Frankie checks the computer screen. “I’m done at six, but I’m all caught up on emails, so I’ll see if I can head out in twenty. Let’s go to that new place that just opened on Quail Street. I hear they have a solid happy hour, we might be able to catch the tail end of it.”
My smile grows. “Excellent. I’m going to wrap up my work and then meet you over there.”
As quickly as I can, I clean up my space, wiping down the countertops and chair with sanitizer, making sure everything is in its rightful place for tomorrow. By the time I’m done, I have a few minutes left, so I open Instagram while waiting for Frankie.
After some mindless scrolling, I check my DMs, which mostly consist of people haggling on prices or asking about commissions. Then I check my message requests folder: only one.
WhiteShirtBlackSkirt762: You will never replace me.
My brow furrows and I click their user name. Zero followers and zero following. Rolling my eyes at the fake profile, I block the account. After grabbing my purse from inside the cabinet, I hook it over my shoulder and get ready to walk out. That’s when I catch my reflection in the large mirror—my outfit: white shirt, black skirt.What the fuck?
“Hey, ready to go?” Frankie asks, peeking her head into my station.
I startle, tearing my eyes away from the mirror. “Yeah, for sure. Just heading out.”
The new restaurant has a modern sleek look, with living vines climbing the walls. Chic lighting fixtures illuminate the wooden tables with cozy seating—we managed to snag one just in time because a line is forming at the host stand. Tajin rims the edge of my glass, where a delightful mango margarita fills it to the brim. It’s dangerously delicious, pairing perfectly with the chips, salsa flight, queso, and Mexican street corn we ordered from the happy hour menu.
“Who do you think sent it?” Frankie asks.
I scoff. “Probably Jason, if the events of today are any indicator.”
“Yeah, can we please talk about that? I still can’t believe Logan punched him!” Frankie gushes. “The man who barely says two words to anybody suddenly decides he’s going to square up?”
He’s never once shown aggression the way he did today.
“I can’t make sense of it,” I reply. “I’ve never seen him go off like that. And why won’t he tell me what they were fighting about?” The way he looked earlier is burned into my memory. The fire in his eyes was savage—and completely foreign. He’s the calm one, the unshakable zen artist. Before today, he could have told me he was a pacifist and I wouldn’t have blinked.So what the hell happened between him and Jason that led to fists being thrown?
Frankie lets out a dry laugh and plucks a chip from the basket, scooping up a dollop of guacamole. “Oh gee. I wonder.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not like that. He’s just always been there. Wegeteach other?—”
“Yeah, and now he wants to get more.” She cocks a brow, sitting back in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest. “With Jason out of the picture, he’s making sure it stays that way.”
“He’s protective by nature, Logan guards everything my dad built,” I say, pushing my finger through the ring of condensation on the table. “He steps in to make sure things are taken care of now that I’m on my own. He helps me out in the attic. He’s my mentor. He cares about the shop, tattooing, and Dad’s wishes.”
Frankie rolls her lips together, nodding at me with raised brows while she holds back a smirk.
“We accept each other the way we are and offer support when the other needs it. Besides . . .”
“Besides?”
“I lend a shoulder if he needs to talk, but that’s the thing—he doesn’t share his life or feelings with me the same way I share mine with him. I don’t know what’s going on in his mind, and I never will.” My voice softens. His silence hurts. “All this time, it felt like we shared some sacred connection, forged through our shared passion of art and tattooing, but almost everything I know about Logan I’ve learned through observation . . . Maybe I don’t know him at all.”
“You know him. You know him better than anyone. He even invites you to spend the holidays with him and his family.”
“Yeah, because he knows I don’t have anywhere to go.”
She pauses, nailing me with a blank expression before brushing the salt off her fingers. “Oh come on, Kel.”
“What?”
“Are you serious right now? Have you seen the way he looks at you?”
I blink at her. It’s like she’s not listening to a word I’m saying.
We stare at each other for a beat. Her eyes relax and she cocks her head to the side. I startle when she slaps both palms on the table. “Wait, do you seriously not realize he’s into you?”
“Did he say something to somebody?” I sip the cold, sweet margarita.
