“Dare. I choose dare.” I cross my arms waiting for her to come up with something.
“Seriously? It’s that bad?” She looks around the truck and then the clearing we are in. “Okay, I dare you to show me your most embarrassing tattoo.”
I shift up onto my knees and start unbuckling my belt. Her face morphs into what I think is shock as she covers her mouth with her hand. “Don’t be shy now. You asked for it.”
“Wait—oh my gosh. Wait.” Her hand is up in the universal sign for stop. I can’t help my roaring laughter.
“I’m kidding.” I sit back down and pull my arm out of my flannel button-down. “This one,” I say, pointing at some very poorly done barbed wire that is mostly covered but can still be seen on the inner part of my bicep.
“What even is that?”
“It was barbed wire when I was seventeen. But I grew up and realized it was a mistake, so this is all that’s left.” She takes a minute looking over my arm, tracing the lines of ink that outline the different pieces.
“These are beautiful.” Her words come out soft and breathless.
“Thanks. What’s your middle name?”
“Anne. After my mother. What’s your next tattoo?”
“Olive Anne, that’s—”
“It’s actually, Olivia. I just go by Olive.”
I put two fingers under her chin and lean in to kiss her. “I don’t have one planned. Would you ever get a tattoo, Olivia?” I’mcurious if she would, not that it’s a deal breaker either way. She made it pretty clear after the town hall meeting that she wasn’t interested. But I have to ask again, now that things are different between us.
She looks around rapidly, avoiding my question. A sinking feeling lodges itself in the pit of my stomach. I’ve been worried the tattoos would be a problem for her. I ask again, and still no answer. I’m about to ask what’s wrong when she blurts, “Is there a bathroom out here?”
“Oh, uh, yeah. In the cottage. Let me get the keys.”
We scoot out of the truck bed, and I pull them from the seat inside. Olive and I walk toward the cabin, avoiding the branches that have fallen since I last cleared the path.
“You going to answer my question? Or do I need to give you a dare?” I ask, while unlocking the door and flicking on the lights.
“I’ll answer, just, um . . . let me use the bathroom first.”
Why is this such a big deal? I would think it’s a simple yes or no. This feels exactly like the day I walked her back to work. Something is off, but I don’t know what it could be. Unless she doesn’t want to hurt my feelings by saying no. Does she think I want her to say yes just because it’s my job?
Olive heads into the bathroom I’ve directed her toward, and I step back onto the porch to give her privacy. It’s not a big place, and you can hear everything. I don’t want her to feel awkward even more so than she apparently already does. I sit down on the front step and wait.
fifteen
Olive
A Lie and a Revelation
“Shit, shit, shit.” I peer down at my phone, willing it to have even one bar of service in this small bathroom that’s plopped directly in the middle of nowhere. Ari would know what to say, how to answer the question without outright lying, more than I already am.
When Sam asked me about the tattoo, it was like I could feel Irina’s fingers carefully etching in another. There’s a tingle I’ve noticed from time to time, and I’m beginning to associate it with new images appearing on my skin. I had to get somewhere alone, and quick—before the bile rising in my throat became an all-outshit show. I never should have suggested playing a game where this had even a smidgen of a chance of coming up.
I stow my phone and wash my hands for the third time, deciding that it’s unlikely my cell service is miraculously going to change at this point. Sam probably thinks I’m having tummy issues, I’ve been taking so long. I know I shouldn’t look at my arm, it’s going to shake me up more if there is something new. But also, I need to know if I’m overthinking this. Before grabbing the door handle to head out, I slip my arm out of my jacket and squeeze my eyes shut. Taking three deep breaths, I open them and . . . What the hell?
Not only do I have new additions on my arm—a truck bed stuffed with blankets and pillows, a film reel, and a few hearts stemming off one of the vines—but also, they are moving. Almost like they are dancing and shifting with my feelings. This is bad, so very, very bad. A sharp pain sears through my bicep. As I look at the source of my discomfort a thick black angry-looking cloud appears. Is it an omen? Is it about to rain?
I don’t have time for this. I’ve got to get home and figure out what’s happening. I shove my arm back into my sleeve and fly toward the exit of this adorable cabin. I don’t take a spare moment to soak in the carefully appointed decor or the plush sofa.
“Whoa. You okay?” Sam stands, moving quickly out of my way as I barrel off the porch.
“Yes. Yep. This is embarrassing, but I think you need to take me home. Something isn’t agreeing with me.” I don’t want to insinuate that my lunch is thinking of making an unholy appearance as the third wheel to our date, but it’s better than admitting that I’m cursed.
