It only takes Charlie a few minutes to do whatever it is that Beckett is getting. Charlie wraps the tattoos in some kind of sticky cling wrap that is supposed to help protect them so they heal better.
“How much do I owe you?” I ask after he’s done with Beckett’s. Who glares at me at my attempt to pay.
“It’s on the house.”
“Ok, well, I’ll just tip you then,” I say with a wink. Typing in his Venmo, which I see sitting on the desk, I send over a couple of hundred dollars.
“I can’t accept this,” Charlie says, looking at the notification on his phone.
“It’s easier to just let her do it,” Beckett mutters, looking over at me with an affectionate look in his eyes.
“Well, thank you,” he says.
“Don’t mention it,” I say as I turn my phone off and put it in my pocket.
“You’re too kind sometimes,” Beckett says as we get into the truck, after visiting with Charlie for a little bit longer.
“Well, I’m sure that he opened his shop for us. He deserves to be paid for his time. He didn’t have to do this for us, but he did. Plus, I really like them, so it’s the least I can do.”
He reaches for my hand, and I let him take it. He lifts it to his lips and kisses the back of it. When he sets our hands down, I roll our hands over to look at what he got.
“Cherries?” I whisper, looking at the small black and grey set on his wrist. My face scrunches in confusion as I look at the new ink.
“One summer, I met a girl who made getting another tattoo worth it.”
My heart stops at his words, my cheeks instantly heat up.
“I’m not that special, Beck.”
“You have no idea how special you are to me, do you, Sloane?”
“I’m just a girl who came in and wrecked everything.”
“You didn’t wreck anything, baby,” he says, giving my hand a squeeze as we turn down a dirt road.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Just trust me.”
I huff. I don’t like how he says that. I like knowing what’s going on.
We don’t drive down the road for very long before he pulls over into a small clearing.
He rolls the windows down and turns up the music. Putting the truck into park, he gets out, rounds the truck, and opens the door for me.
“You didn’t turn off the car,” I point out as he tugs me closer to him.
“I know.”
He spins me around and pulls me into his arms, his hands on my waist.
“What are you doing?”
“Dance with me, baby,” he whispers, burying his face into my neck and placing soft kissing onto the skin.
I wrap my arms around his neck as some country song plays in the background. We move softly on the dirt, dancing in the headlights of the truck.
I rest my head against his chest. “I really like you,” I whisper.
