✾ Ivy ✾
I awoke to soft blue moonlight. As my consciousness emerged, I realized that I felt cold. I sat upright immediately, looking around the room. My unsteady heart stilled when I saw Beau standing facing the open windows, a blanket draped around his hips and his hair silhouetted in the light reflecting from the lake. He watched the glittering water as though he'd never seen anything quite like it before.
I sighed, my muscles relaxing just at the sight of him. I stared at his spine, tracing it with my eyes until it dipped below the fabric he loosely held around his waist. His back looked strong; his presence was so much bolder than it had been when we'd met. He sighed and stretched, his spine arching slightly and his shoulder blades pressing together.
I left the bed slowly, approaching him without a word. I couldn't believe I'd fallen asleep so quickly. Beau had really done a number on me.
He didn't flinch as I wrapped my arms around him from behind. He leaned heavily against me, tilting his head back so that his hair tickled my shoulder.
"Thinking about Loch Lomond?" I asked him quietly.
"You finally woke up," he said. Crickets chirped loudly outside the cabin. A cool breeze swept through the room, giving me goosebumps.
Beau slowly turned in my embrace, wrapping his arms and the blanket around me. I eagerly leaned into his warmth.
"Is your body alright?" I asked quietly, fiddling absently with his hair.
A little amused puff of air escaped his nose. He lifted his chin and kissed me. Beau had transformed. He had this deep, far-off look in his eyes. And he held his body well, wore his sexiness like a weapon. I smiled, remembering how clumsy our first kiss had been. And look at him now, dripping a strange new confidence I couldn't tear my eyes from.
I knew I'd lost all sense. But never could I have anticipated his wild desire, the way his eyes glowed as his body pulled me in. I knew I'd drown in him if I weren't careful. Beau had an unexpected sinful streak in him that might easily drive me insane.
"You look pensive," Beau said, touching a finger to my chin.
I shook my head, kissing the bridge of his nose. "Just thinking about you."
"Me," Beau asked, his eyes narrowed, "or my body?"
Good lord. I leaned over him, kissing the confidence from his eyes. I caught him as his weakened knees folded, holding his body tight against my chest. He dropped the blanket, wrapping his arms around my neck and letting little sounds of satisfaction rumble in his chest.
"Again," he pleaded, lifting his leg until it was wrapped around me.
"Already?" I asked. "Aren't you soar? I don't-"
"I told you it's fine," Beau said, his eyelashes fluttering. He looked up at me with unfairly effective puppy dog eyes. His lithe body pressed against mine and I could feel his heat drawing me in. "I want to be close to you."
"I adore you," I breathed, falling victim to his charms. Beau made love with an intoxicating mixture of boyish innocence and absolutely erotic, desperate lust. He monopolized me in seconds.
Whenever he was overcome, his eyes would squeeze shut and his lips would part. Every time I fell away shocked by how good it felt, and every time Beau would look at me with narrowed, sultry eyes, asking me for more.
We were lost in each other's bodies until the sun peeked over the horizon, soft morning light reflecting off of the lake. We made love throughout the house, stumbling after each other in playful pursuit, tumbling together over and over into addictive gratification.
I knew I should have stopped. I should have told him no, if only to spare him from the pain he'd feel afterward. But each time we had sex and he didn't look away from me, I felt another chunk of the enormous, icy fear I held inside crack off and sink away. Not once did his love for me waver, and I started to trust entirely that he was telling the truth. He always had been.
I was absolutely spent by the time we stopped, sleep-deprived and seemingly unable to move a muscle. Beau was fast asleep on the couch, draped over it provocatively and barely covered by the thin blanket I'd pulled over him as he drifted to sleep.
I forced my body to move, leaning heavily against the wall for a moment before I returned to the bathroom and squeaked the shower on. The bath was still riddled with flower petals I'd absently plucked while daydreaming about the way Beau had looked at me on the beach.
When I'd finished and weakly slipped clothes over myself, I returned to the living room. Beau was still curled up where I'd left him, sleeping like the demonic angel he was. I stared at him for a long moment, my mind still struggling to believe that last night had actually happened.
I'd been with a lot of people, but not like that. Never like that. I'd always always taken momentary satisfaction in proximity and then thrown them out, content for a while until my loneliness returned.
And always, I'd be left with their resentful eyes lingering behind my lids, drowning in their desire, their pain, their hatred.
But it was different with Beau. I'd screwed up my whole life, not really understanding what sex was supposed to be, what I'd needed it to be. I'd finally figured it out, finally caught my sunlight. It sat in my chest where it belonged, warming me from the inside out.
