She freezes, and the bottle of disinfectant slips from her grip and clatters to the floor.
The orange kitten meows, breaking the silence, and Daisy laughs—a startled, delighted sound that makes my heart yearn to hear that sound every day for the rest of my life.
“Knight?” She blinks like she’s not sure I’m real. “What are you doing here?”
“Fate,” I say. The word comes out rougher than I intend. “I guess.”
It’s not fate. It’s Instagram and a complete lack of self-control. But she doesn’t need to know that.
She sets down her supplies and crouches to pick up the fallen bottle, and I watch her move. Her body is womanly and luscious with curves, and just the sight of her makes my cock twitch with lust. When she straightens, her cheeks are flushed.
“I volunteer here,” she says. “Every Tuesday and Saturday.”
The black-and-white kitten chooses this moment to climb onto my head, tiny claws pricking my scalp, and I must look absolutely ridiculous—a tattooed giant with a kitten hat—but Daisy’s smile only widens.
“I looked you up,” I admit. I wasn’t planning to, but a voice in my head tells me I have to be fully honest. “On Instagram. You post a lot about this place.”
I brace for her reaction. Disgust. Fear. The dawning realization that I’m a creep who cyberstalked her after one appointment.
But Daisy just tilts her head, studying me. “You looked me up?”
“Yeah.”
“And then you came here. On a Saturday. When you knew I’d be volunteering.”
“Yeah.”
The corner of her mouth curves. “That’s either really sweet or really concerning.”
“Probably both.” I reach up to rescue the kitten from my head before it tries to climb down my face and sinks its tiny razor claws into one of my eyes. “I can go, if you want. I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t.” She takes a step closer. “Don’t go.”
The kitten squirms in my hands, and its sibling is still purring against my thigh. Daisy crosses to where I’m sitting and sinks onto the floor beside me, close enough that her knee brushes mine.
“You came to find me,” she says softly.
“I came to adopt cats.” I gesture at the bonded pair. “These two. They need a home.”
“And you just happened to choose the shelter where I volunteer, on the exact day I’m here.”
I don’t answer. We both know the truth. Why the fuck do I feel like a teenage boy with no fucking clue of how to talk to a woman? It’s not like I’ve never approached a woman before, even though not a single one of them moved me the way Daisy did before we even talked. Just the sight of this woman made my brain short-circuit and my heart come to life.
Daisy reaches out and scratches the orange kitten behind its ears. “I was going to text you,” she says, not looking at me. “I’ve written about a hundred messages and deleted every single one.”
“Really?” My voice comes out hoarse. “What did they say?”
“Mostly embarrassing things.” She glances at me sidelong. “Thank you for being patient with me. I’m sorry I cried all over your tattoo chair. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
The last one steals the air from my lungs. “You can’t stop thinking about me?”
“Every day.” She’s blushing now, bright spots of color on her cheeks. “Every time I touch the tattoo, I think about your hands. The way you...” She trails off, shakes her head. “See? Embarrassing.”
I should say something. Something charming, something smooth, something that doesn’t reveal how completely wrecked I’ve been since she walked into King Ink and sat down in my chair. But my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, and all I can do is stare at the curve of her jaw, the spot where I know my ink is under her shirt.
“Do you like it?” I ask. “The tattoo.”
Her hand drifts up to touch it. “I love it. Even unfinished.” She meets my eyes. “I do want to have you finish it.”
