INK

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “I can definitely see the look you’re going for.”

  “He got it for my mom. It was her favorite flower. Now that he’s passed, I want to get one too.”

  “That’s beautiful, man. We can definitely work something up.” He glanced at Cary. “The traditional Japanese designs are not my specialty. I just want to warn you. I’ve done a few, but I’m not a master.”

  “Man, I’ve seen your sketches, and the dragon turned out perfect. I’m not worried.” He handed Ox the paper. “Sketch it out. See what you can do. For now let’s keep going on my back.”

  “Cool.”

  Cary had been working on a full back tattoo for over a year. The dragon was almost done, and it was one of Ox’s favorite custom pieces. It wasn’t strictly a Japanese dragon, but it was inspired by classical art with a few modern tweaks that Cary had asked for. The clean lines and deep shading made it a striking piece, and it would blend well with the more traditional Japanese pieces Cary already had.

  The needle started buzzing, and Cary relaxed into the chair, and Ox started to shade his left shoulder.

  “The place is nice. Your pop would like the jackalope.”

  “You remember Brewster’s?”

  “Are you kidding? I always passed by that place as a kid, wishing my dad would take me there, but my mom refused to spend the money. Barber shops were for men. She buzz cut my head every month until I was sixteen.”

  “They had a stuffed jackalope in there. I found one online.”

  “How about the chair? Online too?”

  “Nope, that’s from Brewster’s. Salvage.”

  “Very cool.”

  “Thanks.”

  “This is a good place, man. Business going well so far?”

  “So far.”

  They chatted for the next thirty minutes, and Ox tried to imagine what it would be like to tattoo a client like Cary when the bookshop was open. Emmie would be sitting behind the counter, probably reading a book unless a customer wandered in. Or making coffee, letting the coffee grinder and bubbling machine join the buzz of the tattoo needle.

  Quiet music played from the speaker on his counter. It was nice. None of the pounding metal that was common across the street at Bombshell. No one was cursing and yelling or whining about how big a cut Ginger was taking. It was just peace and quiet, minimal conversation, and a buzzing tattoo needle set to Johnny Cash.

  Ox lifted the needle from Cary’s back. “This shop is exactly what I want.”

  Cary said, “That’s good. That’s great, man.”

  It felt like a revelation, even if it was a quiet one.

  A couple of high school kids passed by the Main Street door and pulled on it, not trusting the CLOSED sign. Emmie had made the decision, like most of Main Street, to stay closed on Monday. It was a good move and allowed Ox some peace and quiet in the shop. At least one day a week he would be free from the distraction of her presence.

  “That wasn’t a kiss, so I didn’t break the rules.”

  “You didn’t?”

  He had broken every rule. He couldn’t get the taste of her off his tongue. Her lip had been soft. Delicious. He’d wanted to devour her.

  I was always shit about following the rules.

  Ox had stepped back, immediately regretting his actions. And not regretting them. He regretted muddying the waters between him and Emmie, and he also regretted not backing her into her apartment, stripping her naked, and finishing what he’d started with a bite. He’d had a taste of her now, and he couldn’t get the idea out of his mind when she was anywhere near.

  Hell, she was gone and he still couldn’t get the idea off his mind.

  Ox muttered, “Cary, my friend. I love this place, but I am so fucked.”

  “Let me guess. A woman?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Because I’m older and smarter than you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. But also your sister said something. And your mom. And Abby.”

  Ox didn’t know whether to be annoyed with the women in his life or flattered that they cared.

  Chapter Twenty

  Finished with her relaxing massage after having coffee with Adrian, Emmie wandered back to the bookshop with Tayla midafternoon. They slipped in the Main Street door, making sure the sign remained turned to CLOSED. Her grandma had always been adamant that taking at least one day off every week was vital to long-term success. It led to happy employees and happy owners, and customers got used to it.

  She realized as soon as she went inside that they weren’t alone. The low buzz of the tattoo needle hummed in Ox’s corner over the sound of Johnny Cash playing on the speakers. Emmie looked over and waved a hand. “Hey.”