I sat down and pulled out my sketchbook, content to draw Beau's sleeping face until he woke up. Maybe I'd turn one of these sketches into another painting of him later, once we were home and able to start those happy lives I'd told Beau's mom about.
He stirred at one point, turning over onto his back and stretching his arms above his head. My heart twisted with his body, and I returned to my sketch, tracing his curls as they fell from his forehead like a gentle wave, his lips parting like they were waiting for a kiss.
It was quiet. I could hear the lake lapping at the shore. Distantly, a mourning dove repeated its gentle melody like the chorus of a lullabye, reminding me of simpler times. California mysteriously felt like a place of memory for me despite my never having been before. Perhaps witnessing the slow march of the timeless sequoias had affected me more than I'd imagined.
And in a time when I was perhaps most enamored with my physical place on earth, I somehow felt like I could leave it all behind, like I could drift away with the vivid memory of Beau's love.
I was busy smudging the graphite with my pinky when my stomach sounded its discontent. I put my sketchbook down and went to the kitchen. I could still see Beau as I cooked and checked in on him what seemed like every twenty seconds. His body would hurt when he woke; I didn't want him to wake up and not see me right next to him.
I shoveled the bacon and eggs onto a couple plates and carried them back to where he sat. "Beau," I whispered, setting his plate in front of him. "It's nearly noon."
He didn't budge, so I leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "Copper," I said.
I watched his dreams fade from his eyes. He turned his head toward me, blinking slowly. I moved to kneel beside him. "Hi," he said. His voice blended in with the tranquil sounds of the morning.
I smoothed my hand over his bare chest and watched him shiver. A sigh slipped from me. "How are you feeling?" I asked.
He turned onto his side. "Hurts," he said, taking my hand. "Be honest, Ren?"
I nodded as he tucked his fingers between mine.
"This is a dream, isn't it?" he asked, his eyelids falling again.
"Since you asked, I'll tell the truth," I said, guiding his hair from his face. "It just might be."
The woody scent of the pines drifted in with the breeze. Beau curled up into a ball.
"Are you cold?" I asked.
He nodded and held out his arms to me. "So come here."
I slid down beside him, and watched him snuggle against my body. "You don't want to eat?"
"I'm tired," he breathed, his eyes closed. He shifted his hips and winced slightly.
"I'm not surprised," I said, watching his eyelashes flutter. "I could barely keep up with you."
Beau hid his face from me, grabbing the back of his head. "Sorry," he said, his voice muffled.
I chuckled. "Please, don't apologize, Copper. There's just no reason to."
"I went insane," he whispered.
"Me, too," I said. "And it was amazing. I wasn't expecting it, sure. But..." I pushed the blanket from his shoulders, sliding my fingertips along his spine and counting the notches one by one. I let my hand linger. "I think I know now what I loved like your sequoias. And I know why I loved it."
Beau met my eyes. "What is it?"
"The Kiss."
"Huh?"
"The famous painting," I explained. He just stared blankly at me. I felt delight well up in my chest, tickling the top of my spine. "Oh my. Do I know something Copper the Genius doesn't?"
He rolled his eyes, but smiled. "Just tell me."
"The Kiss was painted by Gustav Klimpt at the turn of the 20th century. He was an Austrian painter. I read about him after I saw a photograph of The Kiss in high school, even looked up where the painting was being displayed so that I could see it." I stopped, realizing something. "I...hadn't thought about it for a long time. Until I was in Florida."
"Florida?" Beau asked, jerkily sitting up a little.
I pulled him back down to my chest. "Stop thinking about Liam," I scolded.
He grumbled. "You're the one who brought up Florida."
"Because it was there that I realized that I really loved you. And accepted that it was ok to love you, finally. But the whole time I was on that beach, as I came to these realizations, I couldn't stop thinking about The Kiss."
He was quiet for a long time, carefully considering what he wanted to ask. "Why that painting? What's it of?" Beau asked.
"Two lovers in an intimate embrace." I could see the painting in front of my eyes and held out my hand to trace the bold lines of the woman's figure, perfectly bathed in the golden light of her lover's silhouette. Her delicate hands and her tranquil expression. His tender kiss to her cheek. The vibrant flowers they knelt on. "When I saw it, it made me feel like deep, delicate adoration might actually exist. Pure and unconditional love. I'd never felt that before. Never believed that."
"It sounds beautiful," Beau said.
I looked at him. "Yeah."
I held his face and kissed him. The Kiss' golden light shimmered behind my eyelids. Fragile passion swirled around us, painting the world bright. "Right now," his content smile stole my breath, "I feel the way I did when I first saw it."
