“You take yourself seriously. That’s the most important thing. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you,” he says with such sincerity that I know it’s one of the first goodbyes we will have. I abruptly don’t want to hear it, but he continues, “You’ve helped me get my confidence for this. I don’t know how to run a business. Between you and Alistair, I know I’ll have someone to ask when I don’t know something.”

So I’ll be back at Providence, at my desk, receiving a call when he doesn’t know how to add a new client to the database. In the background, I’ll hear pretty girls leaning on the glass countertop, picking out their piercing jewelry, waiting for him to get off the phone to flirt with him. I’ve always known what’s been happening here, but it still makes me feel small. I’ve helped plenty of handsome boys with their homework or the Parlonis over the years. “Would it be okay if I go wait in the car?”

He’s crushed. “But I’ve waited a long time to be in this room, and I want to be in it with you. Come sit down.” He pats the bench seat that I guess clients lie on. I edge my butt up. He asks, “What’s happening with you?”

“Let’s pretend I’m a new client.” I put my arm out in the hopes that he’ll touch me.

He laughs and wheels over his stool. “Okay, New Client, what do you want?”

“I want to be entered correctly into your new database with a reminder of my next appointment. And I want a bluebird tattoo.”

He’s startled. “What’s the significance of that?”

“I saw the one you did on Brianna. It was beautiful, and I was jealous of it. So one imaginary bluebird, please.” He wheels away, grabs a pen, and wheels back. Uncapping it, he looks at my skin with indecision. I say, “Go ahead.”

He hesitates on my inner arm. “You literally have no hair or freckles. Is this skin even real?” He rubs a thumb over it, then his palm. Creating a warm friction bloom between us, he polishes across my skin with admiration in his eyes. “How could I even put a dot on this?”

“I want you to surprise me.” I look up at the ceiling and feel the cold touch of the pen. “High-school Ruthie is gagging right now. She’s telling me to not trust you, and that you’re going to write something mean on me.”

“I won’t.” The icy tickle of the pen begins moving on me. “So how’s the Providence review coming along?”

I close my eyes, tired just thinking about it.

“Rose seems really unhappy with everything I’ve provided. No matter what I give her, she asks me, ‘Where’s the rest?’ I don’t think she realizes that it’s a really small office and things are probably a lot more simple than she’s used to. I’m doing my best without Sylvia.”

“If Dad’s life philosophy is Life is change, Rose’s is Where’s the rest?” Teddy repeats softly. The pen on me pauses, and I swear I feel it skip and wobble. “But Melanie told me that you’ve been really holding it together. I’m real proud of you.”

There’s more of that goodbye feeling. I look up at the ceiling. “When Rose finds out that you’re part owner here, she’ll be really impressed.”

“She’ll ask me how long until I get bored and move on. I’d better get out of Providence before she does something really spiteful.” He moves the pen, ticking in some detail. I like the sensation of his big hand holding my elbow and the brush of his knuckles. “This place is nothing that will impress her.”

I hear how sad that makes him. “Why is she so mean to you?”

He smiles at the dark murder in my voice. “She’s paranoid that I’m going to come to my senses one day and try to get into Dad’s seat. She hates that I’m the only son.” The pen pauses. “She’s the only one who makes a big deal out of that. Maybe some of the board members have said something to her.”

I tip my face over to watch his face, but I avoid looking down at my arm. It’s probably my only chance to wear his art on my body, and I want the full impact of a final grand reveal. “Anyone who knows you knows you’re not interested in stealing her job.”

“Yeah, and she doesn’t know me. She’s always been like a guard dog, growling every time I come too close.” He blinks up at my face and notices my attention. “No peeking.”

“Of course I wouldn’t. Aren’t I trustworthy?” I smile when he does.

“You’re very trustworthy,” he says like a realization, eyes intensifying on his work. “I bet you keep secrets for the rest of your life.”

“I haven’t been given too many to keep.” I hug my free arm across myself. “Is that the issue Rose has with you? She thinks you’re going to one day turn up in a suit and demand all that you’re rightfully entitled to as the male Prescott?”

“That’s the thing,” he says, pausing the pen strokes. He sits back. “I’m not entitled.”

“I know that. You never come across like that.”

“I mean it kind of literally. I’m from Dad’s second marriage. I was a love child.” He puts quotations around that phrase. “I told you I didn’t meet my sisters until I was eight. That’s because I had no idea they existed. And they really didn’t know about me.”

“Oh, gosh. Was Jerry–your dad— involved with your life?”

He looks sideways, remembering. “My only early memories were that he traveled a lot. Mom said he was always away on a big business trip, and when he came back, he’d give me art supplies, which I loved. But what was actually happening was, he was going home to his wife, Dianne Prescott, and her four daughters. And in between his visits, we ran out of money. Mom is not a budgeter. I’m told that I’m spooky-similar to her.”

I have a feeling it’s Rose who’s told him that. “So how did they find out about you?”

“It was a big fiasco, caused by my mom, of course. She’s dramatic,” he adds wryly. “And she can drink too much, although she’s gotten a handle on it lately. She turned up at Jerry and Dianne’s vow renewal ceremony, drunk as a skunk, and you know that part in the ceremony where they ask— ”

“If anyone knows any reason why these two should not be married— ” I supply, filled with a mix of fascination and horror. “She didn’t.”

“She did. She blew up their entire marriage. Dianne packed her bags, emptied an account, filed for divorce. The official line is she went to stay at a health spa in Switzerland, but I think she had a breakdown.”

“How awful.”

“So imagine all that wreckage. Left behind were four flowery girls. Daisy, Lily, Poppy, and Rose. They were confused by where their mommy was and why their parents were no longer married. Dad walks me into the living room, told the girls I was their new brother, then got a work call and left the room.”

He leans forward, recaptures my wrist in a warm grip, and begins drawing again like he needs the distraction. “Awkward is not a word that can properly convey that moment.”

“Were they mean to you?”

“Daisy, Poppy, and Lily were younger than me. I told them they could dress me up any way they wanted. That made them happy, and when I grew my hair they practiced hairstyles on me. They all loved me straightaway. My name until I was almost thirteen was …” He stops himself and laughs. “Why do I tell you everything?”

I have a lump in my throat. I need him to tell me everything, forever. “Please tell me that nickname. I can keep a secret, remember.”

He stands, grasps the bottom of his T-shirt, and stretches it up. He’s searching on himself like he’s scratching through the kitchen junk drawer for a pair of scissors. “Fine. Here.” He turns to the side, and as I try to focus on the art and not the body (difficult), I spot what he’s showing me. Another flower tattoo hidden in the mix.

“Your nickname was Sunflower? That suits you.” Now that I’ve dutifully admired his art, I can now give myself a second to look at his body as he pulls the T-shirt back down. How ribs and muscles can coexist together so closely, I have no idea.

He drops back heavily onto the stool. “But Rose was my age. Actually, we’re less than six months apart. How Dad managed to juggle two newborns at once … well, scratch that. He didn’t juggle much. Mom says he only dropped in twice a week, disguised as a gym visit.”

“But he and your mom were in love,” I venture. “They got married in the end, right?” I know there won’t be a happy ending.

“That’s what’s so bad about it. They were married for eighteen months. Turns out, Mom liked having a rich-guy secret boyfriend who dropped in twice a week with some cash. She’s due to trade in her current husband any day now. I worry all the time that I’m like that. I have been like that,” he clarifies in the quietest voice.

“I think you can be any way you want to be.”

He’s doing tiny touches of the pen now on my arm, and I sense that it’s almost over.