But right now, the only thing I see is her.
She pulls her collar aside, exposing the half-finished kitten. My art on her skin.
I snap on my gloves and wheel my stool closer. “This might sting. The healing tissue is more sensitive.”
“I know.” Her eyes meet mine, steady and warm. “I’m not going anywhere. I trust you.”
The words hit me somewhere deep. I swallow hard, dip the needle, and press the first line.
She doesn’t flinch.
The machine hums, and I fall into the rhythm of the steady buzz, the careful strokes, the way her skin accepts the ink like it was always meant to be there. This is what I know. This is where I’m sure of myself. The needle is an extension of my hand, and the Purrfect Kitten design takes shape beneath it.
Body curling. Tail wrapping around. And crossed paws forming the heart I’ve drawn a thousand times.
But never like this. Never as a tattoo on someone.
“Does it hurt?” I ask, though I can read the answer in the set of her jaw.
“A little.” She smiles. “But it’s different this time. I know what I’m getting.”
I trace the curve of the kitten’s body, watching ink bloom beneath the needle. Each line connects to the last, finishing what I started. My chest tightens with every stroke. This design came from the deepest part of me. The part I’ve hidden from everyone.
She’s quiet while I work, but it’s not awkward silence. She’s clearly more relaxed, and I’m calm in a way that’s hard to describe. I’m still getting over Daisy wanting my art on her body.
That thought should comfort me. Instead, something cold stirs in my gut.
Clancy finishes his piece and starts cleanup, and I glance up and see Liam walking his client to the front desk. It’s the end of theday—my day off—and King Ink empties around us, but I barely notice.
When I finally lift the needle, my hands are steady, but my breathing isn’t.
“There.” My voice comes out hoarse. “Complete.”
I clean the fresh ink with gentle strokes, then wrap it carefully in a clear bandage. The kitten stares back at us through the plastic, finally whole. Body curled protectively, paws crossed into a heart shape.
My best work. My soul on her skin.
I grab a hand mirror and angle it so she can see.
Daisy looks at her reflection, and her smile is pure joy.
“Knight.” My name comes out infused with so much happiness that it silences me. “It’s absolutely perfect.”
She sets down the mirror and throws her arms around my neck, careful not to press against the fresh tattoo. I catch her automatically, hands reaching for her soft hips.
“Thank you,” she breathes against my ear. “Thank you so much. I love it. I love—”
She pulls back, eyes shining, and the joy on her face is so pure, so unguarded, that something seizes in my chest.
She doesn’t know. She doesn’t really know me. She thinks she knows me because she knows my secret, but she doesn’t. When she sees how much of a mess I am, that smile will fade. That joy will curdle into disappointment, then goodbye.
Everyone always leaves.
“We should celebrate,” she says, still beaming. “Dinner tonight? There’s an Italian place I love, Ciao Bella, the one with the—”
“I can’t tonight.”
The words come out too fast and harsh. I watch her smile flicker, confusion crossing her features.
