“Where are we going?”
Shrugging, I hold my hand out to her waiting until she places her hand in mine and lets me pull her out of the chair.
Leaving the hotel, we wander the streets of the city stopping occasionally to take pictures or shop. It’s nice to see Belize City coming back to life after three months of being shut down.
Stopping at the Belize sign on the beach, I pull Ivory in for a selfie. The sea breeze blows strands of hair into her face right at that exact moment, causing her to laugh as she sweeps it back with one hand. I quickly capture the moment. Her bare, tanned shoulders are on display in the spaghetti strapped tank top she put on before we left. The blue of the sea peeks through in the background. It’s perfect. Quickly saving the image as my phone’s lock screen, I lower the phone.
A sign for tattoos draws my attention further down. It’s a small shop tucked away amongst other shops. An idea strikes. I want a permanent reminder of our time together. I know it will always be etched on my heart, but I want it on my skin too. Visible for me to see the way Ivory has branded me.
“Hey, I have an idea.”
“What?” Pointing at the neon sign up ahead, I raise my eyebrow in challenge.
“What?” Obliviously, she looks around.
“Get a tattoo with me?” Ivory stops in the middle of the walkway looking at me like I’ve grown two heads.
“Come again?”
“How many times can you say you got a tattoo in Belize?” Lacing my fingers through hers, I tug her towards the shop.
“Um, none.” The bell above the door jingles as we walk through. Despite her protests, she keeps her hand in mine and lets me pull her further inside. “You’re serious?”
“Come on, Hollywood. It’ll be fun.”
“A needle poking into my skin over and over again? Fun, sure.” She might be rolling her eyes but I see the way she looks around the shop. A small smile plays on her lips.
“Something to commemorate our trip.” The walls are covered in photos of previous work done by the artists. Behind the short wall dividing the waiting area from the workspace, the faint buzz of a tattoo gun fills the air. A tall, slender man covered in tattoos and piercings stands from a stall in the back and makes his way to the front of the shop.
“Welcome in. What are you looking to get done?” His American accent catches me off guard.
“Hey, man,” I start, extending my hand out for a handshake. “We’re looking to get a couple small pieces.” Ivory looks towards me like she isn’t fully committed but is interested.
The man watches us with interest in his eyes. I know before he says anything that he recognizes us, or at least Ivory. The lightbulb goes off in his mind.
“Holy shit, you’re Ivory Crenshaw.” Whipping his head back to me, he says, “And Preston Fields. Oh my god, your play in the final out of the wild card game last year was epic.”
Okay, so maybe he knows me too. This was the last thing I expected when we walked in here. Now I have to figure out how to get us out of here before we end up as another headline.
“Uh…thanks, man. Are you a fan?” I can feel my polite smile—as Ivory calls it—slip into place.
“I’m from Tampa. Followed your career for a while. I can’t believe you’re in my shop.”
“Crazy coincidence. How did you end up here?” I look to Ivory for help, trying to direct him away from who we are.
“Came for vacation and never left.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal.
Ivory steps in but it's not to get us out of this mess. “Do you have any suggestions for a small tattoo to memorialize our trip?” Her voice is soft and even. It’s not her industry voice that I have heard her use with media, studio heads, and her boards. Ivory is being herself. Just when I think I can’t love this woman anymore, she goes and does something like this. Pride swells in my chest at her letting him see the real Ives.
“Yeah, totally.” He nods his head enthusiastically and walks to the counter in the corner. Pulling out an iPad he pokes around then spins it to face us. “Here are some common ideas.” Looking at the screen, he scrolls through various options. Some as simple as the word Belize, and others intricate maps of the country or surrounding islands.”
“What are those?” Ivory asks, pointing to a series of numbers.
“Those are coordinates. Longitude, latitude of a location.” There’s an idea. I open the browser on my phone and google the coordinates I need.
“Do you see anything you like?” Ivory still looks uncertain. “I can go first if you want.”
“You already know what you want?”
