Page 54 of Wicked & Wildflower

“What’s that?” I ask, nodding toward the plastic cup.

“I’m closing up Heathen’s today, so I swung through Dutchies on my way over from the shop. I figured you might need an afternoon pick-me-up.” He briefly glances down at the cup in his own hand, appearing almost bashful. “I asked them to whip up the most ridiculous concoction they could think of.”

I laugh, reaching across the desk and grabbing the drink. As I take a sip, I’m blasted with the taste of pumpkin, cinnamon, cream, and something else I can’t quite place. “Pumpkin spice with cream…” I take another sip. “I can’t figure out what else is in here. Something sweet.” I drink again. It’s fucking good, though.

Everett smiles. “It’s supposed to be a pumpkin glazed maple donut…or maple glazed pumpkin donut? I don’t remember. I added three shots of espresso too.”

“Three shots? Shit. I’m going to be up all night.” I can’t stop myself from drinking more, though. “Thank you. It’s good. Maybe I’ll try making some real maple glazed pumpkin donuts…or whatever.” I grin at him, nodding toward his drink. “What’d you get?”

“That thing you kept getting last week. The s’mores drink.”

I hum. “Toasted marshmallow mocha with a splash of almond.” I beckon for him to hand me his drink. “Let me see if you ordered it right.”

He rolls his eyes. “I ordered it exactly the way you told me to.” He hands the cup out to me anyway, and our fingers brush as I take it from his grasp.

I don’t let him see the way I savor the warmth of his skin in these small touches, the way he sometimes holds my hand when he walks me to my car, or when he places his hand on my back as we walk along the pier at lunch. We haven’t gone beyond those stolen touches and longing glances in the two weeks since Halloween, haven’t talked about that night, how close we cameto kissing. It wasn’t because anyone was watching or because either of us had something to prove. That moment was private and intimate, just for us.

Everett didn’t kiss me. He simply pressed his lips to my forehead and told me goodnight before he let himself out. I told myself I was thankful we didn’t cross that line, but I went to bed that night feeling nothing but his absence.

I bring the straw of his drink to my mouth, and I don’t miss the way his eyes flare as I wrap my lips around it and take a sip. The warm, rich taste of marshmallow and chocolate hit my tongue, mixed with the hint of coffee and almond, and I find myself letting out a moan.

“Yeah,” I say as I pull away, handing his coffee to him. “You ordered it right.”

He laughs, and our hands brush again as he takes the coffee from me. He leans back against the conference table, and I fall into my chair, propping my feet up on my desk. I find my eyes stuck on his hands, on the rough calluses on his knuckles, forged by long hours working on engines and covered by intricate artwork framing his fingers and running along his veins. Vines of roses crawl up the backs of his hands and wrap around his fingers. Small stars, trees, and other flowers dot the spaces in between.

I can’t help but wonder if there is any rhyme or reason to the designs, if they mean something deeper. I think about all the tattoos that flow through his arms and onto his neck.

“What, Wildflower?” he asks, voice rough and heavy.

My eyes snap to his face and realize he was watching me study him. “Oh.” I clear my throat, feeling flustered. “I was just… Your tattoos. Do any of them mean anything?”

“Some of them do.” He glances down at his hand, flexing it as he studies the ink. “But August owns the tattoo parlor a few doors down. Years ago, when he was still learning, I basicallylet him use my skin as a practice canvas, so some of the designs are just that—designs he wanted to try out or drawings he made. Some of them mean something to me.”

“The flowers?”

He smiles to himself. “Roses on one hand for my sister. Her middle name is Rose. Zach…” He swallows. “Zach used to call her Rosebud. She hated it. Zach and I both got rose tattoos when we were drunk one night. We were just fucking around, provoking her.” His eyes close as he shudders, as if remembering something hurtful. “I’m glad I have them now, though. It’s something that keeps us connected.”

He sets his coffee down on the table behind him and looks at his other hand. “I got the violets on this hand to make up for the other one. They’re her favorite flowers, and purple is her favorite color. Plus, Violet is her pen name. So, I got this done the first time she became a bestseller. She has a matching design that runs down one of her arms but ends at the wrist. Mine starts there, so that connects us too.”

“Do you miss her?” I ask.

He looks up at me, and I see raging emotion in those eyes. “So much.”

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “Has she visited since she moved?”

He shakes his head. “No. Never, though she claims she’s coming home for Christmas this year. So, we’ll see.”

I only nod, unsure what else to say. My sister is my best friend, and I don’t know how I would handle not seeing her regularly.

Everett clears his throat, attempting to shake off the heaviness in his voice. “Do you have any tattoos?”

I huff a laugh, rising from my chair and rounding my desk until I’m standing in front of him. I turn around and sweep the hair from the back of my neck, showing him the one piece of ink I have on my nape.

I shiver as the feel of his fingers run down the length of it. “Why a compass?” he asks, letting his hand linger against my skin.

“I got it on my nineteenth birthday,” I say. “I’ve always liked compasses. What they represent, at least. Lord knows I can’t read one.” We both chuckle. “I think they’re beautiful in a practical way. They have purpose, but they’re also symbolic. I don’t know.” I’m rambling now. His touch makes me unable to think straight. “I got it to remind myself that I’m the navigator of my own life.” Everett’s hand leaves my neck, and I let my hair drop as I spin to face him. “Which is hilarious, considering that, just a couple of months after getting that tattoo, I found out I was pregnant. Ever since, my life has been heading in every direction but the one I intended.”

Everett’s eyes are fierce as they study me. “Maybe that just means life was sending you in the direction you were destined for instead.” He slowly reaches out and grasps the necklace at my throat, the small golden compass pendant. “Is that the reason for the necklace, too?”

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