“I like your tattoo,” the waitress said before she left.
His shirt had fallen open, revealing the ink on his chest. Close up, I could see it was a sun with a symbol in it. “Thanks,” he said, adjusting his shirt to cover it up.
When we were alone again, I spoke. “I like your tattoo as well.” I cleared my throat. “What does it mean?”
He looked down at his hands.
“I didn’t mean to pry.” I hugged my arms around myself. I shouldn’t be so damn inquisitive. But I couldn’t help it. As a wannabe lawyer it was my job to ask questions.
His glanced over. “I’ve never told anyone what it means. But, if you want me to, I’ll tell you.”
I leaned forward. “I definitely do.” My heart warmed at the idea of him trusting me enough to share something so personal. I hoped he never regretted it.