The Acorn Tattoo: The Neverland Series Part 1 Anniversary Edition

by Miller, Alyse

  Only a few months after they’d brought her to live with them, Davie came too. He was a reluctant little boy with a tangled mess of dark curls who rarely spoke and spent hours sitting under their backyard trees alone. The only thing that made him smile was Claire, who he’d catch hiding behind bushes or peeking through windows to spy on him.

  A large wooden door with a brass knob connected the children’s bedrooms, and for the first several nights he was home, Claire lay awake and listened to the little boy cry on the other side of the door. On the fourth night, she opened the door between their rooms and set her candle beside his bed, giving him the only comfort she had to offer. A few minutes later the light shuffled carefully back into her room as Davie made camp on the floor beside her. He slept there for years, Claire’s hand dangling off the bed and holding his. It was years before Davie slept in his own room at night, though door between their rooms stayed open evermore.

  Many times over the years Claire often overheard Tabitha, a sensitive and tender woman, remarking to Mark in hushed tones how delightful it was that, although they’d never been able to have kids of their own, they had been gifted with the opportunity to raise Claire and Davie, who seemed to love each other fiercely beyond all bonds. “It was like they were meant to be together,” she would say, and Mark would nod, hiding a small smile behind his newspaper. Mark was a reserved man, but always soft when it came to them. He tried not to fuss at them too harshly when they used his dress socks as hand puppets, or scrawled treasure maps on his white undershirts. Claire supposed that she had grown up to mirror Tabitha just as completely as Davie had Mark. No longer reluctant and timid, he had grown to be strong and confident, a constant source of support for Claire. He waited on her hand and foot when they were together, and phoned every day to check in on her. He sent her packages almost weekly, some filled with fancy dresses and shoes that were the “latest fashion” from the streets of his travels abroad, others a simple trinket with a quick note. He was, quite definitely, wonderful and doting in a way that every girl would dream.

  But then again, with Jake’s arms around her and his heart beating against her chest, it was difficult for Claire even to want to tear herself away from this delicious, wonderful, incredible, time spent inside his arms. It was an amazing and terrible moment at the same time, and Claire hated the conflict tearing at her heart. She could stay in this moment for eternity, immortalized with the swell of Jake’s chest against her back, yet she could not escape the crocodile snapping in her mind, reminding her that every tick of the clock was another minute spent hurting Davie’s heart.

  “Why Claire Darling, whatever is wrong?” Jake asked, his voice sweet with concern. Claire hadn’t known he was awake. Beside her, he pushed his body upward and leaned over her, looking down at her face. She managed to hold back the flurry of frustrated tears, but her body tensed inside his arms nonetheless.

  “Nothing, I promise.” She tried to keep her voice from wavering. “I’ve just remembered that I didn’t return Davie’s calls last night. He’ll be worried about me, that’s all.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t want that. If he’ll worry, you should call him, shouldn’t you?”

  Jake’s words did not match the playful tone in his voice, or the faint glimmer of mischief twinkling in his eye. “After all, I can only imagine how worried I’d be if I didn’t hear from you. It would be torture!”

  Jake rolled away, laughing a deep, rumbling laugh, and pulled Claire up and over with him. Suddenly she was looking down into Jake’s bright green eyes, her hair falling into her vision and coloring his face in ribbons of red. She let out a squeal, enjoying Jake’s playfulness. He slid long fingers through the tangles as he pulled her mouth to his.

  When Claire had been kissed so thoroughly that she’d almost completely forgotten about her troubles, Jake grinned at her with his characteristically crooked grin. She wondered how he could have ever looked sheepish. The grin looked decidedly puckish now.

  “I love your Lost Boy grin.”

  Claire was horrified at her sudden inability to control her words. Her affection for that smile was a secret she hadn’t intended to tell, but looking down into those eyes, it had just fallen out of her mouth as if it had a mind of its own.

  Jake’s eyebrows arched in a question, but only for a second, and then he erupted into laughter, each note banging musically off the rafters woven like tree branches above them. Claire instantly understood why Jake had chosen the loft apartment. The acoustics were amazing.

