A week and a half later, Lizzy found herself facing the staircase to Will's Washington Avenue tattoo shop. The steps were steep, and she was exhausted, but she gained them one by one, and at the top, she paused. She didn't know if Will was even working that night, but she was determined. Inside, she felt scarred; she saw no reason not to honor the occasion by scarring herself on the outside.
A young man in loose khakis approached her. He was tall and broad-shouldered with stubble for hair and a friendly smile. "Can I help you?" he asked. "Have you got an appointment?"
"No," she said, trying not to examine the dragon tattoos on his forearms too closely. "I mean . . . no, I haven't got an appointment, and yes, you can help me. I'm looking for Will."
"Will's with a client right now," said the man. "I'm Pete. Are you thinking about getting a tattoo?"
"Um . . . yeah. I . . . I'd really like to see Will, if he maybe takes a break or something. Can he . . . can he do that?"
Pete smiled, and knew Will would kill him if he even thought about touching this woman with a needle. "Just a sec."
Pete walked over to an opening in the wall and spoke to whomever was on the other side. He turned back to Lizzy and gestured for her to approach. She did, to find Will bent over a man's arm, working diligently, his needle buzzing away.
She silently watched him work. She couldn't quite make out the design, but it looked tribal or maybe Celtic. "He's just about to take a break. Do you want to look at some flash?"
Lizzy looked up at Pete. "Flash?"
"Will's portfolio. His drawings and stuff."
"Oh. Sure," she replied with a blush creeping over her cheeks.
Pete smiled. "There's flash all over the walls; I'm pretty sure he's willing to do anything. Our particular portfolios are over here." He led her to a shelf and pulled out two books. "This one's mine," he said proudly as he handed it to her. "I like dinosaurs."
Lizzy ran her fingers over the cover with a smile. It was a rendering of a Madonna and child – except that the Madonna was a triceratops and the child was an alien. "You drew this?"
"Yeah," replied Pete. "But you probably want to see Will's."
"Um . . . yeah," breathed Lizzy, and they exchanged books. "What kind of stuff does Will do?"
"Most often he does tribal things, like what he's doing right now. He knows a lot about what that stuff means. He loves triskels. He's taken a lot of artistic license with some of these, but they're all really great."
Lizzy opened the cover of Will's portfolio and was greeted with the face of a beautiful young woman. She was smiling a little, her dark hair tickling her cheeks and her big blue eyes laughing. "Wow," commented Lizzy. "He drew this?" She had never even considered it, but as she looked over the drawing she realized that these people were artists – an untraditional sort, to be sure, but artists all the same, with insight and talent that she couldn't even hope to have.
"It's his mom," replied Pete quietly. "He really misses her."
Lizzy murmured her appreciation as she continued to flip through Will's portfolio. There was such a mix of designs and drawings – everything from tribal and Celtic motifs, to dragons and tigers, butterflies and fairies, and vines with flowers. She was fascinated with his work and when she came to the last page, she was disappointed. Fortunately Pete had another, smaller binder to hand to her.
"These are his pictures – some of the same stuff," he explained as she took it and opened it. "Are you going to have him work on you?" asked Pete.
"Well," she replied, hoisting her eyebrow at a picture of a spiky wave design tattooed up the side of a rather shapely, rather naked woman, "that was the object." Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement, and she turned to see Will stretch his arms.
"You sure you want to stop?" he asked his customer. "I'm fine; I just need to rest my shoulders. It'll be done in about an hour or so."
"That's all right. We can finish it in a few weeks. I'm pretty tired."
Will nodded, scheduled a time for the man to return, and settled his bill. Only then did he notice Nurse Lizzy standing next to Pete, holding his portfolio. He approached slowly, his eyes meeting hers and locking.
He swallowed. "Pete, do you have anything else going on tonight?"
"Nope," he replied. "You wanna take off?"
Will looked briefly at Pete and then back at Lizzy. "Yeah, thanks." He continued to walk toward her, his eyebrow cocked and his hands folded in front of him. "Hi."
"Hi," she replied with a smile. She lifted up the book in her hands. "You do good work. These are beautiful."
"Thanks." He blushed. "Are you here as a customer, or did you come to collect your coffee?" he asked hopefully.
"Oh . . . the customer part first," she replied quietly, recalling her mission. "If I told you what I wanted, could you draw it and then . . . put it on me?"
Will nodded. "I can do anything you like," he said.