  A lean Asian man leaned forward on Ox’s black tattoo chair, his silver-grey hair pulled into a short ponytail while Ox inked his back. “Ladies,” he said in a low voice.

  “Hi there,” Tayla said, scoping the man out. “Silver foxes are always welcome at INK.”

  The man smiled, and his dark brown eyes creased in the corners. “Ox, you got a couple of live ones, huh?”

  Ox glanced up. “Cary,” he muttered, “these two ladies are Emmie and Tayla. Emmie runs the bookstore and is my partner, so don’t even think about it. Approach Tayla at your own risk.”

  “Interesting.” Cary’s muscled arms were covered by black-and-grey sleeves. They crossed in front of his chest, which was bare since Ox was working on his back. “You ladies having a nice day?”

  “We are now,” Tayla said.

  “Shameless,” Emmie said, pulling Tayla back. “Ox, we’ll get out of your hair.”

  “He doesn’t have much hair,” Cary said, “but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t mind you in it.”

  Tayla laughed, and Ox glanced up with a smile.

  “Get outta here,” he said. “I know it’s your day off.”

  Emmie said, “Nice to meet you, Cary.”

  “You too.” Cary winked at Tayla. “And it’s definitely nice to meet you.”

  Tayla put a hand to her chest. “Swear to God, the men in this town are gonna kill me.”

  Emmie walked upstairs and the music grew softer. The men’s voices were muted by the time she reached her door. Tayla was nearly hanging on her back.

  “Did you hear him?” Tayla said. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Hush.” Emmie unlocked the door. “Leave it alone.”

  “Please. You so do not want to leave any of that alone.”

  Emmie shook her head. “And you flirt with everyone. I mean, come on. That guy had to be forty. At least.”

  “And?” Tayla glanced at the door. “He was hot. Nothing wrong with experience.”

  “What about Jeremy?” Emmie asked, pulling off her purse and hanging it on the hooks they’d installed by the door. “I guess I thought you guys…”

  Tayla rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. He’s a sweetheart, but I just moved here. I’m getting to know people. I don’t even know if I’m going to stay past a year, Em.”

  Emmie went to the kitchen and grabbed two glasses. Jocelyn had told them to drink a lot of water after their massage, and she didn’t want to get sore. “I’m just saying I think he really likes you, and he’s a good friend of mine, and… it would be cool. That’s all.”

  “I really like him too,” Tayla said. “But that boy has forever heart-eyes when he looks my way. And I just don’t know if that’s in the cards for me right now, you know?”

  “Don’t you want to meet someone? Get married? Have kids? That kind of thing?”

  “Eventually.” Tayla flung herself on the couch. “We’re not even thirty yet.”

  Emmie handed her the water. “But soon. Soon.”

  “Don’t say it. I’m going to be twenty-seven forever. Hush.” Tayla gulped the water. “There’s nothing in this water.”

  “No. It’s water. It’s good for you just like it is.”

  Tayla stuck out her tongue. “You can take the wholesome country girl o
ut of the country—”

  “And then you can bring her back and she still believes in things like hydration.” Emmie sat next to Tayla and leaned against her shoulder. “We’re going to be thirty.”

  “Never.”

  “In three years.”

  Tayla patted her head. “And look at everything you’re doing with your life. You have your own shop. You have a new and fabulous wardrobe.”

  “I have new jeans and sweaters.”

  “And dangly earrings. Don’t forget the earrings. You have multiple men chasing you—”

  “I wouldn’t call impromptu coffee dates and random, vague comments chasing, but okay.” Emmie snuggled closer. “What are you trying to say?”

  “You’re doing it, Marianne Elliot. How many of our friends in the city were spinning their wheels, waiting for that big thing to happen?”

  Most. All?

  “It’s a bookshop,” she said. “I’m not inventing the next great app or anything.”

  “It’s a thing that you’re making and you’re running. And it’s better than an app.”

