Page 5 of Dandelions and Smoke

Just me.

ONE

RORY

(Still) April, Six Months Ago

His brows draw together as he leans his elbow on the bar, resting his knuckles against his dark, trimmed beard. It sends a new rush of goosebumps over my body as I imagine what his hands would feel like on me.

Amazing, probably. No. Definitely amazing.

“Tell me something,” he asks softly, like he’s worried I’ll run off.

There’s a look in his eyes that I can’t quite describe. It’s as though he’s reaching for something, desperate to have it. Hope is all but snuffed out of them, yet something inside still glimmers, and I don’t think it’s the neon lights.

With an ache of familiarity stirring something deep inside me, I reach out and rest my hand on his arm, unable to keep myself from touching him any longer and wanting to reassure him that I’m not going anywhere.

At least not yet.

His shoulders rise before settling back down with my touch, as if he needs it just as much as I do. I know that feeling, like something is about to slip through my fingers before I’ve had the chance to tighten my grasp. God, I feel like that every day. Sometimes it’s a reflection of my past, but usually it’s a fleeting thought that comes and goes before I’ve had a chance to figure it out.

“How about this? I will tell you anything and everything that you wanna know…” I pause. “Except for that.”

“Except for your name?” he asks, clarifying for himself more so than for me. “Interesting.” He squints, thinking about it, and nods his head. “Alright then. Anything I want to know? Really?” he asks, clearly unconvinced.

I move my fingers over his arm in small patterns, keeping my hand busy while my mind fires off with a million thoughts all at once in several directions. I drag my eyes from my hand back to his, and everything hushes once more, keeping me in the moment.

“Of course. I’m an open book. No secrets,” I assure him, feeling giddy as a shock of excitement makes my pulse stutter at the possibility of all that he may ask.

“Why do I find that hard to believe?” he huffs, eyes narrowing playfully.

“Try me,” I dare him, like we’ve locked into a game that I’m determined to win. I bite my lip, trying to control my goofy smile that is dying to come out.

His eyes drop, following the movement before rising to meet mine. “Fine, but I’m gonna call you Little Lion,” he says, but continues once he notices my confusion. “On account of your dandelion tattoo and the fact that I’ve never been very good with nicknames.”

“You don’t say?” I tease, struggling now to contain my laughter, this time directed at him.

“Unbelievable, I know,” he jokes, cracking a smile that threatens to melt me right now. “But that leads me to my first question. Why the dandelion tattoo?” He points to my left arm, and my eyes follow to the tattoo I got on my eighteenth birthday.

“Ah, that,” I say with an awkward laugh. “Would you believe me if I said I thought it would make me look cool?”

He cocks his head to the side and looks me over apprehensively. “For some reason, I don’t think you’re one to care much about what people think.”

“That’s a pretty good assessment, and you’d be right. Did the pink hair give me away?” I tease.

“Kind of,” he chuckles, shrugging his shoulders. “Anyone willing to be themselves as boldly as you are doesn’t care about anyone’s opinion.”

Heat floods my cheeks, and I wonder if he can tell in the dim lighting of the bar. It’s loud and busy, but he doesn’t seem to notice that. His attention is fully on me, his gaze like a blanket draping over me until all I feel is his warmth. I pull my lip between my teeth and look down before meeting his eyes again.

“I might care about someone’s opinion,” I admit, looking at him through my lashes, a small smile on my face. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Hmm, I’ll keep that in mind. Now,” he raises a brow, “about those dandelions.”

“Alright, fine.” I roll my eyes, but my lips are tilted up on one side. “I’ve always loved dandelions. We’re not supposed to. I mean, like someone decided one day that we shouldn’t. The infamous ‘they’, ya’know what I’m saying? Like the powers that be. Well,” I say, growing excited, talking more with my hands as I carry on.

“They said dandelions are a weed, and suddenly everyone agreed. People do everything they can to get rid of them, but no matter how hard they try to keep them down, dandelions always come back, showing up in the most impossible of places. Like I once saw a dandelion push its way through the cracks of a sidewalk. They’re determined to survive no matter how unwanted they are.”

My arm shoots out, and I nearly knock my drink right over, but he catches it before it falls and places it upright and off to the side like it’s no big deal.