Sprinkle All The Way (Evergreen Lake: Under the Mistletoe)

Chapter 22

twenty-two

VIOLET

It’s been one week since the first successful night at the market and I’ve spent every night at Noah’s. With all the work of running the stand and figuring out the mess in Ginger’s office we haven’t had time to relax or explore our relationship more.

Our pattern of work all day and night continues each day, only to be so exhausted by the end that we fall into bed. There have been quick kisses here and there, but nothing more.

He’s determined to get the shop officially open after the new year like he told our first customer, which means I need to figure out all the business stuff he didn’t. After three days of searching I finally found Ginger’s tax files in a folder labeled ‘Boston Tea Party.’

Now I’m sitting next to him on his couch, sipping the coffee he made for us as a Christmas episode of The Office plays on his TV and my hand slowly moves over his tattoos. We have to get up and get moving soon, but this small moment of relaxation isn’t something I want to give up right now.

“What are all these tattoos?” I ask, tracing a small waving ghost on his forearm. I’ve been curious about them since I first saw him, but keep forgetting to ask.

“Most of them are silly. The ghost was a flash tattoo for Friday the 13th,” he tells me, glancing to where my finger lingers on his skin.

“He’s really cute,” I counter. “So is this.” I move my finger lower to a crescent moon wrapped in vines.

“Cute and cool. I got most of them because I thought they were cool,” he laughs, shrugging and I notice his cheeks are turning pink. I don’t draw attention to it though, not wanting him to get embarrassed about talking about himself and stop.

“Like this one?” I ask, moving to a geometric dragon near his wrist.

“Especially that one,” he says, and his blush deepens.

Moving my fingers up his arm, I lift the sleeve of his T-shirt, surprised I haven’t taken the time to explore him like this. Hopefully things will start to slow down soon and I can take my time with him. I don’t want the first time I feel him inside me to be rushed at all.

Noah narrates as I trace each tattoo with a light brush of my finger, my touch leaving goosebumps scattered across his skin. Next to his ghost is another Friday the 13th special tattoo, a skeleton hand holding up a peace sign. On his bicep is a small glass of milk and chocolate chip cookies, which he said “you cannot laugh at this, it’s for Ginger” and it took everything in me not to giggle. The other two hidden by his sleeve are an elephant in the same geometric style as his dragon and a skull with a bird on top, both of which he explained by saying “they’re cool, I don’t know.”

His other arm seems more thought out, with the violet from me at his wrist leading up to various movie and television show tattoos. These include, a knife with Ghostface from Scream , a Walter White silhouette from Breaking Bad , a skull for the pirate show Black Sails , and the a-frame from Midsommer . Hidden under his sleeve are more “because they’re cool tattoos” including a cat with vines and a geometric butterfly. Going through all of them and learning more about his likes and thought process makes me want to find my old stick and poke kit. I haven’t had a creative outlet in years, but now my mind is racing with new ideas for him.

“We should do something fun before the festival,” I tell him once the tattoo tour is done.

“Like what?” He eyes me curiously.

“Isn’t the Pet Rescue Benefit today?” I slowly smirk at him.

“I want to say yes, but I also want to say no because of that smile,” he says, leaning away from me.

“Don’t be afraid, we don’t have to stay long, just go to support. Iris said there will be music and pets available for adoption, that could be cool,” I say, trying to act cool about it. We could use a furry companion.

“Okay, that sounds like a good idea. What time does it start?” he asks.

“I think four, so we can get stuff ready for tonight first and then go,” I say cheerfully.

“Perfect, but let’s watch another episode first,” he says, pulling me closer to him.

Noah whines as I pull him further into the crowd. It’s bigger than I expected with the festival still going on, but it seems like everyone had the same idea we did. Several people who stopped at the stand last night wave as we pass them, and my heartstrings tighten seeing more people positively acknowledge Noah.

“We only have to stay for a little while, then we’ll go to the festival,” I reassure him.

His grunt is the only reply I get, but he keeps following me. I saw my destination the moment we got here, the sounds of barks and meows pointing me in the right direction. There are volunteers everywhere and a banner reads ‘Adopt an Evergreen Lake Pet Today!’

“Violet,” he chastises from behind me, and he pulls my arm. “Why are you going toward the animals?”

“Noah,” I return, elongating the second part of his name. “What kind of town members would we be if we didn’t say hi to the cats and dogs?”