  Jake rubbed his palms up and down Claire’s arms, still laughing. “You wonderful, clever girl,” he said. “I must have been a lost boy after all. But you’ve found me.”

  “I’ve found you.”

  Jake winked at her, turned his head on its side on the sunken pillow, and crowed, bucking his body and sending her squealing into the air again.

  By the time Claire had finally gotten dressed to go, pulling back on her silky blue dress that was a little worse for the wear after being rumpled all night under a landslide of pillows, the morning had slipped into early afternoon. Jake had simply slipped into the worn pair of jeans he’d cast off the night before and hadn’t bothered with a shirt or shoes. The acorn tattoo at his hip winked in and out of view from beneath the waistband of his jeans, peeking over the tight muscles of his abdomen. “Time flies,” he kissed into her ear as he opened the door to the building, holding his hand out for an approaching taxi. “You’re sure I can’t come with you?”

  “I’m sure,” she repeated, as she’d done at least half a dozen times on their journey down the hallways and elevators on their walk outside, sounding less and less sure every time. “I’m just going to clean up and call Davie, let him know I’m okay, and take my lashes.” She slid into the cab, taking her white wool coat with her.

  “Oh!” Jake remembered, thrusting his body through the open door of the cab. “I’m playing tonight at the pub next door to our café—the little Irish hole in the wall. The Jig, it’s called, the place with the shamrock on the door. Eight. You’ll come, won’t you? Please?”

  His eyes were so pleading that Claire couldn’t help but chuckle. It was so darling of him to be worried that she wouldn’t come, especially when she’d go to the ends of the earth just to see his Lost Boy grin. In fact, watching him sing was an event she hoped to never to miss ever again. His voice followed her even into her dreams.

  “But how will I know which one is you?” Claire teased, feigning confusion. She put her index finger to her lips and creased her brows.

  “I’ll be the one up front, with the guitar.”

  Arriving back home, Claire found the sight of her apartment so much less magical than Jake’s loft. Towering up beside the street like an ivory fortress, the shutters of her bedroom window were closed to a tower emptied of its princess. Claire smiled to herself, drifting through a beautiful fantasy of coming home every night to the star-filled loft, of waking up each morning in a bed of pillows, of opening her eyes to the boy with the acorn tattoo asleep and curled around her body.

  She twisted her key in the lock and pushed the door open, then hung her keys on the little decorative glass doorknob hook by the front door and scanned the barely used kitchen, the perfectly arranged living space. Nik was always more interested in coaxing Claire out of her apartment than staying in, protesting that she needed more fresh, outdoor air and lights and noise and general excitement. Davie, too, had only been here a handful of times, helping her first to choose the apartment, then move in and furnish it, and, of course, to visit on the rare occasions. He said the noise of the city gave him migraines, which really meant it gave him anxiety, and he preferred the quieter lifestyle of Seattle where he could take her sailing in the bay as easily as he could take her up to Mount Rainier to play in the snow.

  As her eyes moved across the muted pink and gray palette of the apartment’s dollhouse decor, Claire’s eyes fixed on the living room. A shriek of surprise banged against the wall of her teeth and she steadi
ed herself against the wall to keep from falling. Sprawled on the tufted cream sofa with the pastel throw pillows wadded under his muscular arms was Davie, with an unhappy grimace stamped on his sleeping face.

  Chapter 9

  Claire held her breath as she padded over to the couch, keen to spy on a sleeping Davie. Finding him in her apartment was shocking enough on its own, but finding him asleep was even more rare. Davie seemed always to be poised and on alert. In fact, she could count on her fingers how many times she’d caught him napping or underdressed over the span of their lifetimes.

  Reflecting on Davie’s curious behavior, Claire realized that the plane he had boarded yesterday had been to New York, to her. He’d obviously used his spare key to get into her apartment, and then waited for her all night in her before finally falling asleep. The thought made Claire feel both treasured and frustrated. That he would drop everything and rush to her was one thing, but that he would do it without warning and for such a silly reason was another.

