“Not fearless,” I said. “A tad impulsive and a smidgeon reckless, maybe.”

“Why?”

“Why am I impulsive and reckless?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Because life is short,” I said. I slipped my right thumb under my opposite sleeve and ran my thumb over my tattoo just like I always did when I thought of my mom. It used to be a nervous habit, but now it was a comfort. I felt Mr. Daire watching me and I dropped my hand.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Your tattoo,” he said. “The one on your wrist. What is it of—if you don’t mind telling me?”

How had he seen it? I was certain my sleeve kept it covered. Not that I particularly cared who saw it, but . . .

“The very first day you sat on your patio, reading my rules, your sleeve fell back and I saw it,” he said. “Jackson and I couldn’t make it out.”

“So you were both watching me?” I asked. I tried to sound indignant but I couldn’t sell it. If I’d had a tenant, a stranger, moving in, I’d watch them, too.

“We were just curious about you,” he said.

“Uh-huh.” I pursed my lips as if considering, which was silly, because of course I was going to show him. I loved this tattoo and shared it with whoever asked. After I waited the appropriate beat to show due consideration, I walked over to where he sat and held my left wrist out to him.

My sleeve immediately slipped down, covering it. I went to push it up but he beat me to it. He brushed aside my fingers, pushed up my sleeve, and gently cradled my wrist in his large callused hand. He ran his index finger over the simple line drawing. It felt as if the tip of his finger was leaving a line of fire in its wake. I could smell his sweat-dampened hair and feel the heat pouring off his body. He smelled faintly of sandalwood with an underlying note of vanilla. It made me want to take a bite out of him. I resisted.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “Did you design it?”

“Yeah,” I said. My throat was hoarse, so I cleared it and focused on where he was touching me. This was a bad plan as I was finding it hard to breathe. I focused on the floor. “The big loop represents the mom and the smaller one inside of it is the child. I jazzed it up with some swirls and dots. My mom and I each got this tattoo when I turned eighteen so we’d match.”

He glanced at me with a quick smile. “Is she as free spirited as you?”