Lulu grabs some plates from the service window, then sets down my pancakes with more force than necessary. “That man is solid as they come. Known his family since they moved to town. Did you know that Luke Wilder started raising his nephews before he even turned twenty-five?”
“Lulu—”
“I’m just saying.” She tops off my coffee. “My grandson Ricky works at Wilder Industries. Says those Wilder boys and Hunter here are the best bosses in the county.”
Hunter says nothing, but he’s smiling like he just won something
The warm evening breeze billows around us as we walk through the Indigo Hills Historical District. One Saturday evening per quarter, the chamber of commerce partners with the local arts foundation to organize an art walk through the business district. Local shops and businesses host curated exhibitions where community members and visitors can mingle with Hill Country artists.
We step inside the Battered Bliss Emporium, where a selection of dioramas are on display throughout the store. I’m drawn to a Victorian parlor scene on one of the display counters, completewith tiny velvet furniture and a working chandelier the size of a thimble, when Hunter’s hand finds the small of my back.
“This one’s my favorite.” He leads me toward a diorama of an old saw mill with tiny logs stacked in neat piles and a miniature saw blade that actually rotates when you press a button. There are even tiny axes embedded in a couple of logs near a mill pond. Someone spent months on this.
“The craftsmanship is remarkable.” I lean closer, impressed at the artist’s abilities. “Look at the grain on those miniature planks.”
“Thank you.”
My head pops up to see a man about our age standing nearby. He has dark hair and blue eyes, his jeans molding to his muscular body without being tight. He’s wearing a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled to reveal heavily inked forearms. His vintage vest says money without being pretentious.
“Are you the artist?” I smile, impressed with his work.
He holds out his hand, strong and sure. “I’m Levi.”
“Hey, man.” Hunter pulls Levi into a half-hug, both men slapping each other on the back.
“Hunter. Great to see you here, brother.”
“Same.” Hunter’s lower jaw shifts to one side, his eyebrows drawing together. “I thought you were keeping things on the down-low.”
“Mostly.” The artist scrubs his face before motioning to his diorama with an open hand. “Using a pseudonym. Keeps life interesting.”
“Am I missing something?”
Both men wait a beat before Hunter fills in the blanks. “Levi is my tattoo artist.”
My eyes dart to Hunter’s arms, sculpted even underneath his linen button-down. Memories of the shoulder tattoo springto mind, the intricate map with various locations zoomed into geometric shapes. My tummy flips as heat travels straight between my legs. My cheeks burn from the memory, so I take a sip of wine to distract myself.
We visit for several minutes before a married couple ambles over, hand-in-hand, two older men asking about the piece and inquiring if Levi does commissions. Hunter and I view the rest of the dioramas before heading outside.
We stop at the corner, waiting to cross the street. I turn toward him, tilting my head to the side. “You surprise me, Hunter.”
He chuckles, his eyes narrowing slightly. “In what way?”
“You agreed to the Art Walk with no hesitation and have a tattoo artist who moonlights as a fine artist. Plus, you actually look at art and pay attention to craftsmanship.” I pause. “Most people just walk through these things for the wine.”
“I’m here for the cheese.”
I didn’t know that a hazel-eyed wink could be so swoon-worthy.
We drift through three more pop-up galleries. Hunter asks questions that tell me he’s actually listening, not just pretending to care about art because I picked this date. When I talk to an artist pair about their the difference in their encaustic and oil painting techniques, he leans in close enough that I can smell sawdust and something clean, like sandalwood.
“You’re good at this,” I say as we step back onto the sidewalk.
“At what?”
“Paying attention.”
“You’re worth paying attention to.” He says it simply, like it’s obvious, and I realize this is exactly what I was afraid of… that he’d make it impossible to walk away after three dates.
