“Thank you for telling me.” Ava’s been such a hot button issue with us, I’m relieved I have no lingering suspicions. Hunter’s changed for the better, and I’m working on changing too.
“Always… How was your session today?”
“Good! We talked about you, actually.” I bite my lower lip nervously. He raises a brow, but waits for me to explain. “All good things. Promise. We discussed how supportive you’ve been with my healing journey. How much I appreciate your patience with me. And how I hope I can give that back to you.”
“You already do,” he whispers. “So much.”
“Thank you for all the surprises tonight, love.”
He tilts my head back with a finger under my chin, taking a deep, slow draw on my lips. “I need to show you something else.” Reaching for the hem of his shirt, he scoots away from me and pulls it over his head. The soft smile on his face as he takes my hand and moves it to the freshly wrapped ink on his chest sets me at ease. My eyes sweep over the retouched Atlas and the expanse of the heavens, the stars, the planets, and the moon. And peeking out from behind the storm cloud is the not-so-temporary sun I drew on him weeks ago.
I’ve made a show of pulling out a pen and retracing the lines whenever my rudimentary drawing fades. Hunter huffs like he hates it, but he lays back and lets me do it every time. And here it is, my simple sun shining with a little twist. The skinny rays shine on one side, with the expertly drawn inflorescence of a sunflower on the other.
My eyes sting as they meet Hunter’s, the explosion in my chest vastly different from the panic I’m used to. My heart is gone, burst open by this display of devotion. He added a sun to his tattoo.No. Not just any sun. He addedmysun and my favorite flower. He addedme, right over his heart. I can barely hear my voice when I ask, “When did you do this?”
“This morning,” he says with a smile.
“Whydid you do this?” My mouth hasn’t closed yet, and I blink rapidly, my eyes moving from his face to his chest and back.
“Ashlie, you’re a part of me, forever. You have my heart. Youaremy heart—my sunshine gleaming out of the darkness. And now, I have a little piece of you to take with me wherever I go. I love you.”
“I love you more.” My trembling voice stutters out of me as I struggle to keep the tears at bay.
“Wanna bet?” Hunter smirks and pulls me forward, kissing me slowly, encircling me in his arms. He clutches to me like a hard-won treasure he’ll never let go of, kisses me like he’ll never stop. On both accounts, I hope he never does.
TWO YEARS LATER
ASHLIE
Breathe, Ashlie.
My arms fall across my chest as I plant my feet in front of the door. “You’re not driving without those glasses.”
Hunter leans against the kitchen counter, his exasperated sigh aiding the scowl on my face. “I wore them all day at work. It’s fine, Ash.”
“No.”In.Out.Breathe. “Glasses at night. So either grab them or give me the keys.”
“Naw, you’re not driving my car.” Hunter eyes me for several seconds, running his tongue across his bottom lip. “I’ve seen the way you drive yours.”
You control your reaction.“Then I’ll get the glasses.” I start back toward his office.
“The sunjuststarted going down. It’s not even dark yet,” he gripes as he follows me. “We’re gonna be late. Let’s just go.”
I shuffle through the mess of papers on his desk and scan over his workstation, finding nothing. He’s watching me from the doorway. “Did youhidethem? Where are they?”
“They’re in the dresser. Top drawer, my side.”
“Okay… Go get them so we can leave for dinner.”
“Naw.”
My nostrils flare as I watch his stubborn ass pull out his phone like he didn’t hear me. No amount of breathing will help the annoyance simmering in my chest at his obstinance over these stupid glasses. Because of his astigmatism, the glare from taillights creates starbursts when he drives at night, making it hard for him to see. I finally dragged him into an eye doctor who gave him a new prescription for special lenses. But he doesn’t like them because theycramp his style, which is his way of saying he feels nerdy in them. I think they make him look sophisticated, but he’s not hearing any of it. It’s been a month of having this argument with him, and I’m this close to leaving him here and driving myself to family dinner at his dad’s house. If he thinks I won’t call him out for being childish, he has another thing coming.
“Over some damn glasses,” I mumble, breezing past him to get to our bedroom.
I deal with children all day at work. Despite the chaos, being an associate youth swim director for the LA County Recreation Centers is the best job I could have asked for. I get to oversee a few of the programs around LA, with one day a week where I’m teaching eight-year-olds how to swim at McMahon. I’m good at it, and still have a nice work-life balance. Even on the hard days—like today when we had to drain the pool after a stomach flu incident in the water—I still love it. But I’m not putting up with his stubborn ass today too.
The dresser shakes as I yank the drawer open, and I grumble obscenities while rifling through his boxer briefs. I don’t make it far, finding the glasses tucked in their case in the corner of the drawer. When I grab them, I notice a small black velvet box underneath it. I stop breathing.
