“I like your bike,” April says, glancing out the window.
“Thank you,” I say, taking a sip of my drink. Cross and I went out last night and got fucked up. I left my car at Kingdom and woke up at home this morning, so I decided to drive my bike.
“So, what is it you do for a living, Grave?” she asks, unable to look me in the eye.
There it is.The million-dollar question. “I work at Kingdom,” I say, keeping it vague.
Her dark brows lift. “Oh, really? How long have you worked there?”
“Going on four years now,” I answer.
She nods.
“How long have you worked at Roses?” I counter.
She places her cup of coffee on the table. “I started working there when I was twelve.”
“That’s a long time.”
“My mother opened it, and I helped her out. I took over when she passed away.”
My chest tightens at her words. Her mother is dead. Just like mine. “That was nice of you to help her,” I say, before taking another sip.
“Yeah, well…” She shrugs. “It was all she had, but she loved it.”
A silence falls over us, and my cell vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and glance down at the message.
Lucy: Where are you? I thought you were coming over this morning.
Ignoring the message, I lock my phone.
“What about your father?” I ask. “Does he help you with the shop?”
April shakes her head. “Left when Ethan and I were young.”
Well, fuck.This is going worse than I thought it would, but at least I know Ethan is her brother.
My cell vibrates again, but this time it’s my brother calling.
“One second,” I tell her, then answer it. “Hello?”
“I need you in my office in an hour,” he barks.
“I’ll be there when I get there,” I say and hang up on him.
April’s eyes drift from my cell to mine. “You can go if you need to,” she says softly. Clearly, she’s changed her mind about whatever reason she had for meeting here.
I want to tell her that it’s fine, but I do need to get to Kingdom. I’m not in the mood to put up with my brother yellingat me all day, so I stand. “I’ll walk you back to Roses,” I say, tossing what’s left of my coffee into the trash can by the door.
April stays silent as we leave the shop and walk down the sidewalk to Roses. Once we step inside, she turns to face me. Her eyes run over my neck tattoo and trail down to my sleeve. I can see the questions written all over her face—the ones everyone asks.Why did you get those tattoos? Do they mean something? Do you think you’ll regret them when you’re older?It’s always the same.
She’s never treated me or looked at me differently than other customers, but I want to know what she’s thinking. Do they turn her off? Disgust her?
“I like art,” I say. Her eyes find mine, but she says nothing. “That’s what you were thinking, right? Why do I have so many?”
She drops her gaze to her black sneakers and a blush covers her cheeks.God, she’s stunning. In a dream sort of way. Like nothing I’ve ever seen in person.
“Can I show you something?” she asks shyly.
