I assumed a lot and said too much. He probably hates the damn thing. “Or I could—”
“Nova,” he says quietly, cutting me off. His voice is rougher than I’ve ever heard it.
I quiet. “Yes?”
He lifts his newly tattooed arm and wipes quickly under his eye.He sniffs once and digs his knuckle into his cheek. His eyes drag up to meet mine, red rimmed but bright.
Forget-me-not blue.
