I become a puddle under the tender touch.

“Of course.” I happy sigh and then shake myself because I’m not the one who needs caretaking anymore. “What about you? How are you doing? You should sit down.”

I slide my palms up to grasp his, so I can lead him to the couch. But, when I bring them in front of me, I freeze. There are dark lines tracing over the back of his hand. Marks that definitely weren’t there before.

“Is that—did you get a new tattoo? On your way home from the hospital? After having surgery?”

Ben laughs, and if he wasn’t recovering from his operation, I’d shove him for being so stupid.

“What is the matter with you? That’s so irresponsible! I can’t believe you would do that!”

“Holly, calm down. It’s just a pen drawing. It’s not a real tattoo.” His fingers massage mine, helping to soothe my heated mind so that his words can penetrate.

The hot air that built up so fast leaves in a huff, and my indignant chest deflates.

“Well … it looks real.” That’s a crappy apology. It actually wasn’t even an apology at all.

Still, Ben stares down at me with amusement and excitement and love. So, he can’t be too upset at my brief freak-out session.

“It’s supposed to look real. Dr. Stevens said he wants me to wait at least six months before I get any more ink. And I will. But, when he clears me, this is the first tattoo I’m getting.”

He moves his hand higher, indicating I should take a closer look. When I do, I realize that he’s drawn some type of plant, its many branches extending from his wrist to spread out across the back of his hand. The shape of the leaves looks familiar, and it doesn’t take long to figure out why.

“It’s holly.”

“Good girl. Got it on your first guess.”

My throat tightens as I blink away oncoming tears. I’ve cried way too much these past couple of weeks. “But I thought it was bad practice for a lawyer to have visible tattoos.”

“Good thing I’m not going to be a lawyer then.”

Ben keeps dropping bombs left and right, and I’m doing my best to keep up.

“Wha—what do you mean?”

He kisses my knuckles before pulling me over to the couch. When we’re sitting side by side, his arm around my shoulders, our fingers twined together, he explains, “When I pushed off college to hike the PCT, part of that was a tribute to my grandfather. A way to deal with his death. But another part of it was because I was struggling to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. Family business or follow my passion?”

I settle my head on his shoulder, watching his throat move as he talks and breathing in the comforting pine scent of him.

“Then, I got sick, all because I’d made that selfish decision. And I felt like a burden on my parents, like I’d let them down. So, I chose the responsible path. The safe one.”