He sighed against my lips. "Like you love me?"
"Like I love you, Copper. And like it's the most amazing thing I've ever felt."
❦
"Please stop taking pictures, Sallie. It's embarrassing," I begged.
She shook her head, grinning wildly and snapping another photo with her phone. "I thought I'd get used to you two being together, but it doesn't matter how much time passes. I'll always find you guys adorable."
Beau pulled his knees to his chest. Usually he was the one drowning in embarrassment with Sallie gushing like this, but his nerves seemed to be keeping him aptly distracted.
"Copper," I said.
His eyes focused on me. "What?"
"It doesn't hurt that badly," I said.
"I'm not worried about it," he lied.
Sallie scoffed. "You look like you're gonna throw up."
I smiled. "Beau, we don't have to do this. I thought it was a lot to begin with. I get it if you want to back ou-"
"Just shut up, it's happening," he interrupted. "I said we'd do it when I graduated so we're doing it." I'd known him long enough to understand that the little crease between his eyebrows meant he'd made up his mind. There was no going back.
"Ok," I said. As if on cue, Sam walked in.
"Hey, Ren!" She said, smiling and pulling up her stool. "How are we today? Haven't seen you for ages."
"Doing well." I glanced at Beau. He looked stricken by some exotic disease. Sam's presence had apparently made it real for him.
"Hey, guys. I'm Samantha," she said, turning to the others. "Sorry to keep you waiting. I was just finishing up on my last customer. It's nice to meet you."
"You, too," Sallie said, shaking Sam's hand. "You've done great work. I really admire it."
I watched Beau closely. He was clenching his fists tightly. A puff of amused air escaped my nose before I could stop it, causing Beau to glare at me furiously.
"Ren's tattoos are some of my favorites. I absolutely love his ideas," Sam said, lifting up my sleeve to peek at them. "Plus, gotta love a loyal customer." She winked.
I chuckled. "Guess it's a bit of an addiction."
"It's not addiction. It's art," Sallie said, grinning and leaning against the wall next to Beau.
"So," Sam slapped her knees. "We still going with what we talked about?"
I nodded. "Ivy."
"Who's first?" she asked, glancing from me to Beau.
"Definitely me," I said. Beau still hadn't said a word since Sam had come in.
"You sure?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. She turned to Beau. "I get nervous first timers in here all the time. It's nothing to worry about, and I promise it's not the torture people say it is. It's honestly better just to get it over with."
Beau clenched his jaw. He looked at me desperately.
"It'll make him feel better if he sees me go first," I told her. I met his eyes, intentionally challenging him with a smirk. "And besides, if he backs out, it'll still be a cool tattoo."
"You got it," Sam said, standing to grab what she needed.
Sallie hadn't stopped smiling since the dawn of time. "I can't believe this is really happening."
"You're more excited than Copper is, Sal," I said, watching Sam take my arm to sterilize my ring finger.
"No, she's not," Beau said quietly. He stared directly into my eyes. "She's not."
My lips lingered apart until I sucked in a breath. "I stand corrected," I said quietly.
"You ready?" Sam asked, holding my hand still. "Last chance to abort."
I looked at Beau. He leaned toward me with his stupidly beautiful curls and gentle eyes. "Yeah, go ahead. I'm all in."
Sam leaned in to do her work. I could smell the sterile solution. The sound of the needle moving buzzed in the otherwise silent room, bouncing off the framed photos of tattoos and sinking into the old record covers hanging on the walls.
"That's loud," Beau said, staring at my hand.
I winced as Sam started but quickly got used to the pain. Still, goosebumps rose on my forearm immediately. "See? Not so bad," I said.
"It's happeniiiiing!" Sallie sang. She took another picture.
"Does it hurt badly?" Beau asked.
Sam wiped the excess ink from my skin and set back to work. "I've gotten much bigger tattoos. This is nothing."
He watched Sam, and I watched his nervousness dissolve. He only looked interested now. Eventually, he came even closer, standing over us as Sam worked.
"Ok. Should be it." Sam leaned back. "Want to look at it?" she asked Beau.
He immediately took my hand and stared at my finger. "It's so red," he said. "And puffy."
"He just got ink injected into his skin. What were you expecting, Duckling?" Sallie said.
"It just feels itchy now," I said, glaring at Sallie.
"It'll be like that for a while. And you have to take care of it afterward. But do you feel less nervous now?" Sam asked.
"It's cool," he said. His whole face glowed. "I like it."
"Your turn, then?" Sam asked.
"Yeah, ok."
I stared at the band of ivy twisting around my finger, its dark pattern creeping over my skin, until Sam covered it up for it to heal and started prepping the space for Beau's turn.