"I had a really rough night," she said quietly. "I, uh . . . we lost a patient tonight. I mean, we lose people all the time; you'd think I'd know how to deal with it . . . but this was different. He . . . he wasn't even five." She paused to swallow. "Something that really didn't have to happen. Shouldn't have happened."
Impulsively, Will reached out to grab her hand. "I'm so sorry," he replied. "Are you all right?"
She nodded, trying to control her emotions. "So can you do . . . I don't know . . . maybe some flowers and the date or something?"
"Um . . . I wouldn't get the date," Will advised gently. "You'll want to get something you won't mind looking at in twenty years, and I doubt you'll always want to remember such a thing."
"But I feel so . . ."
"Scarred?" finished Will for her, not knowing how much his thoughts echoed hers.
Her eyes watered, and a sob escaped. "I'm sorry," she said, turning away. Her hand slipped out of his.
He squeezed her shoulder and then stepped away to retrieve a tissue for her; unfortunately, all he had were paper towels. He retrieved them nonetheless and handed them to her. She thanked him. After a very quiet moment, during which even Pete watched and mouthed a question to Will concerning her well-being, she spoke. "He had the most beautiful brown eyes," she said. "Not even five." She sighed and looked away, folding her arms under her breasts.
Will watched her for a moment, and then grabbed his coat. "Let's go get that coffee."
She looked at him. He was tired, she could tell, but she could also tell that his offer was genuine and artless. "Sure," she said, and followed him down the stairs.
They navigated Washington Avenue, and just a few doors away found the coffee shop Lizzy liked to frequent before she started work. Once they had collected their coffee, Will took Lizzy's hand gently and led her to a quiet spot where two comfortable wing backed chairs faced each other. They warmed up without speaking. Lizzy took a few sips of her coffee before she thanked Will for buying it.
"Don't mention it," he said. "It's my pleasure."
She smiled across the small distance between them. "Tell me about yourself."
"What do you want to know?" he asked, setting his left ankle on top of his right one, more than willing to tell her anything she wanted to know.
"Everything," she replied, "from why you have custody of your little sister to why you're a tattoo artist."
Will was hesitant and looked around the shop for a moment. "Are you sure you want to know?" he asked, his face serious.
"I like you, Will," she replied quietly. "A lot. Of course I really want to know."
Will swallowed. "There isn't anyone that really knows my history except for my sister," he said. "No one's really ever cared to ask."
"You must want to talk about it," said Lizzy. "The last couple of years of my life haven't exactly been a picnic. I used to want to talk about it, when I had someone that I thought would listen."
His gaze was intense across the little space between them. "I'll listen to you."
Lizzy leaned forward and held out her hand. "You first."
He paused before replying, "Okay." He swallowed a few more times, looking into a pair of eyes he was coming to adore and trying to find the right place to start. "My mom was an alcoholic," he began quietly. "She started drinking when George was little. She died about seven years ago. I came home from school to do some laundry and found her in her chair – looked like she was asleep, but no." His eyes watered at the recollection, but he continued. "Alcohol poisoning." He swallowed. "She got us in debt pretty bad . . . we found out when she died that she was cheating on my dad with Dave's dad . . . my dad was a Minneapolis police officer, too; they were partners. Mom would get Wick to bring her booze when my dad refused her money or took the car away. In turn, he borrowed a lot of money from my mother – upwards of two hundred thousand dollars. He had a gambling problem. When she died, Dad sold the house and still had debt. She drained George's college savings account. I was actually in college at the time so she knew she couldn't touch that money, or my dad would know. It was a good thing she didn't, otherwise I never would have graduated."
As he paused Lizzy tried to think of something to say. His tale answered a lot of the questions she had always had about Officer Wickham but had never asked. She decided on a neutral question. "What's your degree in?" she asked.
"I have a BA in art history," he replied. "I started tattooing when Dave did – I think we were fifteen. My dad insisted that I go to college, so I did. Then, afterward, I was going to do all this traveling, and I then I wanted to find someone who would apprentice me on one of the coasts. I would've been away from my family, but it would've been what I wanted to do.
"Well, the traveling thing went out the window, considering that Mom spent all the money. But after a while, Dad seemed okay – his bills were manageable, and he was coping, and George and I were doing okay with the whole thing. I found an apprenticeship here, with Pete and Owen. Then, three years ago, my dad died in the line of duty – a raid on a meth lab." He stopped again, swallowing, and chuckled a bit. "Bullet proof vests don't protect you from gunshot wounds to the head, you see."
"I'm sorry," Lizzy broke in, close to choking on tears she was desperately trying to hold back. "Will, you don't have to keep going. I'm sorry."
