I don’t argue the observation. “As are you.”
He scoffs. “Right. And what gave you that impression? My sunny disposition?”
I meet Isaac’s gaze steadily, the blue of his irises reminding me of how light cuts through the water, streaks of near white fanning out from his pupils like a sunburst, the halo of dark around it all keeping the radiant glow contained. “What would you call your relationship with literature if not a love affair?”
Isaac blinks at me, seemingly shocked. “Yeah, but that’s not…”
“Romance? Why not?” My eyes ping to his hair, his freckles, back to his eyes. “You carry flames, Isaac Newport. And words are your oxygen.”
He sucks in a small breath, the red rising on his cheeks proving my point. “Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“Utterly shameless?”
I huff a small laugh. “Is it shameless to speak the truth?”
“You and your questions,” Isaac says, sounding as if he doesn’t mind them one bit. “I need to get back to work.”
“Sure.”
“So stop…” He waves a hand chaotically my way.
“Existing?”
Isaac groans. “What’s up with the turtlenecks, by the way?”
“Don’t like them?”
“No, I do,” he says quickly before seeming to catch himself. “They’re fine. They just…don’t show anything off.”
Byanything, I assume he means my tattoos. “And you think I should be showing off?”
He looks heavenward for a moment, exasperated, I’d guess, by how much he’s incidentally revealing. “I think you must have put a lot of time and effort into your tattoos. So I don’t understand why you want them covered.”
“It’s not that I want to hide them. But at the same time, my tattoos are for myself, not others. They’re not a showpiece. They’re…”
Something catches in Isaac’s eyes. “They’re love,” he fills in. “You said your uncle did most of them. He’s an artist?”
“He is.”
“And this is how he shows his love? This is how you share your own with him in return? By wearing his art.” Isaac looks rather proud of himself for coming to the conclusion on his own, and I find I like him wearing that expression almost as much as his blush.
“Quite perceptive of you, Red. Considering you used to think I hunted people for sport.”
He sputters, looking amused. “That was, like…a whole week ago.”
“Five days,” I correct.
“You’re keeping count?”
“Would that bother you?”
“What am I even supposed to say to that?” he asks. “You’re just so—”
A loudshhhhas the both of us jerking around to find a librarian with a cart full of books nearby. There’s a disapproving look on her face, but she doesn’t chastise us further for being so loud inside the library.
“Sorry, Bev,” Isaac says quietly, the librarian walking away.
