I’ve never kissed anyone who wore lipstick like that.
Even on our wedding day, Elizabeth went for the natural look. She was always beautiful in my eyes.
My life is no longer that of a happily married man, father, and coach.
I’m a widower.
A struggling single dad.
And I’m about to start a new job in a new town miles from my old support system.
Miles from the memories.
This place is supposed to be my new horizon.
But I’m in a tattoo shop, holding an empty coffee cup, and my feet are soaking wet.
Hardly the bright new start I expected when I moved here. Something I thought Elizabeth would want for me as much as I want it for myself.
The tattoo artist has her eyes narrowed and her chin lifted. Her plush lips are pressed together as if she’s trying to figure out what to say next. I spare her the effort.
“Best of luck with your plumbing. And thanks again for the coffee.” I reach to open the door, but she’s locked the dead bolt from inside.
She has the keys around her neck, the tangle of brass and silver dangling between her breasts as she leans past me, selects the right key, and unlocks the door.
As she steps back, I smell her hair and the sweet fragrance of coffee as she exhales. I don’t know what I expected a tattoo artist to smell like, but the scent that fills my nose is soft and gentle. Like I’m in a luxury spa or a salon. Elizabeth never used fancy products in her hair. Nothing that could drag me in, seduce me, and envelop me in a soft cloud that promised to carry me away from everything real and hard.
“Hi, hey.” A very tall, curvy redhead with a distinctive retro-looking haircut comes hustling up the block on open toe wedge heels. She’s exactly the sort of woman you’d expect to see at a tattoo shop. “Are you a customer? I’m sorry I was running late.”
I nod. “Right place, wrong time. I’m just heading out. I think things are under control in there.”
“Thank you,” she says. “Did Gracie get your number? Can we reschedule you? If you decide to get a tattoo, I’ll work out a discount with whatever artist you choose.”
I commit her name to memory.Gracie.
I would have loved an excuse to give her my number, but I’m not even sure I want a tattoo. What I would love is the chance to see her again, though.
“You have a lot going on. I’ll stop back sometime when the shop’s open. Thanks for the offer.”
“Romy, I called the building…” Gracie starts talking with the woman. They close and lock the door behind me, and I stand on the street outside, fighting the urge to look behind me.
I shove aside the thought, spot a trash bin, and toss the empty coffee cup inside. I check the time on my phone and stalk toward my SUV.
This afternoon was a nice distraction. I discovered a great coffee place, explored something on my bucket list, and killed a few hours while my kids spent their first day at their new daycare. Now it’s time to put Gracie out of my mind and get back to reality.
* * *
Bright Start DaycareCenter is anything but. When I arrive at 2:30, a half an hour early for afternoon pickup, I hear my daughter Cora’s distinctive wail from the parking lot. I haul ass to the front door of the red brick building, careful not to slide inside my still-wet sneakers.
“Miss Thompson?” I holler into the security camera mounted over the front door. “It’s Ryder Cooper.”
A frazzled-looking college-aged girl unlocks the door and waves me in. “Hi, Mr. Cooper,” she says, wiping loose strands of hair back into her messy ponytail. “Cora hasn’t had the best day.”
“I hear.” I try not to take out my frustrations on this kid because she’s just an aide. She doesn’t own the most highly recommended daycare center in Star Falls. Miss Thompson does, and that’s the woman I want to see.AfterI see my children. “Where is she?”
The girl whose name I remember is Kellyn or Kelly, something wonky that starts with Kell… Or is it Keel? Anyway, the girl nods and motions for me to follow her down the large central hallway.
As we pass each room, I see exactly what I’d expect in a daycare of this size. Kids and aides in various states of play. Some are eating snacks from colorful fabric lunch boxes; some are sleeping. A few of the older children color at small desks.
