Page 123 of Tears of Ink

“And you kiss rather well too,” he adds with a cheeky grin. I just laugh. He makes me want to laugh; he makes me want to forget I’m the girl with tattoos, the girl with a past.

He lets go of me and busies himself setting out the blanket. I watch him enthralled. What the hell will my eyes look at when tomorrow is over?

The lightning bolt hits me smack in the grey matter with resounding clarity.

I can’t walk away.

I’m going to fight.

While he sets out glasses and a bottle of champagne with a gold foil top, I close my eyes and think of those Māori tattoos I have bound onto my skin.

Maybe those tattoos weren’t meant to be for fighting Aiden and my father. Maybe they were for this. Maybe this is what I need, more than I need acknowledgement or apologies.

“Eli,” I say his name. The tension in my stomach pulls and aches.

“Faith.” He grins up at me and motions for me to come forward. He holds my hands and we sit on the blanket, two people fluid and free with one another.

“I’m just going to say this.” The words are a fast train and they won’t stop now for anything.

He nods, simple and precise.

“I don’t want this to end tomorrow.” My cheeks flare under the silver haze of the cloud covered moon. “I can’t walk away from you. I thought I could, but now...” I shake my head as I think of the words I want to say but can’t articulate. “I want to fight. I want to live rule free.”

His hands slip around my face, his palms cupping my cheeks. His mouth catches mine and lingers with possessive attachment. “It’s funny you should say that.”

My heart hammers, loud and fast. “Why?”

He shakes his head. “I want you, Faith. Everything you are. The freedom you live with, the strength. I want that every day. And so we are starting backwards. We haven’t even had a date yet, but.” He grins and then pecks another kiss on my lips. “It’s a start.”

“What about your family? Grandbaronessy isn’t going to take this well.”

His eyes hold mine, fierce and determined. “I can live without money and the Fairclough name.”

I almost crumple at his confession.

I kiss him, breathe him. Feel him.

Solid and firm, he holds me in his arms, his embrace gripping me to his chest as though he doesn’t want to let go.

“We don’t even know each other.” I laugh, and it’s on the verge of being water filled.

“We can start now.” He grins and pulls away. Declarations are done, simple, easy almost. “Champagne?” He holds a glass for me.

“I prefer beer.”

He shakes his head but then smiles with a warmth that makes my blood rush with heat. “Bottle of beer?” He slips his hand into the basket and pulls out two bottles of Budweiser, popping the lids off.

“Much better.” I take it and we clink the necks of the bottles “Thank you.”

“I hate bananas.” he says out of the blue, and I snort a laugh.

“I hate oranges.”

We both begin to chuckle and a bubble wells in my chest.

“I really like Take That,” I say, but then wag my finger under his nose. “Don’t tell anyone though.”

“I quite fancy Gary Barlow myself.”