Page 33 of A Heart On A Sleeve

nineteen

Olive

It's an Ambush

“All set here, Beau. I’m going to wrap up and head out for the night, if that’s okay.

” I grab the last of this week’s restorations and place them in a neat stack on my desk for tomorrow.

This is the first day since the incident with Irina that I haven’t had a headache.

It’s also the fourth day that I haven’t seen Sam.

Since he stormed out of the hospital, he hasn’t been completely silent—he answers my good-morning text and my good-night text each day, but there’s nothing in between.

I’ve tried explaining, thinking that sending messages would be easier to swallow than processing it all in person.

But with little response, frankly, I’ve had it.

I know he doesn’t believe in magic, but he must believe in something if he actually thought there was magic between us, right?

“That’s fine, Olive. Thanks for working hard these past few days.

I know it couldn’t have been easy with the spill you took.

How did you say you fell again?” Beau narrows his eyes at me.

He hasn’t believed my story about the ladder from the second I told it.

But he isn’t getting the truth; I already have one person convinced I’ve lost it. I won’t add another to that list.

“Thanks. I fell off my ladder trying to hang a new light in the kitchen. Busted my head on the edge of the countertop.” I squeeze past him on my way toward the door.

“Mmmk, well don’t be climbing on anything else, young lady. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says as he plops down in the chair behind the cash register.

“Bye, Beau.” I wave at him before grabbing the doorknob and pushing my way out onto the street.

The air is getting chillier by the day, wind picking up as it comes off the bay.

Leaves fall to the ground with each shake and shimmy of the branches.

It's almost magical in its own right the way they coast and land so effortlessly in beautiful mosaic patterns on the sidewalk.

I don’t have time to admire them as much as I normally would.

I had Ariella scope out Sam’s work schedule using a fake client name, and I know this is the only night he doesn’t have any appointments this week.

I pick up my pace, power walking toward his house, crunching those same mosaics on the ground without reservation.

I’m ambushing him. I’ve missed him these past few days, and that’s not something I’ve ever felt or said about anyone.

I’m on a mission to make him understand—it’s a last-ditch effort, but one that my heart needs to move on.

Not to mention, the clock is winding ever closer to Halloween.

I have a little more than two weeks until this tattoo becomes permanent.

Speaking of it, my arm has been a flurry of unsightly new additions recently.

I gained a tombstone for the event in the cemetery that says Don’t Forget where the name should be.

Thanks, Irina. There’s also a broken heart that I attribute to Sam leaving the hospital.

The vines are wrapped in swirling patterns down my arm now, hovering about an inch above my wrist. The only time this week that any of it resembled happiness was when I walked into the Brewhouse.

I’d peeked when the burning sensation started, and sure enough .

. . little pumpkins and lattes danced on my arm.

I guess coffee does make me happy after all.

As I approach Sam’s house for the first time, I can’t help my nerves.

What if he turns me away? What if he doesn’t want to listen?

Acid creeps up my throat, and I slow my pace, hesitating briefly at the bottom of the steps.

I place my right foot on the first stair when the door flies open, landing with a crack against the house.

My eyes dart up immediately to a grinning Sam standing in the doorway.

“Four days is a long time to wait. Are you ready to tell me what’s really going on?” Sam moves to lean against the doorjamb, crossing his arms.

“I-I, uh. Huh? I didn’t think you wanted to see me, and I had this whole speech prepared to make you let me in.” I walk up the remaining steps, stopping on the top one confused.

“I was telling the truth.” I don’t wait for him to argue. I push past him, ascending the final step and waltzing right into his home.

It’s beautiful. Freshly stained hardwood floors and an open-concept kitchen, dining, and living room area.

The furniture is a bit manly for my taste, but this place is very homey.

I kick off my shoes and unzip my coat, hanging it on a coat rack in the entryway like I own the place.

I set my bag on the hall table and walk to the large tan leather couch.

Sam follows, sitting down on the opposite end of the sofa.

“Sure, Olive. Why don’t you come in so we can talk,” he says, his grumpy attitude from our early interactions clicking firmly back in place before he scooches deeper into his spot and presses play on some music he had cued up on the TV.

“Listen up, Sam.” I snap my fingers to get him to look at me.

I said this was an ambush, and I meant it.

I’ve never wanted to hang on to someone like I do him.

I’m here to play hardball if that’s what it takes.

“I told you the truth. I met a witch named Irina at the Hollow Hearts Festival. I didn’t know it at the time, that she was a witch I mean.

But she was. She asked me some stuff, I told her I wasn’t the best at sharing my feelings.

Bada bing, bada boom. Tattoo on my arm.” I start to unbutton my cardigan so that I can show him.

“Olive, you don’t need to do that,” he says as he holds up his hand to halt my undressing. “I told you, I care about you. But this is wild. You know this sounds crazy, right?”

“Of course, I know it’s unusual. It’s happening to me.

” I point a finger at my chest before continuing to undo my sweater.

“But I can prove it to you. I’ve spent the last four days trying to come up with just about anything that I could tell you to continue keeping you in the dark, but that’s not fair.

To you or to me. This is who I am, for now at least. And I want to keep seeing where things go between us, which is scary enough, so just let me show you.

” I shuck my cardigan off, revealing my black silk tank top and completely exposing my arm.

Sam scoots closer to me. Our thighs touch as we sit next to each other on the couch, and he looks curiously at my arm. “You can touch it,” I whisper, the words stuck in my throat as my body buzzes from the sheer proximity of him.

His fingers glide gently over each tattoo. “There’s no raised lines. It’s like this is deeper than a normal tattoo.” I can tell he’s trying to find the lie with how hard he is concentrating. My body shivers as he touches me, a warmth slipping down my belly between my legs.

“Kiss me,” I blurt out.

“What?” he asks, looking at me like I’ve lost it.

“Kiss me and watch what happens. Look at it now, remember what it looks like. Ready?” I ask, checking his face for confirmation.

I reach my hand behind his neck, turning him into me as I press my lips against his softly.

His mouth is like a pillow beckoning me home.

I can’t help but to lick the seam of it, begging him to open and let me in.

He complies and we get lost in the fervor of our make out.

I slide up and over his lap so I’m straddling him, my skirt hitching up around my waist. Holding his face in both my hands, I dive deeper into the kiss.

It’s like we are making up for lost time, both taking what we need and infusing it with passion, frustration, and something else.

After a few minutes, we split, gasping for air.

He smiles at me, a shy, adorable grin that’s made even cuter by his swollen lips.

“I’m not sure what was supposed to happen, but God, babe. I could do that for a very long time.” He presses another soft kiss to my lips.

“Me too, but look.” I put my arm in front of his face so he can see it. Where everything was in stark black before, the tattoos are in vivid color now. There are lips dancing on my arm and even Boo is making a smoochy face.

“H-how? This can’t be real,” he says, scraping a hand down his face in denial.

“I told you. It’s magic.”

“Magic isn’t real.”

“Clearly, it is.” I widen my eyes at him. There’s literally no other explanation for why this could be happening. He doesn’t need to understand it, Lord knows I don’t.

“I just, uh, I’ve never believed in magic. But I am sorry I didn’t believe in you,” he says, looking up to the ceiling and taking a deep breath.

“I know it’s weird. Believe me, I feel it and see it change every day. But it’s here, and you’ll get used to it.” He won’t, I haven’t. But what am I supposed to say? The hunt for Irina has been futile at best. Unless I embrace the tattoo, she won’t help me get rid of it.

He kisses me again, a deep open-mouthed kiss.

He slides his hand over my backside, under my skirt, but then pulls away, biting my lip slightly on the retreat.

Sam glances at my arm like he’s testing a theory, and fireworks erupt in little blazes of glory among the vines.

It usually tingles or burns when the pictures change, but for some reason right now, it’s like each little shift on the movie reel sends a zap down my spine and into my center.

I want him, maybe more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

This is what we’ve been building toward.

There’s an undeniable chemistry between us, and each time we have kissed, I get a little closer to not being able to control it.

I reach for his pants, trying to unbutton them, but he places a hand on top of my fingers to stop me. “Olive, if we are doing this, I need to know something first.”