"It's all right," he replied. "I want to. Like I said, I've never told this to anyone."
Her own eyes watery, Lizzy nodded. "Okay," she whispered.
"So anyway, my dad died, and after all was said and done, I had a thirteen year old girl to take care of and not much to do it with. Dave was my roommate in college; we'd known each other almost our entire lives, our dads being friends. He taught me how to tattoo – I've always drawn well, and he used to say all the time that I could make a ton of money tattooing. One summer during college I got licensed for it. I'd do tattoos for friends occasionally, and overflow work for Owen and Pete, who I met getting my license. Then when my dad died, I had to get a part-time job – I work mornings at Walker Art Center – but the guys gave me a permanent place at the shop . . . mostly, I think, because they felt sorry for me. Plus Owen's got a thing for George. I've been working both jobs since."
"And you haven't got anyone to help?" asked Lizzy, taking his free hand. "A grandma or an aunt or something?"
Will shook his head. "No. It's just me. Hennepin County wasn't very kind to me, either." He stroked his thumb across her knuckles. "Maybe they'll go away now."
Lizzy took in a breath. "I hope so."
Will lifted his head to gaze into her eyes. "I swear," he said on impulse, "you have the bluest eyes I've ever seen."
Lizzy blushed and looked down, and then back up. He was perfectly honest; perfectly serious. She smiled a bit. "You were saying?" she whispered uncomfortably.
Will refused to look away, but his gaze upon her turned gentle as he continued. "If my dad hadn't taken such great pains to make sure that I'd be George's guardian she'd be in the hands of the state and I might be lucky enough to have visiting rights."
With eyes full of sympathy, she squeezed his hand. "Thank you for telling me."
Will smiled. "What about you?" he asked, flipping her hand over and cradling it. "Tell me about you."
"Not much to tell," she declared.
"Like hell," he countered with a smirk. "You're a registered nurse who works the night shift in the ER. That's something in itself – I imagine there aren't many people who want that position."
"It isn't real popular," she confessed. "You have to have a pretty thick skin, and you have to put up with surgeons, most of which expect nurses to bend over and take whatever they have to dish out without question – and in select cases I mean that quite literally."
Will hoisted an eyebrow. "You're sidestepping me, Lizzy."
"Okay," she replied, blushing. "If you must know . . ." As she trailed off, she looked down, an then up again, and then sipped her coffee. As she set down the cup she caught Will's inquisitive, patient eyes and felt less nervous. "My father died of a heart attack my senior year in high school," she began quietly. "I'm the oldest of four girls. I was going to go to NYU . . . I wanted to work in the publishing industry. But Dad had no life insurance, I couldn't get enough financial aid on such short notice, and I didn't feel like I could move on with my life and leave my mother and three sisters to fend for themselves. Instead, I worked at a nursing home at night and Janie – Dr. Bingley, my cousin – helped me through nursing school at the U – a much more practical career, closer to home. Most of my money goes to my mom and sisters. If I lived there I'd go nuts, so instead, I have a little apartment."
"I think there's more to your story than that," he said quietly, "but I'll let it slide."
"Thank you," she replied. She finished off her coffee and set the cup down on a little table by the chairs they sat in. "So . . . do you have any other tattoos?"
"Yeah." He ran his index finger down the middle of her hand, grasping it firmly. "My dad's badge, on my chest."
Her eyes started to shine with unshed tears. "Oh."
He looked up from her soft and strong hand to eyes that looked like the Caribbean. "Are you okay, Lizzy?"
She scooted her chair closer to his, appreciating the warmth of his hand over hers. Their knees touched. It was almost enough to make her forget about why she had come to him in the first place. "Yeah." She nodded, and swallowed, and turned her face up to his. "You know, when I lost my first patient – an old lady who really, really wanted to go – I went home to my mom and told her about it. She was less than sympathetic."
"Do you ordinarily get along with your mom?"
"No," she replied, smirking a little and shaking her head. She hoped he didn't notice the tear that had welled in the corner of her eye. "To be more specific, she told me to get over it and that I'd better not miss any work over it because Lydia needed a new pair of shoes."
Will's brow contracted and he squeezed Lizzy's hand. "And you haven't got anyone to help?" he questioned. "Nobody?"
Lizzy shook her head. "My grandparents are all gone and both my folks were only children. Janie's a second cousin from my dad's side of the family. She and I only really met at his funeral." She toyed with her empty coffee cup. "But anyway . . . my mom works sometimes," she said.