I stood, stretching, and approaching him. He took my hand. "You're not lying to me, right? It's not that bad?"
"On my life," I said, kissing him. The pull of his lips was familiar, somehow always eager despite the thousands of kisses we'd shared.
"God, could you guys be any cuter?"
"Sallie, I thought you were done with this whole act," I said, still holding Beau's hand.
"First of all, it's not an act. I honestly think you two are cute and amazing and perfect," she said. "Secondly, I thought I could contain it, too, but it's basically your wedding day. Someone's required to freak out, and it doesn't look like you two are going to step up to the plate."
Beau's eyes went wide at her words. He was flushing deeply. Strangely, it made me blush, too.
"We're not actually married, Sal," I mumbled. "That won't happen for a while."
Beau's hand tightened in mine. "She kind of has a point, though," he said quietly. My face burned and my pulse picked up. I hadn't been even slightly nervous until those words. Wedding day.
Sallie threw up her hands. "I'm just honored to be here."
"You're the one that brought us together. Of course, you're here," Beau said.
Sallie smiled knowingly. Her laser eyes shone down on us. "Oh, Duckling. Maybe I sped up the process, but I'm sure you two would have found each other anyway. Soulmates do that."
"Sorry to interrupt, but anytime, Beau," Sam said, patting the chair.
His hand slipped from mine as he sat down. He held out his left hand as confidently as he could. "Ok."
"Deep breaths, Copper," I said, smiling.
"Ready?" Sam said, leaning forward.
"Yeah."
"Ok."
She moved her hand forward, but a millisecond before the needle touched his skin, he shouted. "Wait! Wait, wait." Sam backed off. He turned and looked at me, holding out his other hand. "I actually want to hold your hand. I was just trying to be manly."
I laughed, taking his hand. "Beau, you've been hit by an SUV before. Can we agree that there's no way this'll hurt at all in comparison?"
"I don't like pain," he said, looking back to Sam. "Ok, I'm good."
"You sure?" she asked. He nodded, the little line between his eyebrows deepening.
I watched him clench his jaw, watched his eyes squint up. The second the needle pierced his skin, his grip on my hand tightened like iron. "Fuck," he hissed.
"Don't curse, Duckling," Sallie scolded. "You're tough."
Beau looked at me desperately. "Please distract me. I don't like it."
"You're crushing my hand," I said.
"Good! Why are we doing this? This is crazy!" he shouted.
"It's not crazy," I said. "It was your idea to get rings. Remember what you told me when you said you wanted tattoos? Really think back."
He grimaced. "Because I wanted it to be permanent."
"So what's a little pain in the long run?" I asked. "Isn't it sort of symbolic?"
His eyes softened slightly. "Sort of."
Beau's tattoo was smaller than mine, more modest. But like mine, it was a delicate ivy vine, spinning around his finger eternally. I was quickly drawn into Sam's work, entranced. The further along she got, the more I felt my own fresh tattoo burn. An invisible connection glowed to life between my finger and Beau's, tying us together.
"Why ivy?" Sallie asked. "Just curious. You guys never told me."
Beau met my eyes, a playful smile just barely tugging at the corners of his lips. I turned to Sallie. "Ivy means friendship, fidelity...and it means marriage."
❦
I sighed deeply. The tension in my shoulders was twisting me into knots and my feet ached so strongly from meetings with buyers that I felt it in my calves. Worst, though, was my chest. My pain was sitting heavy beneath my ribs, tugging my bones in directions they weren't meant to go.
Beau was still angry with me. He hadn't called me all day, and he'd barely spoken to me that morning. Sure, he was busy these days—graduate school wasn't a joyride—but I at least wanted to hear his voice, even if it was cold and laced with frustration.
I usually didn't mind when he was too busy to talk, but I knew this time it wasn't school causing his silence. It was me.
I rubbed my ring finger nervously. My tattoo was just as fresh as it had been the day I'd gotten it, despite how much had happened since.
It felt dumb that we'd fought. I hated it in part because I didn't like making Beau upset but also because the subject of our argument was unworthy of the anger simmering between us.
He was furious that I'd met up with Liam again. Liam, who I hadn't so much as thought about for years. Liam, who wasn't anything to me any longer, possibly never had been.
The guy had called me out of nowhere to brag about his life, I guess. Maybe to let me know that it had turned out ok for him, like a bizarre attempt to reassure me. I listened because I wanted to. I liked knowing that I hadn't permanently fucked him up.