  Emmie finished her water. “If only it made me as much money.”

  “Well, there’s that.” Tayla drank her water and made a face. “Nothing? Don’t you have any of those little drops or something? Did this actually come out of a tap?”

  “You’re hopeless.”

  “I’m adorable.”

  “Adorably hopeless.”

  It was nearly four, and the afternoon sun was streaming through the long windows, bathing the sofa with a warm light. Not even the fast-paced paranormal romance Emmie was reading could keep her from nodding off like a cat. Tayla had hidden in her room, a mud mask plastered over her face and bubblegum pop blaring from her speakers.

  Someone knocked on the door, making Emmie start from her half-asleep state. “Hello?”

  “It’s me.”

  Ox. Of course it was Ox. Who else had keys to the shop and could get upstairs without using the buzzer by the side door?

  “Give me a second.” Emmie scrambled to her feet, tugged her hair into a messy bun, and briefly debated putting her bra back on. Instead, she just threw a sweater over her T-shirt. Bras were evil.

  She opened the door. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” His smile was warm. “Did I wake you up?”

  “A little.” She glanced over her shoulder. “There’s this sunbeam that comes in the window around three— You don’t want to know about the sunbeam. Why are you here?”

  He crossed his arms. “I’m kind of interested in the sunbeam, but I’m actually here to invite you and Tayla to dinner at the ranch.”

  “Oh!” That was nice. “Uh, when? Thanks, that’s really sweet.”

  “Tonight if you can make it. And it’s kind of self-serving. My mom and Melissa have been bugging me for weeks now. They say I’m being rude.”

  “I didn’t think that.” But she would definitely have to put a bra back on.

  Hmmmm.

  “Emmie, who’s— Eek!” Tayla had stomped into the living room with black mud all over her face and décolletage only to abruptly spin and run back to her room.

  “Tayla?”

  “Men must never see how the magic happens!”

  Ox’s eyebrows went up. “I was not expecting that.”

  Emmie nodded toward Tayla’s door. “Let me go ask.”

  She cracked the door open to see Tayla sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at her mask in a small compact.

  “Did I smudge it? I don’t think I did.” She patted her chest. “Maybe around my boobs.”

  “Why do you have charcoal on your boobs?”

  “The skin in this area”—she waved at her chest—“is just as delicate as the skin on your face. You can’t ignore it.”

  “Uh-huh. Ox invited us out to his mom’s for dinner. Do you want to come?”

  “Yes and no. I want to, but I can’t. I have a video call with my parents tonight. They’re visiting my granny and I’m required to be there, so I have to stay in.” She shooed Emmie. “But you should go. Meet the sister. Have fun. His niece looks adorable in pictures.”

  Emmie hadn’t seen any pictures of Ox’s niece. “He has pictures of his niece?”

  “Of course he does. He’s not a monster.” Tayla lowered the compact. “You haven’t asked to see pictures of his niece?”

  She threw up her hands. “Apparently I am a monster. I’ll ask to see pictures.”

  “No, just go. Besides, what were you going to make for dinner?”

  “Meatless chili.”

  Tayla made a face. “No thank you. Go. Scoot.” She rose and shoved Emmie to the door. “Make kissy faces at each other behind the kid’s back. That’s always fun. But put on a bra. You shouldn’t meet anyone’s parents without a bra.”

  Emmie was unceremoniously shoved out the door and into the living area. Ox was leaning against the counter, and Emmie was pretty sure he was staring at her chest.

  Thanks, Tayla.

  Emmie crossed her arms and Ox looked up. “Uh, so she can’t go. But I can.”

  “My mom’s a good cook. She might even be making chili.”

  Emmie nodded. “So you heard…”

  “Pretty much all that. The walls aren’t very thick.”

  “Right.” Kill me now. “Okay. I’m going to go put a bra on, and then I will stop saying the word bra for the rest of my life.”

  Ox smiled. “I’m curious what making kissy faces will be like though. Is that as fun as it sounds?”

