Page 9

Anyway, Kieran reminded me too much of her. Of those nights. It was impossible to ignore. Impossible to forget. And apparently, it was also impossible for me to be polite to him, despite knowing how much he meant to Lena.

She had chastised me over making a snap judgment about Kieran, but I hadn’t gotten into the reasons I didn’t like him, so I let her think it was about sharing what little space we had. That was fine by me.

It didn’t matter the reason I didn’t like him. I could get over myself. Everything would be fine.

All that to say, I found myself in the car with him trying hard and failing to be, as he put it, cordial. As he drove us home, I tried to reset my thinking, maybe give him a better impression of me.

“So, how long are you staying?” I’d meant to sound curious but it had come out sounding pissy instead. I cleared my throat and told myself to fucking chill.

He glanced at me warily, as if he expected me to bite his head off, which, fair enough. “I’m not quite sure.” I nodded and waited silently to see if he would continue. “Lena said I could stay for a month or two, whatever I needed. I’m hoping it’ll be closer to one month than two. I guess I need to figure out what I want to do next, where I want to go, and then, you know, start working toward that.” He clamped his mouth shut abruptly, as if he’d just realized how much he’d been talking.

“What kind of work are you looking for? Interior design, still?” There. That didn’t sound so rude. Probably.

“I don’t really know. Interior design is pretty much all I’ve ever done. Maybe I’ll start my own firm or maybe I’ll go to grad school or something.” He hesitated a moment. “Lena says you’re a tattoo artist.”

“Yep.” I wasn’t inclined to say more, but I forced myself to be polite. “I work at a shop in town.” I braced myself for incoming judgment, but that wasn’t what happened.

“What’s your style?”

I felt myself relax just a tiny bit. “Neotrad and illustrative are what I’m best at, but I like doing the weird experimental stuff too. Abstract art, surrealism, that kind of thing.” I waited for him to say something, maybe something snarky about art styles, but when he didn’t, I figured it was my job to carry on the conversation. “Do you have any tattoos?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. I’ve always been curious, but I don’t know if I’ve ever liked anything enough to get it on my body permanently.”

“I get it.”

“How long have you been tattooing?” He seemed genuinely interested, which was a pleasant surprise.

“It’s been about thirteen years now. I knew I wanted to by the time I was in high school, but it took me until I was in my early twenties to put it into action. Found an internship and the rest is history.” When he nodded thoughtfully, I swallowed and kept the conversation going. “How about you?”

“I haven’t done any tattoos yet. I’m not sure my hands are steady enough.”

I laughed a little, surprising myself, and shook my head. “I meant the TV show stuff. How did you get into that?”

He sighed softly, and I wondered if I’d hit a sore spot. Probably, considering he was running away from the profession.

“Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

“No, it’s okay. I started doing interior design in New York and sort of fell into my first job on a TV set. I was friends with Max, who’s a producer now. He pitched my portfolio to his boss, who apparently liked what he saw, and the rest is history.”

I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to say about Eva and the divorce, but the words were on the tip of my tongue. “I’ve seen your shows, you know.”

He glanced at me again, eyebrows raised. “Really?”

I shrugged, trying to look casual. “My ex-wife liked them.” A beat passed. “I guess our jobs aren’t all that different after all.”

“What do you mean?”

“People trust us to make art. Maybe yours isn’t permanent, but they’re still counting on you.”

He nodded slowly. “That’s a good way to look at it. Do you… I mean, you must like tattooing, right?”

“I do. Mostly. I like the creativity and the freedom. My mom is still holding out hope I’ll get a real job one day, though.”

Kieran laughed and something inside of me loosened up. “Do you think you’ll open your own shop one day, or are you happy with the one you’re at now?”

My stomach twisted as I weighed how honest I wanted to be. Vulnerability wasn’t my strong suit. “One day, maybe.” That seemed honest enough without being too revealing.

A moment later, we were pulling into the driveway and Kieran turned the car off. We both sat there for a moment, not saying anything. It felt like we had reached a bit of a truce—at least, on my part—and I wasn’t sure how that would play out once we made our way back inside.