"She should work all the time, if she's got kids to support," he blurted. Knowing immediately that he had said something that he shouldn't have, he closed his eyes. "Sorry."
Surprisingly, she smiled. "It's all right. That's nothing I haven't heard before."
"Who did you hear it from last?" he asked, curious.
"My boyfriend," she replied, feeling silly for calling him that. "My ex-boyfriend, that is. Richard was a medical student who came from a very well-to-do family. I thought that he just didn't understand my family's situation because he was wealthy and always had been. We broke up; after deep thought about it, I realized that he was right about them and that I'd ruined a relationship over my mother's laziness and selfishness."
"And he had no fault, at all?" asked Will with a smirk, happy that this Richard bozo was out of the picture.
"He had faults enough," she replied. "It was quite a while before I stopped blaming myself for our breakup and realized that we weren't really destined for each other."
"And you believe in destiny?"
She looked up and took in a breath. "I do right now."
"You didn't have to do that," he said suddenly, folding his hand over hers. "You didn't have to go to Mr. Gardiner."
"I did," she replied. "No kid should have to worry about being taken away from her family. Your sister deserves so much more than that . . . I hope you never have to feel like you're inadequate or a rotten brother . . . however Catherine must've made you feel."
"I do feel very inadequate at times," he said with a smile. "But I never felt like a bad brother."
"Good," she smiled. "Billy got fired and I think Catherine's got some awfully tough questions to answer."
"You saved us, you know," he said, not bothering to hide his admiration. "I'm sure it came at some cost to your dignity – I don't suppose telling on a co-worker sheds a very good light on you, no matter how much he deserved it."
"Oh," she demurred, "don't worry about me. As much as I value the respect of my co-workers, I was only thinking of you."
Her answer caught him off guard. "Me?"
She blushed and looked away. "I remember the way you looked when your sister came into the ER," she whispered. "I remember how irritated you were with her, and then how you comforted her. When she pleaded with me not to call social services somehow I just knew, almost on instinct, that you were struggling with Cat. I told Wick I wasn't going to help him out because I thought it was just wrong to deceive people, no matter the reason. When I met you . . . I mean, you aren't any older than I am, and you're trying to raise a teenager, and all you get is flack for it. I had to help."
"I'm not doing anything anyone else in my position wouldn't do," he said modestly. "George has a smart mouth and does stupid things sometimes, but she studies hard and wants things in life. That makes it easier."
In the pause that followed, their eyes locked for a long moment. As the quiet between them stretched, Will moistened his lips and Lizzy smirked a little. Without either one realizing that it was happening, their hands entwined and their legs embraced. Around them, the little coffee shop continued on as it always had; as if what was passing between Will and Lizzy was inconsequential. The door opened and closed, the milk steamed, the cash register sang, and the coffee brewed, just as it always had. But something monumental was happening to the couple that sat in the darkest, farthest corner of that space, and they both knew it.
"Will," she whispered, almost afraid to break the silence, "would you walk me home? It's getting late, even for me."
His smile widened. "Let me make sure George is okay," he whispered, pulling out his cell phone. "She's staying at a friend's house tonight . . ." Here he paused, and leaned closer to her. He could feel her warm coffee-scented breath as she exhaled, and only wanted to get closer. "I'm kind of glad."
Lizzy blushed bright red and looked away. As soon as he ended his conversation with his sister he smiled and stood to take her arm and escort her down the windy street.
When Lizzy woke in the morning it was with a pair of warm, full lips on hers. She opened her eyes to find Will's gazing intently at her. She smiled; he smiled back. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice low and rough. "I couldn't help it."
"Don't apologize," she whispered. "I liked it."
Will wrapped his arms around her again and tucked her head back onto his chest. They had slept, fully clothed, on her couch, face to face and wrapped up with a heavy handmade quilt. It had not been their intention to do this, but when they arrived at her small basement apartment it was barely sixty degrees inside. Lizzy knew there had been problems with the furnace and decided to wait until the morning to ask the professor about it. She remembered bringing out her quilt and sitting on the couch with Will to try to warm up, but that was her last memory of the evening.
"I wish I could remember falling asleep like this," she said.
"I hope you don't mind that I stayed," he replied. "You put your head on my chest and fell asleep almost instantly. I was so comfortable that I laid down with you. Your quilt is nice and warm."
"I don't mind at all," she whispered. "Made for a wonderful awakening."
"Can I kiss you again?"
"As long as you don't mind my morning breath."
