“Okay.”
He just nods.
“What was the book?”
He clears his throat. “I was reading you The Twilight Saga.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I was worried it might be a bit dark, what with all the vampires. But Clem told me how they’re actually all sparkly and I figured it would be okay. At least, you never complained about it until now.”
“I’m not complaining.”
“How long do these need to cook for?”
“If you’d like to do the honors and spread the batter in the pan?” I carefully hand him the saucepan and spoon. “Around half an hour or so.”
“Who gets to lick the spoon?”
“Knock yourself out.”
There’s a childlike gleam in his eyes. “You’re too kind.”
“Leif, I loved those books when I was a teenager,” I say, a weird kind of warmth forming in my chest area. “Watched the films so many times. Listening to you reading them would have been like revisiting old friends.”
His smile is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever beheld. It makes me feel warm inside. “Good,” he says. “I’m glad.”
There are four people waiting at the front desk and Ed is on the phone when I arrive at the tattoo parlor the next day. A distinct vibe of chaos is in the air, the place is so busy. On one of the massage-type tables, a lady waits with her calves exposed for the inking.
Leif rushes to the front from out back, a tablet in his hand. “He’s got a few spots open in three or four weeks’ time,” he says to a young man standing at the front desk.
I take a seat on the velvet chaise and wait with the container of brownies on my lap.
The young man hems and haws over what day to pick. Asking twice if Leif is positive there’s nothing sooner. It seems weird to me that someone would be in such a hurry to do something permanent to their body. Someone needs to tell the dude that patience is a virtue.
In the end, Leif says with a strained smile, “You can go somewhere else if you’re in a rush, man. That’s all Ed’s got available in the next month. What’ll it be?”
There’s no sign of Tessa today. Just Ed and Leif. And Leif left the apartment in such a rush he forgot to take the brownies to share at work. Since my therapy session got cancelled this morning, I figured I’d take a walk and deliver them. Only doing this, stopping by his work this way, feels a little like pretending to be his significant other. Like when I used to drop things off for Ryan now and then. But sharing a place with Leif is temporary. This is a transitional time. And it wouldn’t make sense to forget that and get carried away. To get dependent on him, or the idea of him, somehow. I would be fine on my own. That’s the truth of the matter.
Meanwhile, thinking about the divorce works spectacularly well as a mental cold shower for when my thoughts run wild. Ryan tried to fight me over some potted plants I alone have kept alive over the past couple of years. He did not win. The idiot.
In front of me, the phone keeps ringing and the people keep coming and the two of them are obviously slammed. Waiting customers are given a personal information and medical form to fill out. Questions are asked and books full of examples of tattoos are looked through.
“Hey,” Leif says eventually, joining me on the chaise after things have calmed a little. “You brought the brownies. Thank you!”
“You’re welcome.”
He opens the container to take a peek inside. “Awesome. Thanks for keeping me company last night. But you don’t have to do that every night, you know?”
“You have trouble sleeping every night?”
In lieu of a response, he draws me closer and kisses my forehead. He probably means it in a friendship-type way, but talk about swoon. My knees go weak. On the inside, I have turned to goo. Also, my face is warm where he kissed me. I hope I’m not blushing. Only it seemed more sincere than his usual flirty wink. A more heartfelt showing of real-life actual affection. Now I’m just overthinking it. Not good. This infatuation needs to die a quiet death before I start putting pictures of him up on the back of my bedroom door. Carving our initials into some poor innocent tree or some other such nonsense.
The drill-type noise of Ed’s tattoo gun now accompanies the music. It’s Halsey, I think. Another song I don’t know that probably came out while I was in a coma.
“Still no receptionist?” I ask.
“Eh. Latest apprentice gave up and went back to art school.” He scratches his chin. “We’ll find someone eventually.”
“Is it always this busy first thing?”
“Tends to be, yeah.”
“My therapy got cancelled this morning. I can stay for a few hours and help out.”