My eyes widened immediately. I wanted to turn my head to look at her, but I couldn’t. “What⁠—?”

Beverly ignored me. “Is that allowed?”

“It’s his tattoo,” Dean said behind me. “Up to him.”

I had no idea what she was up to, but she crouched until she was at eye level with me and held my gaze in that way that always disarmed me.

Her lips curled into a pout. “Just a little addition.” I barely had a second to react before she leaned in closer and cupped my face with both hands. “Do you trust me?” she asked.

“Right now? No.”

She smiled like she’d expected that. “Too bad.”

I should have been concerned.

I should have said no.

But instead, I sighed. “Fine.”

I figured she’d add a heart or something ridiculous—something easy to joke about later. Beverly bit her lip as she grabbed a pen from the counter and scribbled something quickly, shielding the paper from my view before sliding it to Dean.

“Don’t let him see it until it’s done,” she said sweetly.

I bit back a laugh.

I should have known better.

Then the needle returned. Time blurred, and before I knew it, Dean pulled back, wiping over my skin. “Alright,” he announced. “All done.”

I blinked my eyes open to find Beverly staring at me with wide eyes. Her lips were slightly parted, as if she had something to say but couldn’t find the words.

“Beverly,” I said slowly. “What did you do?”

“I mean, you can’t get it removed,” she rushed out. “I mean, you can, but it’s expensive and painful, and you’d probably end up with a weird scar, and⁠—”

“Beverly,” I said firmly.

“What?”

“Show me.”

She and Dean exchanged a glance before he held up a mirror.

Beneath the simple ‘B’ was one delicate word, scrawled in her handwriting. Always.

I stared at the ink now etched permanently into my skin.

Then I stared at her.

“You hate it,” she blurted. “Oh God, you hate it. I knew⁠—”

“Beverly.”

“What?”

“I don’t hate it.”

“Y-you don’t?”

No. Not even close.

I was so gone for this girl I couldn’t even see straight.

So instead of answering, I grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

“You got my name,” she whispered. “I just added the promise.”

Dean chuckled. “You two are disgustingly cute.”

Beverly smiled softly. “You’re stuck with me now, McHayes.”

“I always was, Price.”

Then I kissed her—right there in the middle of the studio—my fingers tangled in her hair, her palm resting against my chest, feeling her name written into me.

* * *

Later that evening, as the sun began to set and the sky turned a soft gold, Beverly sighed dramatically, pressing a hand to her forehead as if she were about to faint.