For reply, Will inclined his head just enough for his lips to reach hers, and with them, he kissed her so thoroughly and so soundly as to leave her with little doubt as to whether he cared. "You don't have morning breath," he rumbled when he pulled away slightly.
When she was able to open her eyes, she gazed into his and caressed his face with her hand. "Do you think it's odd?" she asked. "How right it feels to be here?"
"I'm not thinking about odd right now, Lizzy." To prove it, he kissed her lovely mouth again, slipping his lips down to her chin to nibble it while she sighed contentedly.
"You and I have not spent a total of twenty-four hours in each others' presence," she whispered. It was all she was capable of.
"I told you everything about myself last night," he murmured, rolling her underneath him.
"You told me your history," she countered as he began to kiss her neck. "Not much about yourself – your likes and dislikes . . . and . . . your . . ."
"I like you," he said. "I like this spot on your neck." He nuzzled there, and then continued, his nose barely an inch from hers and in his eyes, a soft but earnest expression. "I like coffee, but I prefer tea; I hate ketchup; I think most action movies are complete shit; drunk people piss me off; I love living on campus, and I absolutely adore tater tot hot dish." He paused to swallow and smile at her. "Is that enough?"
"Just one more thing," she said, biting her lower lip.
"What's that?"
"Do you fish?"
"No."
"Hunt?"
"George would kill me if I did, and that's two."
"We can be friends, then," she said with a saucy smile.
"Well, I don't know if you've noticed, but I have your bra unhooked and the drawstring of your pants loosened, so that's probably a good thing."
Lizzy smiled and him and pulled his head back down to hers. "I sincerely hope you don't plan on stopping there."
Later on, when the sun had risen and the air outside was crisp, clear, and chirping with the song of winter blackbirds, Lizzy and Will woke again. They had moved from the narrow confines of the couch to her bed, where Will had taken every opportunity to stretch out and explore her every curve. Sated, they wrapped themselves up in the quilt again, savoring the skin-on-skin feeling of safety and comfort. Even exhausted, they continued caressing each other, he with long, slow strokes with fingertips up and down her back, and she with her smooth, slender legs, winding them in and out of his.
"You should call George," she whispered quietly.
"Yeah," he replied slowly, a smile creeping across his face. He propped his head up with his hand and kissed her lips gently. She pulled away and reached across him to her night table and handed him the phone. He dialed. "Hey, George," he greeted, his voice deep and rumbly.
"Will, where the hell are you?"
"Um . . . George . . . I'm at Lizzy's."
George paused. "You are?"
"Yeah." Will looked at Lizzy, who was amused to find him blushing with a slightly embarrassed look on his face.
For her part, Georgiana was surprised to hear her brother admit, though not in many words, what he had been doing the past twelve hours. "Well. Did you have a good time?"
"Geooorge," he chided, drawing his hand over his eyes. She giggled; Lizzy rolled over onto her stomach and propped her head up under her chin on her folded hands, smiling at his discomfiture. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Will," George replied. "It's about damn time you found a real woman."
Will paused a moment. "Do you like her?"
"I think it's more important that you like her," she said, "but yes, I do like her. Well, except for her profession. But I guess that's a give-to-get kind of a thing."
He smiled. "Good," he said, rubbing his eyes. "I'll be home soon."
"Bring some food. I'm starved."
"All right. Bye." Will clicked the phone off and handed it back to Lizzy. "I need to go grocery shopping. You wanna come with?"
She giggled. "Sure," she replied. "So, does she like me?"
Will rolled onto his side and laid his hand against her cheek. "Yes," he replied. "I think you'll be good for her."
"Yes, I'll be fantastic. I don't eat my vegetables, I almost never read, and I bend easily to my mother's will."
Will rolled on top of her. "Elizabeth," he said gently. She looked up at him and bit her lip. "That is your name, isn't it?"
"Yes," she said quietly.
"Listen to me. George hates vegetables anyway, she's a bookworm anyway, and I will help you with whatever issues you have with your mom. You'll be good for George because she needs a woman around. I mean, I do what I can, but I'm not a girl."
Her eyes watery, Lizzy smiled at him. "Lucky thing for me." Will kissed her then, wrapping his legs around hers.
"Why do I get the feeling this is the start of something very special?" he asked huskily when he pulled away.
"It's more than special," she said, pulling his head back down to her lips. "It's extraordinary."
On the occasion of their second wedding anniversary, Will waited for his wife in the small lobby at the shop. It was three o'clock in the morning and she was about to meet him there after finishing her shift at the hospital.
