Page 92 of Huckleberry Hill
“My mom . . . she loved hummingbirds.” I shrugged. “One drunken girls’ night, Salem pitched the idea that the four of us should get tattoos to solidify our friendship. So the next day, after a greasy diner breakfast, the four of us went to a tattoo parlor in the East Village and got inked.”
“The hummingbird has meaning for you—but I doubt your friends got the same thing, right?”
“Right. They got something that mattered to them. And my sister got something different too.”
“Tell me about your sister.”
“Why?”
“Curiosity. Are you identical twins or fraternal?”
“Fraternal. She’s about five inches taller than me. She’s got hazel eyes like Muddy and bright red hair. We both had the same shade of red hair when we were younger, but mine went chestnut. I got the blue eyes from Dad.”
The oven beeped and Declan let go of my ankle. I lifted my legs so he could get up and slide in the nachos. When he returned, I put my legs back on him and settled down.
“Do you have siblings?” I asked.
“No. Just me.” A phone began to ring.
“Not mine,” I said. “Mine’s on vibrate.”
“That would be mine.” He made no move to get up. “It can go to voicemail.”
“What if it’s important?”
“Nothing is more important than this moment. With a gorgeous woman wearing my shirt, sitting on my couch.”
I smiled.
The oven timer beeped, and Declan once again got up. I followed this time. I refilled our wine glasses while Declan served us and then we took our plates back to the couch.
“Well, dig in. I hope it’s good,” he said.
“It’s perfect,” I said before I even took a bite.
We fell silent while we devoured the nachos. When I’d had my fill, I pushed my empty plate away and settled back against the couch.
“Your turn,” I said as I took a sip of wine.
“My turn what?”
“You get to explain your tattoos and their meanings.”
“The horseshoe,” he pointed to the spot on his chest, “is for luck. I got it when I was eighteen. Riding motorcycles and roping calves . . . there was a good shot I was gonna find an early grave, ya know? I’m not superstitious by any means, but I thought, what the hell.”
“Kind of like a talisman.”
“Exactly.”
“And the arm brand?”
“Drunken stupidity.” He laughed. “My best friend has one too.”
“Ah, so it’s not just me and my friends who make drunken mistakes.”
“Nope.” He looked at me. “This is nice.”
“Yeah. It is.”