“The regular kind?” he grunts.

“You’ll be fine, I only want to say hi quickly,” I tell him.

I hear him whisper, “Famous last words,” right as we reach the table. One of the volunteers, Avery, greets us and I take note of the they/them pronouns on their name tag.

They go through their elevator pitch of all the animals available and some information about the event. I’m half listening, distracted by a group gossiping next to us. I accidentally tune Avery out when I hear Noah’s friend Sydney’s name come up. I make out something about her and that deputy she was with earlier this month, but Noah is closer than me.

I elbow Noah who is being less subtle, staring directly in the direction of the gossiping crew. He whips his head toward me with a raise of his eyebrow, which I return with a raise of mine. He nods once in a silent “discuss later” and then we are focusing on the end of Avery’s sales pitch.

They point over to a large crate of cuddling cats next to us, all of whom are tangled in each other, and a black one pops their head up to look at me .

I wave and its eyes follow the movement of my hand, standing and stepping over the other cats to come to the edge of the crate. Reaching out I put my fingers up to the edge so they can smell me. Their eyes are curious as they push their nose through the metal slots.

“That’s Simon, he’s about two years old,” Avery tells us. “Full disclosure, he’s been returned to the rescue a few times now.”

My heart instantly sinks as the cat tries to lick my fingers, his tongue rough. “That’s awful, why was he returned?” I ask.

“They always said he wasn’t a good fit, but honestly people don’t like black cats so I’m not surprised,” they tell us.

“That’s stupid,” Noah grunts.

“You should adopt him,” I turn to Noah. “He matches you.”

“You adopt him,” he volleys.

“And keep him where? I don’t have a permanent place to live,” I remind him.

“Yeah, I can’t let you adopt a pet without a place to live,” Avery says, running their hand along the back of their neck.

“I can’t, we have to go to the festival and work the stand,” Noah says. “I’m sure Bernice is waiting for any opportunity to shut my stand down.”

“Simon is actually a fairly good outdoor cat, he loves the leash. And the festival has a pets welcome policy,” they tell us, picking up a leash from the table.

I look over at Simon who is sitting staring at us and then to Noah, who glares at me like he is getting ready to kill me.

“Can I hold him?” I ask, returning my attention to Simon.

“Sure thing.” Avery opens the crate, hooking the leash to the top of Simon’s harness. He comes willingly out onto the table as the volunteer ensures no other cats escape. Handing over the leash to me, Simon moves right in front of me. I let him smell my hand again before reaching underneath his belly to pick him up. Supporting his butt with my other arm, I pull him close to me and feel him purring before I hear it. He nuzzles his head into my chest and if my heart could melt it would.

I peer over at Noah, putting on my best pouting face and big eyes. But he’s already grabbing one of the clipboards from the table to fill out an adoption form.

“You have to pay the fee,” he tells me, keeping his eyes on the form.

“Deal,” I squeal, jumping in place and holding Simon tighter to me.

When he’s done filling out the form, I pass him Simon so I can grab my wallet out from my deep coat pockets. I watch him from the corner of my eye as he fumbles with the leash and adjusts Simon in his arms. Simon doesn’t stop purring, kneading his paws on his forearm and looking at him like he hung the moon.

The blackness of the cat perfectly compliments Noah’s dark outfit and beanie, with his dark hair sticking out from under it. They look like father and son, if that was a possibility. He reaches and scratches Simon’s chin, and I can see the grin he’s failing to hide.

He unzips his coat, tucking Simon in and keeping his arm in front of his chest to support him. Simon’s head peeks out of the center of Noah’s chest and it takes everything in me to not say anything in case I blow this moment.

Avery tells us all about Simon’s eating habits, likes, and dislikes. We get a folder of his information, and the number of the local vet to make an appointment. They give us a small sweater for Simon so he won’t get cold, but Noah doesn’t take him out of his coat. We’re well over the hour I said we would be here, and I’ve barely paid attention to the music being played.

“To the festival?” he asks, Simon still tucked close to him. I have a feeling I’m not going to get to hold him for a while .

“Do you want to put him in the carrier?” I ask, holding up the small carrier we received.

“No, I’m all set,” he clenches his jaw, fighting a smile and I roll my eyes at him. He leads us out of the benefit, and I notice several people looking and pointing our way as they smile at the sight of Noah with Simon.