A veil of frost covered the grass and last remaining leaves of the trees surrounding the park opposite Zaire's apartment. Late November and there was still no sign of snow, but I knew it was coming. I felt it in the icy winds nipping at the end of my nose and the lack of birds chirping as we wandered under the canopy of greying branches.

Matt moved into the loft over a week ago, and so far, everything was going great. His old roommates understood his reasons behind leaving, and the split was amicable. Zaire had yet to spend a night in his home, so Matt and I had the space to ourselves. We'd attended our weekly therapy sessions together, and Matt had been more open about Bailey.

For the first time in ages, I could breathe without the lump lodged in my chest, even with the anniversary of Saffron's death looming.

Said anniversary was the reason for our morning stroll. Matt walked beside me, our interlocked fingers stuffed deep inside the pocket of his coat.

"You're quiet. You nervous?" His footsteps slowed as we reached the exit, and he held the metal gate open so I could step through first.

"Not sure yet. Maybe when we get there," I said, eager to cross the road while the crossing light was green. The pedestrian light turned red as we neared it, and I let out an audible huff.

"You've got time. We don't have to rush and you have to eat something first." Matt kissed my knuckles and returned our hands to his pocket. "Where do you fancy eating? McDonald's breakfast or that new caff down the road?"

"I know. Maybe I'm a bit nervous or excited. I can't really tell. Thanks for coming with me." I smiled up at him and nestled into his side. "Shall we try the caff? It's closer as well."

"Sounds good."

Matt wrapped his arms around my waist, standing behind me as I pushed the door open to the quaint bistro. "Shit, babe. Might need to work a double shift to afford the food here. How are your washing up skills?" he joked in my hair and planted a quick kiss to the top of my head.

"Never too late for a Maccy D's?" I turned in his arms and leaned in close. "Run before they see us."

A glint of mischievousness flashed in his eyes and my heart skipped when he laughed and pushed me back in the room towards an empty table. "Don't worry. I checked before we came out. We'll be fine."

A waitress walked behind Matt's chair and into my field of vision as I was admiring the living plant wall. I hurried to scan the menu, making sure I remembered my choice of breakfast, and glanced up. I recognised that face. But for a split second, I couldn't place it. "Oh hey, it's you. Catwoman."

She let out a weak chuckle and removed a notepad from her apron. "Trixie, right?" she replied to me but smiled at Matt. "Hi Matt, it's been a while." She gave him a once-over and sighed, looking back at her pad.

"Alright, Carrie? Didn't know you worked here." He scooted his chair forward and drummed his fingers on his closed menu. "So how did you two meet?"

"Halloween party," we both answered at the same time, her hesitant while I sounded curious.

My stomach grumbled, and I wanted them to get the pleasantries over so we could eat and leave.

"Ahh, yeah. Guess I must have missed you."

An uncomfortable silence settled around us. It was clear by the slight grimace on Carrie's face that she knew why Matt wouldn't have noticed her, or anyone else that night.

Carrie tapped her pen at the top of her pad. "Right, well, are you ready to order?"

"Two coffees–"

"Actually, can I have a tea?" I said to Carrie and lowered my voice for Matt's ears only. "Safer. My tummy's a bit sore now. Nerves are starting to kick in."

He grabbed my knee under the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"And for food, I'll have the avocado and poached eggs on a bagel."

"Seeded or plain bun." She kept her eyes down and her tone neutral as she scribbled my order.

"Plain, please."

"Matt, did you want anything to eat?" she said, her voice sugary sweet. The way she gazed over at him. I'd seen that look many times in his company.

"Oh yeah, salmon and scrambled eggs with wholemeal toast. Thanks."

"I'll make sure you get a generous portion." She winked, clicked the lid on her pen and brushed her hand along his arm, lingering on his bicep before walking off.

Stunned, I scanned the room, checking I was still sitting in the same bistro and scratched my forehead. "Did I just imagine all that? Did she really just squeeze your bicep?" I laughed and hid the side of my face behind an open hand, away from the counter so she couldn't see my expression.

"I understand when it happens at the bar. Some girls will do anything for a free drink, but I thought I was safe over breakfast. All I wanted was some eggs." I leaned in closer. "Reckon she'll poison them? No, besides having the hots for you, she seems too nice for that."