She greeted him with a kiss at the top of the stairs. "Are you ready?" he asked.
She nodded. "Yeah," she replied, taking off her sweater. "Are you?"
"I'm set," he confirmed with a grin. "Take off your shirt."
"You're awfully excited about this," she remarked as she followed him into his workroom. Still dressed in her uniform, she yanked her top off. He smiled appreciatively.
"Those are so nice," he remarked, openly admiring her breasts, which were clad in a bright red brazier that she had purchased especially for this occasion. "Pull down your pants."
"Do you talk to all your clients this way?" she inquired saucily, tugging on the waist of her uniform pants.
"Just you, baby. Drop 'em. You don't have to go down that far."
She did as he asked, and then sat on a stool and leaned over another chair as he prepared himself.
Lizzy sucked in her breath and willed her body to stay still. "Just remember to breathe, Lizzy; you'll do fine. It's not that big."
He paused before sitting down on his stool, pushing his chest fully into her back and grazing her neck with his lips. "How is Joey?" he asked as he slowly kissed her throat.
Lizzy cleared her throat and closed her eyes, turning her cheek toward his voice. "He's asleep," she reported. "Auntie George said he was an angel."
"I'm glad," he replied. She lifted her eyes to his and two pairs of full lips caressed each other. "Now, are you really ready?"
"Yes," she whispered.
Will smiled. "It'll only hurt at first; I promise." He pulled away.
A few moments later, she heard whirring and braced herself. "You know what a triskel is," he began softly.
"Yes," she replied, her voice a whisper.
He paused and she felt the initial shock of the needle. At first, it was an intense burning – it could be called pain – and after a moment or two, as long as he didn't leave the needle in contact with her skin for too long, she was numb to the sensation, and by the time he started talking again, all she really felt was irritation, as if she was being continuously poked by a needle – which she was.
"I like triskels," he said, feeling the need to say something.
"I hadn't noticed," she replied dryly. "Were the collective forty-six of them tattooed around your arms supposed to tip me off?"
He lifted the needle from her back to pinch her upper arm lightly. She giggled; he paused again to concentrate on his work. Lizzy's tattoo was only about four inches square and not complex at all, but he was always a perfectionist, whatever he did. Also, he had several ideas to complicate the design and add to it; for that to happen, she had to like it to begin with.
"Triskels, as you know," he continued, diligently working, "can be played with, design-wise. Most motifs, I guess, can be played with, but triskels have been around so long and are so symbolic that you can change it almost any way you want; as long as it's still recognizable as a triskel, it's a triskel. One of the most ancient forms of the triskel, found carved on a wall inside the Neolithic Newgrange Tomb in Ireland, is a triple spiral composed of a single unending line. It's absolutely fascinating; it's my favorite triskel, and it's the first one I ever saw – you know, a picture of it."
"Are you putting a triskel on my back?"
Will smiled at her uneasy tone. "You'll like it. It's not complicated and it's not big." He swallowed and returned to his work, smiling as he finished. As he cleaned off her back and spread Bacitracin over the tattoo, he smiled, announced that it was complete, and that he hoped she liked it. He spun her around on the stool, her back facing a full-length mirror that hung on the wall, and handed her a hand mirror. He helped her position it so she could see his work.
She smiled. "Oh," she whispered. "I like it, Will." She leaned over and kissed him. "Thank you."
He smiled. "Oh, don't thank me," he replied. "If I really get my way there'll be a lot more ink on your back than that."
She giggled and looked at her tattoo again. "What else would you do?" she asked.
He positioned himself on his own stool and faced her, his hands dancing over her lower back as he described what was in his head. "I would put two more on either side so it'd be like my arm bands," he began. "I would put vines around it – some nice green there. Then I'd draw more vines and go out, like this," he traced his index fingers from the edges of her triskel, up a little, and back down and out. "Very delicate. I'd put three flowers – one here," he touched her right hip, "and one here," he touched her left hip, "and one middle under the triskel. One for you, one for me, and one for Joe, in the color of our birth stones."
She smiled at his enthusiasm for his craft and his family and kissed him. "So instead of sea, sky, and earth, or speed, strength, and agility, my triskel could mean Will, Lizzy, and Joey?"
"Right," he smiled, taking her free hand in his. "Actually, I had thought that for us, it could mean our past, our present, and our future, if you didn't want anything more."
She smiled and teared up at his gift. "How about you, me, and us?" she asked softly. "It seems more fitting for a wedding anniversary gift."
Will smiled. "As you wish," he replied, and their lips met again.
(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson
