Page 317 of The Havenport Collection

Oliver

“ A re you sure you really want to do this?” I asked, slightly unnerved by how excited Maeve was.

She crossed her arms and shot me a sassy glare. “Of course. I’ve been planning this forever. Look at my folder!” She shook a portfolio at me which was filled with photos and ideas and sketches. Clearly she had been contemplating her first tattoo for a long time.

“And this place,” she said, gesturing to the sign, “is perfect. Exactly what I want.”

She walked around slowly, taking in the place.

Inkspired was a nautical-themed tattoo shop near the commercial docks in town.

I had discovered it a few months ago when I was looking for a place to get some new ink.

Both Declan and Flint raved about the owner, Bram, and if he was good enough to keep those two moody bastards happy, then he was probably pretty damn good.

It was an airy space in an old Art Deco building. There were ornate chandeliers juxtaposed against old oil paintings of clipper ships and large leather couches. The walls were covered in black-and-white photos of sailors and fishermen—a full history of Havenport shown through ink.

Her appointment with Bram was not for another thirty minutes, but Maeve insisted we arrive early. I settled onto one of the couches, and she sank down right next to me. I took the opportunity to put my arm around her shoulders, and shockingly, she didn’t object.

“You said you got work done here. What did you do?”

“Couple of things.” I lifted my T-shirt to show her the flowers on my rib cage.

“Those are so pretty,” she said tracing the outline with her finger. “What do they mean?”

I pulled my T-shirt down, feeling suddenly uncomfortable with her proximity. Maeve made me feel things and want things I knew were not possible. I liked her, and every time I let my guard down, she tunneled a little bit deeper into my heart. And I feared I would get burned again.

I cleared my throat. “They are forget-me-nots. They are a symbol of dementia and Alzheimer’s awareness.”

I saw recognition dawn on her face. “For your mom?”

I nodded.

“I’m so sorry,” she said quietly.

“She’s in one of the best facilities in the state now.

It took years and calling in every favor I could and insane sums of money.

But she really is doing great.” I tried to smile and pretend I was okay, but inside I was crumbling.

I hated that my mom had to live in a memory care facility.

I hated that things were getting worse every day.

I hated that sometimes she didn’t recognize me or thought I was my father—a complete asshole who had been dead for almost twenty years.

Maeve looked up at me and reached for my hand, gently squeezing it. We sat in silence while I felt the warmth of the connection between us. She said nothing and asked nothing. After a few minutes she gave it a squeeze.

“I’d be happy to go visit her with you sometimes, if you want,” she said.

I turned and looked at her, my heart about to leap through my chest.

“I’m so sorry. I totally overstepped.” She quickly pulled her hand away, looking flustered. “I do that sometimes, always trying to solve everyone’s problems and inserting myself. I am so, so sorry.”

“No,” I said, grabbing her hand back. I hated losing even this small connection between our bodies.

“It’s incredibly kind of you to offer. I try to get over there as often as I can, depending on my work schedule.

And I call ahead and speak to the nurses to find out when she’s having a good day.

I would love to have someone with me. But I have to warn you. It can be really hard.”

“I’ll support you any way I can. I can’t believe you are doing this all on your own.”

“It has been just me and Mom for a long time. Dad was in and out of our lives and passed when I was pretty young. I’m used to it.”

“I still think you are incredible. Taking care of your mother the way you do, fighting for her and being an advocate. As your friend, I am proud of you.” She smiled at me, and I felt every single last defense I had crumble.

Maeve was bossy and headstrong and liked to get her way. But she also had a big heart and fiercely protected people. She was a work in progress, just like me, and she owned it.

And my stupid heart just couldn’t help but hope that maybe someday, we could be more than friends.

By the time she was in the chair, having an animated discussion with Bram about what she wanted, I was a wreck. Spending all this time with her had cemented the fact that I was pretty head over heels for this woman, the sassy spitfire with the soft heart and the playful smirk.

So it was a special kind of agony to see Bram, who was a young, fit guy with a trendy haircut who effortlessly oozed cool, put his hands all over Maeve.

I had never desired to wield a tattoo gun, but watching him ink her skin was torture. I wanted to touch her, to possess her, to mark her. Instead this guy got that privilege.

And it didn’t help that they chatted amiably throughout, her showing no sign of being in pain at all. Typical Maeve, tough as nails.

I looked at her bright face when he finished. She was flushed, clearly running on adrenaline, and looked so damn proud of herself.

After Bram finished giving her the aftercare lecture, we set out into the Havenport sunshine.

She threaded her arm through mine and looked up at me. “Thank you. For being here with me. I was so scared.”

I pulled her a little closer, slowing my pace. “You didn’t look scared at all.”

“I was terrified. And you being there…this probably sounds silly, but it made me feel strong.”

I had to resist the urge to pump my fist. Instead I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, kissing the top of her head. It felt natural, an extension of the closeness we had been building over the last few weeks. The gesture felt more intimate than the night we spent together.

She stopped walking and bit her lip. “It was painful, but not too bad. Just enough to make me focus. To make me think.”

I nodded. I understood. The intensity of the experience could bring out a lot of feelings in people.

“And sitting there, I realized some hard truths about myself. I spent years prioritizing the wrong things. I pushed people away and wanted to check every box on some life success list. I lost valuable time with my sisters, I lost friendships, and I lost sight of who I really am.”

I gave her a squeeze as we walked slowly through town. I wasn’t sure how to respond, but I wanted her to know I was listening.

But she suddenly stopped walking and threw her hands up. “I have been running on a hamster wheel, and what for? To end up working somewhere I’m not valued and appreciated and engaged to a man who I didn’t love?”

“Maeve.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I want to make some changes. It’s going to be rough and take me some time to figure it all out. But I can’t go back to who I was before.” She paused and took a step closer, winding her arms around my neck. “I want different things now.”

And before I could say anything, she pulled me down and kissed me. I pulled her close, letting myself feel her melt into me. I couldn’t do anything but kiss her back, trying to match her hunger.

I finally got to taste her again. And I didn’t want it to end.

Eventually she pulled away and looked up at me, her face flushed and her eyes wild.

“Do you think we could go back to your place?”