It Starts with Us by Colleen Hoover

fingers through it. He opens his mouth to say something else, but I see it the
second his eyes get a glimpse of my tattoo.
Atlas has never seen the heart tattoo on my shoulder—the one I got
because he always used to kiss me there. He touches it softly with his fingers,
tracing the shape of it. His eyes flicker up to mine. “When did you get this?”
My voice catches, and I’m forced to clear my throat. “In college.” I’ve
thought about this moment a lot—what he would say if he ever saw it, how it
would make him feel.
He quietly regards me and then looks at the tattoo again. He’s so close, I
can feel his breath trickling across my collarbone. “Why’d you get it?”
I got it for so many reasons, but I choose to say the most obvious one.
“Because. I missed you.”
I wait for him to lower his head and press a kiss there like he’s done so
many times before. I wait for him to kiss me. To press his mouth to mine in a
silent thank-you.
Atlas doesn’t do any of those things. He continues staring at the tattoo for
a beat, but then he releases his hold on me and turns away. His voice is
detached when he says, “You should probably finish getting ready or we’ll be
late.” He takes a couple of steps toward my bedroom door, and then, without
looking back, he says, “I’ll wait in the living room.”
I feel like I just got the breath knocked out of me.
His entire demeanor changed. It wasn’t at all what I expected from him. I
stand frozen in place for a few depressing seconds, but then I force myself to
finish getting ready. Maybe I’m misreading his reaction and it wasn’t a
negative one. Maybe he liked it so much, he needed alone time to process.
Whatever the reason is for his unexpected reaction, I fight back the sting
of tears the entire time I’m trying to do my makeup. I can’t help it. I think my
feelings might be hurt, and that’s not something I expected to happen tonight
at all.
I go to my closet and find my shoes and grab my shawl, and I half expect
Atlas to be gone when I walk out of my bedroom, but he’s still here. He’s
standing by the wall in the hallway looking at pictures of Emmy. When he
hears me exit the bedroom, he looks in my direction, and then full-on turns to
face me.
“Wow.” He looks genuinely pleased when I’m back in his presence, so the
whiplash is a little confusing. “You’re beautiful, Lily.”