My thumbnail digs into my fingertip.
“I called Ray that afternoon, and we married three months later. We had a glorious lifetime together before cancer took him.”
“And your father?”
The woman sighs and shakes her head. “Daddy didn’t speak to me for a long time.” She says it simply. “A long time. It hurt, but I knew I had to be true to myself. Ray was a good man, and he loved me well, and slowly my daddy saw it. Not all the way, but enough.”
“Would you do it again?”
She folds the empty sack along its creases and looks me directly in the eye, her voice filled with passion and energy. “In a heartbeat. I wouldn’t have wasted five years ignoring my heart.”
After she’s gone, I stay on the bench until Biscuit stirs. He puts his chin on my knee, and I stroke his ears, wondering what to do. Talking to the woman was like talking to an older version of myself. But can I be as strong as she was?
Still, what she said about doing what her father wanted versus finding her own way, it echoes why I said no to everything my father tried to set up for me, like the summer internship.
In a rush of clarity, I realize I didn’t take the King Ink job to spite my father. I took it because it looked interesting, and I wanted to expand my world beyond the boundaries my father had laid down. Maybe it was a little rebellion to take the job, but working there now is normal and what I like—not something I’m doing to spite my father. Working there is something I’m doing for me.
I know what I need to do.
CHAPTER 9
CARMINE
Ihad to cancel my clients for today because I didn’t trust I wouldn’t make a mistake. The only thing I can think about is Clarissa.
King Ink doesn’t feel right without Clarissa at the front desk. If you asked me a month ago to describe the perfect person we needed, she sure as hell wouldn’t have been it. She’s been surprising in so many ways, especially how she reminded me I have an actual fucking heart in my chest.
Fuck. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this vulnerable and lost. I need to talk to her, but I also know she needs space. I’ll wait as long as I need to, but it’s fucking killing me.
I’m sitting in my chair, trying not to look at my phone, when the phone for the shop rings. “Somebody gonna get that?” I yell. It hurts just to go to the front desk because I expect to see Clarissa there, and every second she’s not is a fucking knife in my heart.
Looking up, most of my crew are looking at me, but none are moving toward the phone.
Ford yells, “Not my turn. I got it last time.”
Everyone else shakes their heads, then goes back to work.
Son of a bitch. Bunch of lazy motherfuckers.
I stalk to the front of the shop and answer the phone. “King Ink.” It’s just someone needing to reschedule. I knew it wouldn’t be Clarissa because she’d callme, not the shop. I write the reschedule in the appointment book, hoping the time is actually available because I sure as fuck haven’t tried turning on the computer, much less using the software on it, since Clarissa’s been gone.
I go back to my station and pick up a pencil and start sketching because I need something to help me burn off the energy crashing through me. It starts as doodling, but then I’m drawing wildflowers and roses, and I realize I’m working on a design for Clarissa.
I pick up my phone. Nothing. Face down on the counter. The need to hear her voice and know she’s okay burns through my veins. I want to know if she slept. If the bruises on her arm have gone dark yet. I still want to kill her father for hurting her like that, and for treating her like she’s an expendable puppet. I know what being seen as expendable means, and it’s the cruelest thing in the world.
“Fuck!” I yell as my hand closes into a fist and the pencil in my hand snaps.
“Boss?”
I look up and it’s Ford who’s come over to me. Fuck. I must be further gone than I realize if he’s the one checking on me. Everyone else is just staring at me like I’m a live grenade.
“I’ll be in my office,” I say, and push up out of my chair and head to the back of the shop. It still fucking smells like her sweet pussy in here, but I know it’s not good if I’m in the shop when clients are there.
They don’t come back to check on me, and that’s fine by me. There’s only one person I want to talk to or see, and I’m sitting here until I can.
When my phone buzzes, I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Clarissa.” I say her name in a deep exhale, my body flooding with adrenaline and relief when I hear her voice.