  Even asleep Davie was still wearing sleek driver moccasins and pleated black slacks. His shiny leather belt was still locked in its polished buckle, but his stark white button down had pulled itself free of his pants and rested unbuttoned across a rippled expanse of tan, muscled flesh that ran from his neck and to a dangerously deep trench at his beltline. Davie stayed active and favored physically aggressive sports where he could release pent-up angst. Claire looked at the tight muscles of his stomach and chest now with a new kind of appreciation.

  She let her gaze wander over the strong veins of Davie’s hands and the black waves of hair that cascaded across his face. His cheekbones were more chiseled than she remembered, his nose longer, his lips a darker red. Unshaven stubble framed the lower half of his face in a faint shadow, hinting at a man rugged beneath his polished exterior. Lying asleep on her couch, Davie was a time-lapse photo of the child he’d once been grown into the body of a man, something untamed kept in a cage of carefully practiced sophistication.

  He was flawless, Claire mused, wondering if she now saw him in the same way other women must—dark and captivating, sleek and untouchable. Thinking of Davie as masculine, handsome even, was new. In her mind he was ever a gawky teenager, trying to figure out how to maneuver the lanky limbs he seemed to sprout overnight. But even Nik, who seemed to loathe men, had always been quick to comment on how fetching he was, before she’d encountered his moodiness and declared him a regular scoundrel. He was so unlike Jake, who was so seductively haphazard and free-spirited, charming by accident but still able to melt her insides to warm putty with just a hint of his coy smile. Nevertheless, as Claire saw now, Davie was endowed with a totally different, more severe and demanding kind of haunting, portentous quality. The two men stood in contrast like the unexplainable difference in the beauty of the light versus the dark.

  Something had changed in Davie in the past eleven months since Claire had seen him, but for no specific reason she could name. He was just different. If it weren’t for the tiny hooked scar that arched slightly above his left eyebrow—a battle wound from one of their childhood skirmishes—she wasn’t sure she’d really believe it was him and not a very convincing doppelganger.

  “Oh!”

  The large silver watch on Davie’s wrist erupted unexpectedly in high peals of silence shattering bells. Claire jumped inside her skin, frozen in place and feeling as if she had just been caught nosing around somewhere she had no business being. Davie made no discernable movement, but his eyelids slid open to uncover two dark eyes on either side of his nose like little caramel truffles. He stared fixedly at Claire as he pushed some button on his wrist to silence the wash. A sponge-like hush fell over them, absorbing the last rings of the alarm.

  For the space of a few heartbeats, they stared at each other—Davie’s brown eyes locked on Claire’s with the rest of his face smooth and impassive. Finally, he opened his mouth, took in a breath, and shut it without saying anything. He tried again and pulled his body upright, grunting a little, and running a hand through his curls, forcing them to lay flat. The stark whiteness of his shirt gaped open and ignored around him, showing more of his smooth olive skin.

  “It’s a pleasure to see you, Ms. Baker.” Without the metallic interference of the phone line, Davie’s voice was richer, densely smooth. It matched his eyes—thick and husky.

  “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Hunter. Though you seem to have taken me a bit off guard. I wasn’t expecting your arrival.”

  Claire was relieved that their conversation would follow its familiar path before delving immediately into argument. Davie would eventually fuss at her, but for now, just seeing him made part of her feel replenished. It was great to see him. She wanted to fling her arms around him, but his stillness made her hesitate, as if she were mouse waiting for the coiled snake to spring.

  “I sincerely apologize for my sudden appearance, but I felt it was necessary,” Davie started, rising like water falling upward. He was impossibly taller than he had been the last she’d seen him, almost an entire foot above than her. He leaned down to gather her into a hug. Something about Davie’s arms around her made Claire’s body hum. The closeness was not unusual, but the way in which Davie hovered over and pressed into the front of her was. Last night’s passion had stoked a strange new fire in her, and it was a surprising, confusing visitor in her body, sparking fervently at the man standing in front of her.

