“Zora!”Skye beams.“You’re a lifesaver.I’ve got three reels to shoot today, and Luke swears he’s camera shy...”
“I’m not camera shy,” Luke calls from his booth, loud enough for the entire shop to hear.“I just don’t want TikTok knowing how hot I am.That will be too much attention.”
Hailey rolls her eyes from across the room.“Oh, please.You’d die without attention.”
“Not true,” Luke fires back, grinning.“I only want your attention.”
The shop chuckles, the noise grounding me.This is what I loved about House of Ink—the noise, the banter, the way everyone’s energy clashes and fits all at once.It’ s chaos, but it’s family.
Except now there is a shadow threading through it.A shadow with storm-gray eyes that follows me without following me.
I can feel him watching.Or maybe I’m just too aware of him.Either way, my hands tremble as I unpack my camera, checking the batteries and adjusting my lens.
“Hey.”Skye nudges me with her elbow, voice dropping low enough only I can hear.“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say too quickly.
Her eyes narrow.Skye might only be twenty-two and a hurricane of energy, but she isn’t blind.Her gaze flicks past me, straight to where Maverick sits, and then back again.
“Ohhh,” she breathes, eyes wide with the kind of glee that means trouble.
“No.”I glare at her.“Absolutely not.”
She smirked.“I didn’t say a thing.”
Luke strolls past just in time to hear that.“Didn’thaveto,” he says, grinning like a cat.“That look on Zora’s face says it all.Someone’s got history.”
My stomach plummets.“Mind your own business, Luke.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he drawls, leaning against the counter, “this shopismy business.And when a new artist walks in and you look like you’ve seen a ghost, that’s everybody’s business.”
Heat crawls up the back of my neck.Before I can retort, Alistair’s voice cuts across the room, low and sharp.
“Enough.”
Luke rolls his eyes but slinks back to his booth.Alistair’s gaze lingers on me, steady and protective.He doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t need to.The warning is clear—if anyone hurts me, he’ll deal with it personally.
I swallow hard, focusing on the camera in my hands.I have work to do.Content to shoot.A daughter to provide for.I don’t have time for this.I circle the shop, snapping photos of Laine’s delicate line work and Skye arranging equipment for a behind-the-scenes reel.The click of the shutter steadies me, each frame pulling me further from the storm in my chest.
Until I find myself at the far booth.His booth.
Maverick is bent over a sketch pad, pencil moving in quick, jagged strokes.His dark hair falls into his eyes, and the muscles in his forearm flex with every movement.The design is raw and beautiful, an owl in flight, feathers like shards of glass, shadows woven so deep it looks like it might take flight right off the page.
My breath catches.Damn him.He was always like this—chaos in life, brilliance on paper.He looks up and our eyes lock.For a second, the air thickens, humming between us like a live wire.He is exactly the way I remember even as I fight to remain in the present.
“Need something?”he asks, voice rough, low enough that no one else can hear.
I force myself to raise the camera.“Just doing my job.”
His gaze flicks to the lens, then back to me.Something unreadable passes across his face.Then he leans back in his chair, shoving the sketch pad aside like he doesn’t care whether I capture his work or not.
I click the shutter once, then turn away before my knees give out.
“Yup,” Skye whispers when I pass her.“History.”
“Skye...”
She grins, unrepentant.“Don’t worry.I won’t tell.Yet.”
