I pictured her studio, the way she moved through it like she had a rhythm the rest of us couldn’t hear. I pictured the look on her face when she was in the process of inking, how the concentration etched along her brow, the slight tension in her jaw.
A horn sounded behind me, and I realized the light had turned green.
I dropped my phone back into the cup holder and pressed the gas, never having dialed or texted Sage after all. What would I even say to her?
The streets thinned out as I drove toward downtown. I didn’t need directions. I’d been there enough times now that the turns came automatically. Purple Rose sat on the corner with its frontwindows facing the street, the sign painted in looping letters across the glass.
Tonight, the lights inside were off.
I pulled to the curb and cut the engine, staring at the dark interior through the windshield. The place looked smaller without the glow from inside, like it had folded in on itself. I got out and crossed the sidewalk, sneakers scuffing against the concrete. The door handle didn’t budge when I tried it.
Locked.
I stepped closer to the window and cupped my hands around my face, pressing my forehead lightly against the cool glass to block the reflection from the streetlights. The studio beyond was empty.
No music. No movement.
Just dark.
I stood there longer than I meant to, breath fogging the window in uneven patches before fading.
I’d come to find the thing that would make tonight’s win sit a little easier in my chest, but she wasn’t there.
12
Sage
“I swear if you move again, I’m charging extra.”
The woman in my chair laughed, curls shaking, shoulders doing the same. So much so, I had to pause what I was doing.
“Sorry,” she said, sounding anything but. “It’s just spicy.”
“It’s linework.” I gave my machine a few whirring tests, wiping the ink to clear the remaining stencil on the peony. “Color’s worse.”
Her face dropped. “Worse?”
“This is where I remind you of the waiver you signed.” I held back laughter, although Misty didn’t fare too well again.
The fun clients always made my job easier. If I was lucky to book someone I could mess around with, time moved faster, my work turned out better, and everyone left the session feeling good.
“Do you still think working with only one color is the way to go?”
I rolled closer on my chair and bent over her outstretched wrist again, machine buzzing to life. “When I’m finished with you, it won’t look like just one color. Trust me.”
“I trust you,” she said. “You come highly recommen—”
Her words caught when voices from the main store filtered through. I recognized Nick’s instantly, his deep baritone setting a walk-in straight. He explained we worked by appointment only, his tone still carrying a hint of customer service friendliness.
“Happens at least twice a day,” I told Misty, marking her alarm.
She frowned. “Sounds like he has his hands full. Should you help?”
I snorted a short laugh. “Don’t worry about it. Nicky’s yet to meet a client he can’t handle.”
My words hadn’t gone cold when:
“Hey, I said you can’t go back there. Yo! Are you deaf?”
