Fine, fine. Curious as she is, they're having a nice morning, and she knows pressing isn't going to make it nicer. She presses her lips together--see, not saying a word, not asking--and looks for something else to say. With him looking at her, it feels weird not to speak, like she's just dropping the conversation on the ground between them and leaving it there.

But he solves that problem for her, and she thinks about it. Part of her says yes, definitely,--but what if she hates it? She'll still have to see it through, or she'll end up with part of a name, which is about the worst tattoo she can imagine. But what if she spends the whole time hating the results?

It seems safer to shake her head.

"I wanna see it when it's done," she tells him, looking for an easy smile and finding something that's mostly hope and hesitation. "I trust you."