  Emmie spun around and marched to her room. “Maybe you should ask Tayla about that one.”

  Emmie insisted on driving herself until Ox reminded her she no longer had a car.

  “Right,” she said. “So you’re going to drive me thirty miles out to your family ranch, drive me back, and then drive home again?”

  “Don’t be silly,” he said, throwing his jacket on as he turned off the lights in his shop. “I’ll pack some clothes and sleep in town. I have a friend I can crash with.”

  “Oh.” Was it a woman? Did he have another Ginger already? “That’s cool.”

  It wasn’t any of her business. She kept telling herself that even as Ox ushered her out to his old truck with his hand at the small of her back, reminding Emmie of the night of the opening.

  “That wasn’t a kiss, so I didn’t break the rules.”

  It was so against the rules. Everything about that night—even his protective posturing—had been against the rules. Because whether Ox had kissed her or not, she was jealous of him with imaginary women. She was relentlessly curious about him. She loved spending time with him and listening for his quiet humor.

  Her heart, whether she wanted it to be or not, was already involved.

  Ox opened the door. “What are you thinking about?”

  Emmie hopped in the truck, glad she’d decided to go with jeans and boots. “Nothing.”

  “Didn’t look like nothing.”

  “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” she said.

  “What isn’t?” Ox reached over and pulled the seat belt across her body before she could leave the truck. Emmie sucked in a breath at the warm scent of him: skin and ink and a hint of something cedar at his neck.

  “Me,” she said. “Going to meet your family.”

  The belt clicked in place, but Ox didn’t move. “You’re my friend, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  "And you've already met my mom."

  "Just for a few minutes and she—"

  “My mom likes for me to bring my friends over. It’s one of her things.” He still hadn’t moved.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He cocked his head, his lips hovering inches from hers. “Did you tell Tayla about last Friday?”

  “No.” Emmie felt like she could barely breathe. “Did you tell anyone?”

  He shook his head, his eyes falling to her lips. “What would I tell?”

  “Exactly. You didn’t kiss me.”

 
; “Nope.” His eyes rose and met hers. “Not yet.”

  “Rules, remember?”

  His smile was slow and smug. “I told you I wasn’t very good about following the rules.”

  She closed her eyes and allowed herself to imagine it. Imagine the luxury of his full mouth and how solid his arms would feel around her. A man didn’t move like Ox without knowing what he was doing. She’d observed him for weeks. Knew what kind of attention he paid to detail. He was a man who didn’t rush. Who knew how to take his time. With the physical chemistry between them, she was aware enough to know it would be good. It would be really good.

  Until it wasn’t. And then what?

  Ox started to lean in, and Emmie quickly put a hand on his chest. “I need this to work, Ox.”

  He froze. “What?”

  “INK. The shop. This idea. I’ve sunk all my money into it. I sold my car. I used my savings. I need it to work.”

  He took a deep breath and pulled away. “Yeah, me too.”

  She stuck her hand out. “Friends. Please say friends.”

  Ox took her hand, grasped it, and covered her knuckles with the palm of his other hand. “Friends.”

  She let out a long breath. “Okay.”

  “For now.” He smiled, leaned back, and slammed the door shut.

  Damn you, Miles Oxford.

  He was going to be the death of her, but a little voice in the back of her head told her to just lean back and enjoy the ride.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The rest of the ride out to Ox’s family ranch was spent arguing playfully over the radio. Ox changed the station from song to song, driving Emmie nuts.

  “Just leave it on—”

  “You said you don’t like country.”

  “That was Johnny Cash.” She switched the radio back to the classic country station. “Only monsters don’t like Johnny Cash.”

  “Or ask for pictures of my niece apparently.”

  Emmie grimaced. “According to Tayla. I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t mean to. I just think of family pictures as being personal and—”

  “And you have a sense of boundaries.” Ox smiled. “Unlike Tayla, who does not.”

  She barked out a laugh. “No. To be fair, if she did, we probably wouldn’t be friends.”