An umbrella. Watercolor splatters in the ink, bright flowers raining from its canopy. “Meyer—” “It’s the tattoo you gave Hazel the first time we met. That little temporary one? I only had a picture of it on my phone, so I don’t know if it’s exact or not. I got it in … Vegas. I got it for you.” He swipes his thumb across my bottom lip. “Fee, I was so fucking lonely before you found us.”
