Chapter 20 #2
She glances down, then pulls the sleeve up to show me the whole thing. The phoenix. The wings spread over her skin, the head proud, the ink sharp and vibrant.
“Yeah. I got it a few months ago. Before I moved here.”
“It’s gorgeous,” I say honestly. “The detail is amazing.”
“Thanks. It’s... it’s to symbolize starting over.” She traces the outline of the wing with her thumb. “Rising from the ashes, all that. Cheesy, maybe.”
“Not cheesy,” I say firmly. “It fits you.”
She looks up at me, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “What about you? I’ve seen the ink, but I’ve never asked what it all means. You’re basically a walking storybook.”
I grin, flexing my left arm. “This one’s the sea.”
I tell her about the lighthouse on my shoulder—guidance, safety, my need to protect the people I love. I explain the waves crashing around it, the anemones and starfish hidden in the blue and gray ink.
I show her the vintage compass on my inner forearm, the needle pointing forward, surrounded by nautical charts of the Oregon coast.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs, leaning in to look closer.
“This one’s the land,” I say, offering my right arm.
I describe the herbs—rosemary, thyme, sage—essential to my work. Then I show her the five interlocking rings around my bicep.
“One for each of us,” I explain. “Sean, Fiona, Connor, Moira, and me. We’re a mess, but we’re a unit.”
She smiles, her eyes soft. “I like that.”
“And the oak,” I say, turning my forearm so she can see the branch wrapping around my skin. “It represents strength and endurance.”
“You have a lot of symbols for strength,” she observes quietly.
“You need it in this life.”
I hesitate for a second, then pull the collar of my T-shirt down slightly, just enough to show her the driftwood tree growing over my heart. The gnarled roots, the twisted branches.
“And here?” she asks, her eyes catching the specific spot directly over my heart. In the center of the trunk, there’s a distinct shape. A blank space in the shape of a delicate heart.
“That,” I say, my voice dropping a notch. “That’s reserved.”
She looks up at me, her breath hitching. “For what?”
“For a mate,” I admit. It’s not something I tell just anyone. In fact, I haven’t said it out loud in years. But with her, it feels natural. “I don’t know if I believe in that stuff, the fairy-tale romance. But if I ever find someone... I want to mark it there. Make it real.”
She stares at me, her face turning a deep, lovely red. She looks away, focusing intensely on her coffee cup. “Oh. That’s... that’s really romantic, Fallon.”
I laugh, the sound booming in the quiet café. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
We finish our coffee and donuts, the conversation shifting to lighter things—Maisie’s school, the terrible movie selection on TV, the weather.
I watch her relax, the tension in her shoulders finally loosening. The haunted look in her eyes fades, replaced by a soft warmth that makes my chest ache.
“Ready to head back?” I ask eventually.
“Yeah. We should probably get back before Knox sends a search party.”
I pay the bill, ignoring her protests, and we head out to the truck. The sun is higher now, the snow on the sidewalks turning to slush.
“Hey,” I say, opening the driver’s door. “There’s one more place I want to show you. It’s not far. Do you have time?”
She checks her watch, then nods. “I have time.”
We drive out of town, following the river road for a few miles. The landscape turns wilder, the trees thicker, the water rushing by faster.
I pull off onto a gravel track that leads down to the water’s edge, parking near a stand of old-growth pines.
“Come on,” I say, jumping out.
We walk down a narrow path, the ground soft with pine needles and snow. It opens up onto a small, rocky beach. The river widens here. The only sound is the rushing of the water and the wind in the trees.
It’s my spot. I come here when I need to think, or when I just need to breathe.
“This is...” Amber stops, her eyes scanning the horizon. “This is incredible, Fallon.”
“Yeah,” I say, stuffing my hands in my pockets. “I found it when we first moved here. I come here to get away.”
“It’s so quiet,” she whispers.
She walks down to the water’s edge, crouching down to pick up a smooth, gray stone. She skips it across the surface—one, two, three hops. She laughs, the sound bright and clear against the backdrop of the river.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” she says, turning to look at me. The sun catches her hair, making it shine. “I really needed this. Today. I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for a week.”
“Anytime,” I say. “I mean it.”
She walks back toward me, stopping just a foot away. She looks up at me, her hazel eyes searching my face. She looks nervous, but determined.
She stands on her tiptoes and presses her lips to my cheek.
It’s a simple gesture. A thank you. A friend thing.
But as her soft, warm mouth brushes against my skin, something snaps inside me. My pulse kicks into high gear. My hands ache to grab her hips, to pull her flush against me.
I stare at her, my breath coming short.
She pulls back slightly, looking at my mouth. Then she bites her lip, her gaze darkening.
She leans in again, but this time she doesn’t aim for my cheek. Her lips brush against mine, tentative and questioning.
That’s all the invitation I need.
I drop one hand from my pocket, wrapping it around her waist, and haul her against me. I crush my mouth to hers, kissing her the way I’ve wanted to for so long. It’s hungry and demanding, full of weeks of pent-up frustration and want.
She melts into me, her hands coming up to clutch the lapels of my jacket. She tastes like sugar and coffee and something uniquely Amber—sweet and wild.
She kisses me back with a fervor that matches my own, her tongue meeting mine, tangling together in a rush.
The river rushes in my ears, the cold wind forgotten. There’s only her. The softness of her cardigan, the warmth of her skin, the perfect way she fits in my arms.
I deepen the kiss, tilting her head back, my fingers tangling in her ponytail.
God fucking damn.
I don’t ever want to stop.