“You’re here,” I say, leaning back to look at her, and she rolls her eyes, pointing at my face.
“Do not start to cry. You know that when you cry, I end up crying, and I don’t have waterproof mascara on right now.”
“I’m not going to cry,” I deny, pulling in a breath through my nose so I don’t make a liar out of myself.
“Good.” She smiles then her eyes go over my shoulder. Looking behind me, I hold my hand out toward Colton.
“Colton, my best friend in the whole world, Nat. Nat, Colton,” I introduce, watching them hug then seeing them share a look. Over the last few days, they have spoken quite a bit over the phone about me and about the case against Lisa. They have also spoken quite a few times to the arson investigator, wanting to make sure he added Lisa to his list of suspects to investigate. Especially after what she did to me, trying to frame me for having a stolen weapon, and also breaking into Colton’s parents’ storage. Yes, she broke into their storage unit assuming they would think I had done it and kick me to the curb, which would give her a chance to weasel her way back in with his family.
Only, she wasn’t smart enough to check for cameras when she broke into my Jeep or got rid of the evidence of her crime. She had—like a complete idiot, I might add—taken all the alcohol to her place and hidden it there. And there was a lot of alcohol. I imagine she had help with that, only I don’t know if she will ever admit it.
“I’m starved,” Nat says, bringing me out of my thoughts while dragging me with her by my hand, which in turn forces Colton to be dragged along with us toward one of the luggage claim belts. “I want to eat BBQ at that place you told me about,” she continues, then lets my hand go and rushes off to get her bag that she spots before I can reply.
“Is she always like this?” Colton asks.
I tip my head back to look up at him and smile as I answer, “Yeah.”
“This should be interesting,” he mutters, and I smile bigger while I wrap my arms around his waist and press the side of my head into his chest. When I do this, his arms around me tighten.
“You’ll deal,” I tell him, tipping my head back, and when I do, he captures my chin between his fingers and kisses me.
“I’d do anything for you, even put up with your friend for a few days in our house where we don’t have a bedroom door,” he says, and I bite my lip. I didn’t even think about us being in the loft and not having a door.
Crap
“Am I going to have to deal with watching you two like this for the next few days?” Nat asks, and I release my bottom lip while Colton lets me go to take her bag from her. “I’m thinking that’s a yes,” she answers herself, trying to sound put out. But I can see she is happy for me, happy I found this, even if it means I won’t be going back to Chicago with her.
“Jealous?” I ask her, bumping my shoulder with hers, and her eyes go to Colton, who is heading toward the exit with her bag. I don’t know what she sees, but I know what I do, and all of it is good.
“Have you not seen your man?”
“I have.” I grin, and she wraps her arm around my shoulders and pouts.
“You always did have all the luck.”
“Whatever.”
“Are you two ready, or did you want to hang around the airport a while longer?” Colton rumbles, breaking into our squabble, and we both look at him then roll our eyes at each other before laughing and following behind him out the exit to his Suburban.
~**~
“Are you ready?” Nat asks, and my eyes meet hers. She looks as nervous as I feel, which is really fricking nervous. Yesterday after she landed, we dropped her stuff off at home then took her to eat BBQ, which she loved. I just loved having my two favorite people in the world with me and was more than a little happy to see them getting along. This morning, after Colton left to go into work to take care of some stuff for his mom, I told Nat about the letters that Grandma had written me. And then I told her about an idea I had. Nat, being Nat, jumped on my idea, making it a reality. Which brings us to now.
“I’m ready.” I let out a breath then look at the tattoo artist, giving him a nod and watching him smile, a bright white smile. Hearing the buzz from the tattoo gun, I tense as he starts to apply the tattoo onto my forearm. A tattoo of a butterfly that he drew up to match one of the butterflies etched into the wooden box full of letters. I wanted to have something to remind me of the woman I knew when I was a little girl. The woman who called me butterfly, who taught me how to knit and bake chocolate chip cookies, and who was a wonderful mother to my mom, and loved her family. That’s the woman I want to remember.