He points to the flag just above. “That flows into the American flag. Had it done like it’s rippling in the wind. I wanted it to feel alive, you know? Not just a symbol, but a reminder.”
God, he’s humble too. There’s something about the quiet pride in his voice that makes me want to scoot just a little closer.
He shifts to show the mid-section of his arm. “That’s the eagle,” he says. “Wings half-spread, claws gripping arrows and olive branches. It’s strength and peace, both things I’ve had to fight for.”
I smile softly. “That might be the most powerful metaphor I’ve ever heard.” And sexy. Definitely sexy.
Cal chuckles. “Above that, there’s a soldier in silhouette. I wanted something that showed sacrifice, but not in a loud way.” His gaze shifts for a moment, to the next tattoo. “And below that," he continues, "there’s a shield. Something that symbolizes protection and duty. A shield worn by those who protect, without needing to say a word.”
I nod, taking in the image of the shield, the sharp lines and bold design. It’s clear it’s a deeply personal symbol, and I don’t need to ask him to explain it.
“You’ve thought this through,” I say. “Every inch.”
“Yeah.” His voice drops slightly. “I didn’t want tattoos just to have them. They all mean something.”
He turns a little, pulling the sleeve up so I can see part of shoulder. A WWII-era fighter plane cuts across a sky of shaded clouds. “That’s for soaring above the things that try to drag you down,” he says, then gestures to the words. “Semper Fi. My grandfather was a Marine.”
There’s a quiet pride in his voice, but no ego. It only makes him more attractive, if that's even possible. Magnetic, grounded, respectful, strong. I didn’t know that combination still existed in the wild.
Then something catches my eye, just above his wrist, along the inside of his forearm. Inked there in clean, deliberate script are the words:She’s All I Have.
I point to it gently. “And what about that one?”
Cal glances at it, and then a flicker of something unreadable passes through his eyes. “This was my first," he says. "I had an accident at work, and I got it to cover up the scar."
"You're so vain," I say, grinning and meeting his gaze.
"I actually did it because I couldn't look at it without feeling guilty. It's a long story. One for another time.”
Something about the way he said it makes me realize there's a lot more to Cal than even this art can tell, and somehow I already know his story is one worth hearing.
I look at his tattooed arm again, every piece telling a different chapter of his life, and think—not for the first time—Lord help me, this man is incredible.
***
"Where have you been?" Tina’s stern words greet me the moment I step inside.
"You sound just like I imagine a mom would if I’d ever had one to come home late to."
"I was about to call the police to come find you," she says, chuckling a bit—but something tells me she’s only half-joking. "We don’t exactly know our neighbor, and the idea of you going into the woods with him? Let’s just say my mind spiraled straight into a true crime documentary."
"Knowing you," I say, raising a brow, "I’m guessing it was a full two-hour special with reenactments and a dramatic voiceover."
She snorts. "Exactly. So… where were you?" The furrow between her brows eases as she crosses her arms, waiting.
"We raced to the finish line, and he lost, so he bought me a smoothie in town."
"Ooh, do tell," she says, her tone instantly lighter.
"I think he's amazing," I say, not meeting her gaze.
"Danielle Elise Keaton," she says, eyes going wide, "are you catching feelings for the ruggedly good-looking man next door?"
"No," I say, though even as the word leaves my mouth, I wonder if I’m lying. "I just think he’s really cool. He told me all about his tattoos. The important ones, anyway."
"I know you, Elle," she reminds me, pointing a finger at me like a warning. "Maybe better than you know yourself. And Iknowthat look. A look I haven’t seen since you met that dummy Craig back in college. God, has it really been that long since you had a boyfriend? I didn’t realize how deep into a full-on drought season we both are."
"Anyway," I say, trying to steer her back on track.
