His hopeless romantic is showing.
“Yes. That’s all he’s ever been and all he ever will be.”Despite the many nights I once spent imagining more.“Sometimes a person can change your life in the most amazing ways without ever being a part of it the way you want them to. For me, that person is Logan—and I’m okay with that. Really.”
After Dad died, Herb looked out for me, but it was Logan who stepped in and became my rock. That was when I realized I could count on him for anything. He’s protective of me, and I don’t know what I’d do if I lost that. Without him, I’m not sure I’d have gotten through those dark days alone.
Thankfully, this new relationship with Jason might be the thing to finally put an end to that stubborn-as-hell childhood crush.
“Do you want bacon on yours?” I ask, spreading butter over the sourdough bread and adding a hefty pat of butter to the hot skillet.
He inhales and blows out a breath, like he’s frustrated by my answer. “Nah, I’m good, supposed to be watching my cholesterol . . . Add more butter.”
“What about your chole?—”
“It’s a dairy product, it’s good for my bones. Do you want me to end up with osteoporosis?”
I chuckle and add another pat.
By the time we sit down to eat, my mouth is watering. The loud crunch of the buttery, toasted bread fills the room when we bite into our sandwiches.
“Goddamn,” he mutters. “Mm-hmm.”
I dip the corner of my sandwich into the soup and take another delicious bite, letting the melted cheese and tangy tomato soup meld together on my tongue. This is heavenly.
“I think you should ask him out.”
I drop my chin. He’s going to ruin my sandwich if he doesn’t quit with the nonsense. “You talk too much.”
“You sound like your father.”
I’ll never get sick of hearing that from his best friend. I hope I always keep part of my dad with me. “I miss him, Herb.”
“Me too, kiddo.”
As usual, I’m working late. Kelly often keeps me company, but this week is different. This week she hasn’t been in as often. The other night, she had dinner with her neighbor across the street, and tonight, she’s got a date with her toolbag of a boyfriend. Normally, I could escape into my art as a distraction, but ordering swag for the upcoming tattoo convention in Bozeman, Montana, makes for a shitty diversion. Stickers, drink koozies, hats—everybody loves free shit. I still have to put in the T-shirt order and secure a rental van big enough to haul us and our supplies.God, I’m never gonna get out of here.
The chime of the studio’s after-hours doorbell breaks my concentration, and I amble out of my office to the front of the shop. Then I see my stepbrother, Camden, standing outside with a six-pack of beer. His furry Alaskan shepherd sits at his feet, wagging her tail. Originally, she was his wife Jordan’s dog, but Camden has fallen in love with her too.
I unlock the door and shove it open. “Chicken Salad has to stay outside.”Such a stupid name for a dog.Only service animals are allowed in the shop. There’s too much we need to keep clean and sanitized in here; there can’t be dogs walking around.
“Nice to see you too. I’ve already got her tied up on the sidewalk. Just picked her up from Mom and Dad’s, they watched her while we played in Denver.”
“Better not tell Kelly, she’ll be jealous.” Kelly loves their dog and will sometimes watch her when they’re out of town. “Come on in.” I push the door open wider for him to enter. I’m not sure why he’s here so late. “Need a touch-up or something?”
“No, I’m actually here to ask for a favor.”
Great.“What do you want?”
“We’ve got the annual gala coming up for Safehouse.” That’s the organization Camden founded to help people experiencing domestic abuse. “Wondering if you would be willing to part with any of Clyde’s flash for an auction item.”
He gazes along the wall of Clyde Everhart’s original work—his flash designs. He painted each and every tattoo by hand. They stay up in his memory, and people come through just to take selfies in front of his art.
“I’ll handle getting it framed,” he assures. “I’ve gotta check with Kelly first.”
He furrows his brow. “Isn’t it your shop?”
It’s not about whose shop it is. “She’s sentimental. I can’t just give away her dad’s art without asking her. I’ll talk to her. If she doesn’t have anything, I’ll donate twelve hours of tattooing. Fair?”
He nods. “I can text her about it if you want me to.”
