“Thanks,” she says, then nods to my tattoos—the visible ones, at least. Geometric circles and shapes along my right biceps. “And yours?”
It’s natural she’d ask. And while I don’t often share personal stuff, we’re not going to sleep together. I’m not going to touch heragain. I swear I’m not. The least I can do is be friendly with my client. Be open. She deserves it, and hell, it’ll make it easier for us to work together. So as she runs her finger over the lines on my arm, I answer her, meeting her blue eyes. “The triangles are for ambition, growth, and moving on. Like we all—my mom, sister, and I—had to move on when my parents split up.”
She nods, her gaze thoughtful, open. “I can see that.”
I point to the squares they intersect with. “Those are for a new foundation.”
“After that?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say, then take her hand and set it on a hexagon. “This is for balance.”
She spreads her palm, warm and steady, over it, curling it around my arm. “They’re beautiful too. I love that they mean something important to you.”
“They do,” I say, voice strained, heart beating faster, enjoying her touch too much. “Like I said, it was a real mess when my dad left. We couldn’t stay in town.” My gut twists. That’s enough. I take a steadying breath. “Since I have the day off, I’m going to see my mom and Emily for lunch.”
“Nice,” she says, and I’m almost tempted to invite her.
I nod toward the bathroom instead. “I get a little wound up about things being neat. I’ll try not to be an ass about it though.”
“I can be neat,” she says.
“I saw that you were. And I appreciate it.” I hesitate, not wanting to break the moment. But I should. “I need to…shower.”
“Oh. Of course. Let me just grab my makeup bag.”
“Sure.”
She rushes into the bathroom, and I quickly straighten up the table. When she comes out, her gaze strays to it. “Banks. You didn’t have to.”
I shrug. “I know. I wanted to help.”
“Thank you.”
Then, so I don’t take her into my arms and kiss her like it’s all I’m thinking about, I head to the shower.
I take a speedy one and head off, needing the space so I can make it through another night with her in the same bed.
27
THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN SHOULD AND WILL
BANKS
Later that morning, as I walk along the Sausalito streets to meet Mom and Emily for lunch, I try not to relive every moment of that conversation with Ripley or the way her finger traced the intricate lines of my tattoos. Did that already on the drive down. But still, a mixture of longing and guilt rushes through me. I do my best to shove it aside when I reach the café overlooking the clear blue waters of Richardson Bay.
As I open the door to the café, I try to reset. Best to focus on family today, and when I return to somehow keep my distance from Ripley, who’s become more than a client.
And that’s a big problem.
Especially since I’m sharing a bed with her that isn’t big enough for me and my desire.
But now it’s time for salad and chicken sandwiches, since this place has the best. Walking into Gigi’s Café—named after theowner’s dog, Gigi McDoodle—I find Mom right away, her curly hair framing her face, her smile as warm as ever. She’s earlier than I am. No surprise since she hates surprises. She’d had enough of those. After setting down her phone, where no doubt she was texting with her girlfriends, she hops up quickly, and I give her a big hug.
“So good to see you. You need a haircut,” she says, then ruffles my hair.
“Maybe I do.”
“Or maybe your new girlfriend likes it messy?” Mom asks with a lift of an eyebrow when she lets go.