  “I felt there was someplace I needed to be.” His lips came dangerously close to hers as he bent to kiss her cheek

  Claire clung to him, sucking in deep breaths to fill her lungs with his smell. She gripped his shirt, pulling the material between her fingers. It felt like it had been a lifetime since she’d hugged him. He let her, keeping his arms locked around her—one arm around her waist and the other around her shoulder blades, his hand hot where his fingers wound around the base of her neck. It was Davie’s trademark hug, one she’d craved for months on end. In this place, she could be a girl again, without fear or insecurity of the world. There was nothing, no one, that Davie would let harm her. It was home.

  “There’s…” Davie’s voice cracked a bit. He cleared his throat, wiped at his eyes. “There’s a package for you there, on the divan.” He held her for a second longer, twisting one of her stray curls around his finger, and then planted a small peck on her forehead and spun her around to find an elaborately wrapped bundle of foil paper and big, blooming ribbons.

  Claire grinned. She loved Davie’s presents, and he always came to see her bearing them. “You brought me a present?” she asked with her back to Davie, who settled audibly into the couch. She could hear the soft brushing sounds of fabric as he buttoned his shirt and smoothed it back in his pants, righting himself as best he could.

  “I would hate to appear a braggart, my dear, but I must confess that I have.”

  Claire spun to face Davie, a bundle of bows in her hands. She beamed at him as she tore through the wrapping, giggling at his sounds of mock horror as she destroyed the beautiful packaging and flung the ribbons on the carpet.

  Inside the box, beneath a healthy layer of silky tissue paper, was the loveliest, most darling dress Claire had ever seen. With a delicate dipping neckline, the pale pink gown was decorated with glistening teardrops that pranced across the pale ballet-pink fabric tufting softly under a dainty embroidered bodice. The pale, almost sheer fabric layered in varying shades of pink and cream, with a draping overlay that gathered in a pick-up skirt edged in contrasting scarlet velvet ribbon. The colors and cuts complimented each other in an unexpected way.

  Beneath the dress, covered in another layer of silky tissue, was the dreamiest coat Claire had ever laid her eyes on. Made of what looked like softened ivory, the coat seemed to float as Claire lifted it from the package and her fingers sank into the soft fabric. Beige rosettes sat atop tulle overlay, and the creamy wool of the coat formed a long, heavy skirt belted with a matching satin ribbon sash. Pearls and silver beading sewn into the wide lapels flashed in
the light. It was glamorous and vintage, like the dressing gown of a bygone starlet. Finally, at the bottom of the box was a pair of matching crimson red velvet silhouette pumps.

  Claire stood up with the dress held against her, twirling for Davie. The faint light of the table lamp danced across the beading and dotted the room in little sparkles. A perfectly placed dot of light winked off Davie’s cheek, giving his eyes a tiny sparkle as he smiled approvingly. A keen eye for all things fashionable, Davie had always loved playing dress up with Claire.

  “A fellow in my office has a sister who is a fashion designer,” Davie explained, stretching his arms into wings across the back of the sofa. “He’s a bit of a scamp himself, but I had the pleasure of attending one her benefit shows this past month. I saw this and told her immediately that I must have it for you. It’s one of a kind, of course, like you.”

  Davie smiled, pleased with himself as Claire modeled the dress against her body. Sometimes she thought he lived to bring her presents, each one with an anecdote of why he was compelled to buy it for her. But the dresses Davie usually brought for her were sleeker, more streamlined, very designer. This was a gown fit for a princess, spun out of the stuff of romantic fairytale dreams.

  “Does it please you, Ms. Baker?”

  “Oh, Davie, I love it!” Claire dropped the dress on the empty space of sofa beside her and flung herself into Davie’s lap, wrapped her arms around his neck. “It’s brilliant and wonderful. And one of a kind, of course,” she preened, batting her eyes just a little, “just like you!”

  Davie laughed, a candid, full laugh that changed the air around him. “Your wit impresses me as always, Ms. Baker,” he laughed. “You’ll wear it tonight, then? That is, if we can locate it again under the tragic remains of that beautiful wrapping,” he asked, completely ignoring the tower of tissue paper scattered across the carpet.