Matt shifted in his seat and slumped forward. "Don't," he mumbled and checked behind him. His jaw clenched and slowly eased, his features softening. "Sorry about that. Carrie and I had a thing a while ago. Before I even knew you. Nothing for ages, so not sure what that was about."

"Ahh, one of your fuck buddies." I wriggled my eyebrows, unable to hide the smile on my face. "Told you someone wouldn't be fine with it. Put money on the fact Carrie would take you back in a heartbeat, muscle man."

"You're not jealous?" A line etched in his forehead as his brows drew together and he studied me.

I stilled and shook my head. "Jealous? Why would I be?"

"Because I know I'd be jealous if some guy had done that to you." He held his hand out until I threaded my fingers with his. "Told ya, I was crazy about you."

Warmth splintered down my arm as his thumb brushed along my skin. "Cute, but I have no reason to be jealous. I'm the one that's slept in your bed practically every night this week."

"We didn't do much sleeping."

"See, I have nothing to worry about. You wouldn't have the energy for anyone else," I joked, but deep down that small niggle of doubt reared its ugly head. How stupid of me to let myself get so wrapped up in someone yet never question if I would be the only person in his bed. I was already sharing his heart.

As if he could sense my moment of self-doubt, he tightened his grip. "I wouldn't want anyone else."

***

Each sting of the needle brought a new release. Like a cord knotted tight in my gut, finally loosening and threading around my limb. Fine black lines marked my skin, never to be washed off again. I couldn't look away. Soon enough a pool of deep purple filled the void of each petal, united in the centre by strands of vivid orange.

"Want a photo? Can add it to the ones you took of the zip wire and rafting," Matt said, keeping his hold on my free hand. He sat beside me, looking over as the tattoo artist continued to work on the crocus flower that was gradually blooming on my inner right forearm; a single crocus with filaments of Saffron.

For Saffron.

All week, Matt eased my mind and reassured me that the pain wouldn't be as bad as I imagined. And he was right. The feeling of the needle, continuously jabbing at my flesh, couldn't be described as pain, but more as an annoying scratching sensation.

The fear of being in pain was largely overshadowed by my eagerness to carry something of Saffron with me forever. Something I had chosen as my symbol for her, unlike the ugly scar marring my skin on the opposite limb.

Had it been my choice, I would have covered any evidence of the car accident with ink, but the tattoo artist had been hesitant, noticing that my scars had yet to heal. Truer words were never spoken. Maybe one day my external marks would fade, but what about the internal ones? Would they ever disappear?

"Yes, please. Can I have one before it's finished and one after?"

Matt stood to pull his phone out and snapped away. My eyes never left the design, even as the last strand of orange was added.

"Thank you. I love it," I said while the tattoo artist wiped clear petroleum jelly over my arm and covered it with a transparent sticky wrap. He explained in great detail about the aftercare of my new body art, but words slipped around me, never reaching my ears, or at least their meaning didn't. I was under a spell.

Matt gripped my shoulders, dragging me back into the room. "You alright?"

Tears stung at the corner of my eyes even with the unfamiliar sense of hope blossoming within the petals. "Yeah," I croaked and wiped at my cheeks. A nervous laugh escaped my lips, and I blew a steady breath to calm my sudden weightlessness. "You know what's funny?" I turned to Matt, my vision blurring once more. "She said she'd kill me if I ever got a tattoo without her." I laughed through a few reserved sobs.

"Come here." Matt reached out to wrap an arm around my back, but I held my palm up, dismissing him.

"No, it's fine. It's silly, I–" the tattoo artist handed over a tissue–, "thanks." I blotted my face and sighed. "I'm okay. Really. She would love it as well. Just thought we had all the time in the world. You know?"

Matt ignored my rebuffs and pulled me firmly against his chest. "We all think that way. We rarely see the end when we're happy. You'll be happy again." He stepped back and looked around the studio. We were alone, the tattoo artist having slipped away after he saw me crying. Matt fiddled with the neckline of my jumper and plucked non-existent lint from the black material. "I can make you happy. Promise."

***