CINNAMON
He stood shirtless in the cabin's warm light, and I couldn't stop staring.
There was a freaking tattoo of my face, inked slightly left, centered over his heart. Not some generic artistic interpretation, my actual face. The artist had captured the slope of my nose, the curve of my lips, even my thin eyebrows.
Below it, my name was written in my own handwriting. The looping C, the way my n's always tilted slightly right, the flourish on the final n that I'd developed in high school and never lost, all accurately inked.
"How did you—" My voice caught. "When did you get this done?"
"Night of your promotion party." He said it like it was nothing. And permanently marking his body with my image was a casual decision. "Couldn't sleep. Couldn't stop thinking about you. Ended up in a t
