Page 1 of Canvas’ Muse

Chapter 1 - Eden

The dragon design on my phone screen is absolutely perfect.

Dark scales that look like they're catching light, wings spread wide enough to wrap around a thigh, claws that seem ready to dig into skin.

I've been staring at this image for six months, ever since I found Canvas Ink's Instagram at two in the morning during a night shift break, and I still get the same flutter in my chest every time I look at it.

Today, it's finally happening. Today, this dragon becomes mine.

I pull into the parking lot outside Canvas Ink at exactly 1:45 PM, fifteen minutes early because I'm constitutionally incapable of being late for anything. The studio sits on a quiet street in downtown Millhaven, wedged between a coffee shop and a vintage bookstore. The building is older brick, but the storefront is modern: clean lines, dark wood, a simple sign with the studio name in elegant script.

Through the window, I can see framed prints covering every wall. Dragons, florals, geometric designs, dark creatures that look like they stepped out of a fantasy novel. Exactly my kind of art.

I check my reflection in the rearview mirror one more time. Long dark hair falling in waves past my shoulders, bright blue eyes that look extra blue today because I'm nervous, eyebrow piercing catching the afternoon light. I look good. Professional. Like a woman who definitely isn't about to spend three hours in her underwear with a man she's only seen in Instagram photos.

I grab my bag and head inside.

The studio smells like ink and sandalwood. It's even cleaner in person than it looked online. Polished concrete floors, spotless black furniture in the waiting area, more framed designs covering the walls. Everything is organized, intentional, and beautiful. This is someone's pride, their life's work made visible.

"Be right there!" A voice calls from somewhere in the back.

I set my bag down on one of the chairs and move closer to examine the wall art. A massive phoenix taking up an entire back piece, flames rendered in orange and gold that look like they're actually burning. A sleeve of roses so detailed I can see individual thorns. A geometric wolf that's half realistic, half abstract lines.

"You must be Eden."

I turn around and immediately forget how to form words.

Canvas is significantly more attractive in person than he was in his photos, which seems fundamentally unfair. He's tall, taller than I expected, maybe six-two or six-three, and lean in a way that suggests strength without bulk. Dark hair, dark eyes, an eyebrow piercing that matches mine exactly.

And tattoos. God, the tattoos. Every visible inch of skin is covered in beautiful, intricate work. His neck, his hands, his face, dark designs that flow together like a living art gallery.

He's wearing black jeans and a black t-shirt with the Canvas Ink logo, and he moves with the kind of confidence that comes from someone who stopped caring what people thought a very long time ago.

"That's me," I manage, finding my voice. "Hi."

"Davis." He extends a hand. "But everyone calls me Canvas."

His handshake is firm, warm, and I notice more details as we shake, like the calluses on his fingers, the way his sleeve shifts to reveal more ink underneath, the small scar near his jawline. "Your work is incredible. I've been obsessed with your dragon designs for months."

"Appreciate it." He grins. "You said thigh placement, right? Left thigh, outer side?"

"Right. I mean, yes. Left thigh, outer." I'm already blushing and we haven't even started. Professional, Eden. Be professional. "I brought reference photos of the exact positioning I was thinking."

"Perfect. Let me get the stencil ready and we'll map it out." He gestures toward the back. "Private room's through here. More comfortable for bigger pieces."

I follow him through a doorway into a smaller room that's just as clean as the front. There's a large black leather chair in the center, the kind that reclines and adjusts to different angles, and a rolling cart with all his equipment already laid out. No windows, just warm overhead lighting and more framed prints on the walls.

"You can get comfortable," Canvas says, pulling up the design on his tablet. "There's a blanket on the chair if you want it. We're gonna be here a while, so speak up if you need breaks, water, whatever."

"I'm a nurse," I tell him, settling into the chair. "I'm good with long sessions. I've pulled twelve-hour shifts where I forgot to eat lunch."

He glances up, eyebrows raised. "Millhaven General?"

"Emergency department. Four years now." I kick off my shoes and start unbuttoning my jeans. This is fine. This is professional. I've been half-naked in front of plenty of people in medical contexts. This is basically the same thing, except it's not at all the same thing and I'm very aware of that fact. "You ever end up there?"

"Few times. Bike accident last year, bar fight the year before that." He's focused on his tablet, which makes it easier to shimmy out of my jeans without feeling like I'm performing a striptease. "You probably stitched up half the MC at some point."

"Probably." I settle back into the chair in my t-shirt and underwear. Thank god I wore the pretty black ones with the lace trim and try to look casual about it. "I don't usually remember faces unless something memorable happened. Did you bleed memorably?"