“I always would have, but you never let me.” She snuggles up to my side. “I want to take care of you too.”
She rests her head near my hip. Her lips press to my skin, and I delve a hand in her hair, combing my fingers through the strands. She sighs and her eyes flutter closed. While stroking her hair, I bring the cup to my mouth and take a sip.
She put lemon in it. Theexactamount of lemon. Kelly knows how I take my tea.
I slide my palm to the back of her neck and squeeze like I’ve done a million times before.
There’s something about her small gesture that hits me square in the chest.
It’s no longer my obsession, my possessiveness, my feelings . . . Kelly is making it whole, making it real. What we have is taking shape and transforming us in ways even I didn’t plan for.
This is alchemy.
My wife is the most precious thing in my life. More than Black Rabbit, more than art itself. And I’ll burn the world down if anyone dares to take her from me.
The humming of his tattoo machine buzzes in the background, but my focus isn’t on the piece he’s doing, it’s on him. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, giving me a great view of his forearms. When he tilts his head into the light, I can just make out the faint bluish-purple stain on his neck—it matches the one I have on my wrist, the one that’s been peeking over my latex glove at me all morning, entertaining me with memories from the other night. We wear our private exploits on our skin not so secretly.
It’s difficult not to glance at him, especially when he keeps looking back.
“Stop staring at me,” he signs.
I grin, moving my hands to reply. “I’m not, I’m checking out that crooked line you just tattooed.”
He shakes his head at me, sticking his tongue into his cheek to keep from smiling, then eyes me up and down. “That skirt isn’t HR appropriate.”
I confirm the client’s lids are closed before signing back. “Good thing I’m fucking HR.”
He glares at me, then roams his penetrating gaze over my body. “You’re asking for trouble.”
I bite my bottom lip. “Do I need to beg too?” This man could bring me to my knees with one look, and he’s all mine.How did I get so lucky?
“Get back to work.”
The bell at the entrance chimes, dragging me from my thoughts.
My client is deaf and coming in for a consultation regarding a tattoo we’ve discussed briefly over email. We’re both stoked about the design.
I really want to do this piece, but I’m still inexperienced when it comes to communicating with my hands. Almost all of my signing is done with Logan, but signing with fluent clients is much more intimidating. What if I sign something wrong? What if he becomes frustrated?
Shaking off the nerves, I step out of my station.
“Psst,” Logan hisses.
I halt my steps at the entrance to his bay, worrying my fingernail. “Hm?”
“You’re going to be fine,” he assures me in a hushed voice. “Just tell him you’re still learning and ask him to sign slower with you. He’ll understand. I’m always here if you need help.”
I nod and give a tight smile. “Thanks,” I say, swallowing down some of the fear. My heart flutters as I continue to the front of the shop.
The thumbnail photo of him in his email makes him easy to spot. He’s over six feet and wearing a white T-shirt showing off afew other tattoos on his arms. I recognize one of them as Logan’s work. “Hi, Will,” I sign in a greeting, then introduce myself—tacking on that I’m slow at signing.
“That’s okay. Thanks for telling me.” He smiles wide, and his understanding floods me with relief.
I invite him back to my station where we sit and discuss the concept of his tattoo a little more thoroughly. It’s a fierce traditional-style tiger, soaring with tucked-in wings like it’s picking up speed. In my peripheral, I can tell Logan is keeping an eye on our conversation in case I find myself in a difficult spot. I hold my tablet and scribble down the technical terms or draw out anything that’s too difficult for me to describe. I’m slower, but my client is relaxed, which helps keep my thoughts calm.
Will is kind, engaged, and patient above all. After five minutes, I find myself grinning like an idiot at how easily my brain is translating what he’s saying. It’s amazing!
When I edit the rough sketch I had prepared for our meeting, he nods enthusiastically. “You’re very talented. This is exactly what I pictured.”