But Beau had misinterpreted it, somehow. He was still insecure despite the ivy ring around his finger. Despite mine. Honestly, I knew I'd never tear myself from him. We were entwined, bound so tightly together that sometimes there was no room to breathe. Maybe that, too, is part of why we fought. He needed to break free for a while, just for a little oxygen.
Still, I felt terrible. I, for one, could barely work my lungs properly without him.
I plopped down behind my desk. The gallery lights were all dark. I'd met with my last buyer and finished the goals I'd set for the day with regard to the new exhibition by up-and-coming artist Theodore Becquer. I should be done with the day's stress. And yet...
The door clacked open and closed. I tensed. The back of my neck prickled, and I knew.
Beau stood there stick straight and unmoving. He was holding a small box with some papers on top of it. He didn't say anything. If he was still furious, he wasn't showing it on his face.
"I talked to Genny," he said. He'd really been bothered if he'd spoken to his therapist about it already. "She said I was letting my fear go unchecked again."
I stared at him, resisting the urge to get down on my knees and apologize like a fool just so that he would let me kiss him again. That didn't feel constructive, though.
"I talked to Sallie, too," he said, staring at the box he held. "She and Marley said the same thing. So by then, I didn't even call Amory."
I didn't stand up to go to him. I didn't even move. "What's...in the box?" I asked.
He finally looked at me. "I baked cookies for you," he said, setting them on my desk and sliding the papers off the top of the box. I smiled and accepted them. The second I did, his expression shattered. He immediately hid his face behind the papers as he crumpled them in his tight fist. "I love you," he choked.
His voice was shaking. This time, I stood. "I love you, too," I said, relieved. "I thought you'd stay mad at me for a while, this time. I'm sorry, Copper. I didn't mean to upset you."
"You shouldn't have," he said.
"What?"
"No, I mean...it shouldn't have made me upset." Slowly, he lowered the papers. His eyes were a little teary. "It's frustrating that I can't control my emotions well. I shouldn't have gotten so scared when you talked about Liam, but it felt like I snapped back to being a terrified, lost kid."
"You're not a kid, Beau," I said, taking his hand. Our ivy blended together, and I felt secure. "And trust me, having perfect control of your emotions isn't great, either."
He smiled weakly. "I'm sorry," he said.
I held his face and shook my head. "It's ok. Already forgiven before it happened, so don't stress."
"Well, I'm ok," he said. I'd made him promise after a particularly dark spell to always tell me if he wasn't ok, to be honest and clear. He was keeping his promise. "I just feel guilty now."
"I'm glad you're ok," I said, kissing him. He accepted tentatively as though he wasn't sure I'd really forgiven him, if it was ok to kiss me. I touched my tongue to his lips to tell him that yes, it was ok. And when I did, he enthusiastically reciprocated, pressing his tongue to mine. It was Beau's taste I thought of to cleanse the stress of running the gallery, of navigating bills, of organizing events.
Kissing him always left me with stars in my eyes. Everything looked brighter, rosier, filled with possibility. It made life's obstacles exponentially easier.
"I brought you something," he said. "In case I got here and found you mad at me still. If you didn't want to talk to me."
I raised a brow as he slipped an envelope from the stack of papers he'd brought. It was clearly worn, but as he turned it over, I recognized it immediately.
"Oh my god," I breathed. I took the envelope from him, staring at my name written messily on the front in big black letters. "Where was it?" I asked.
"I found it when I was cleaning out that old desk—the one we brought from the apartment—right next to a stack of ancient hospital bills. I wanted more workspace, so..." He smiled slightly. "Anyway, I thought you might want it back."
I nodded, opening the envelope. I felt an ache when I remembered Beau's hospitalization still, but he was here in front of me. It wasn't as sharp as it had once been. As I pulled out the letter he'd written to me years before, something fluttered from the pages.
I leaned down to pick it up. When I realized what it was, I nearly choked.
I twisted the pressed daffodil between my fingers.
"I looked it up in the book you gave me and everything," he said. "If you didn't want to listen to me apologize, I wanted to tell you some other way. And it means new beginnings, too. Right?"
I chuckled. "I love it."
He looked content. "Thank god. I was worried I'd gotten it wrong and daffodils actually meant horrible death, or something."
"Well..." I smirked.
He looked panicked. "You're kidding me?"
"A bouquet of daffodils means what you meant to say. I'm sorry. One daffodil, though," I said, holding the single flower between us as I stepped closer to him, "means misfortune."
Beau groaned and slumped his shoulders. "I tried so hard, too!"
I pulled him to me, shaking my head. "I know. It's perfect."
"It's not," he insisted right before I kissed him.
"It is," I said.
He sighed. "It is."