He pauses. “Anna, you don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”
“Well, I’m not going to say no.” He stands, heading over to the counter. “Let me give you a quick rundown.”
And that’s how I start doing a couple of hours at Larsen and Sons Tattoo Parlor a few days a week. Ed is beyond grateful and Leif and Tessa are happy to have me around. Delighted to have some time during the day where they don’t have to juggle the phone. It’s a big change from my work at the inn. There, I was the woman in the office out back keeping everything running behind the scenes. But here I’m front and center. It’s a steep learning curve and I ask a lot of questions, but everyone’s patient with me and the extra bit of income is nice. So is feeling useful again.
In no time at all I can give the appropriate responses to all the basic questions, such as do tattoos hurt? Depends on the placement and your own pain tolerance. How much does it cost? Each tattoo artist has a different hourly rate and if you’re inclined to haggle, then please recall that you’ll be wearing this piece of art for the rest of your life. Don’t make me smack some sense and respect into you. Are they safe? We follow all recommended safety precautions, but please make sure you’re honest with regards to any medical conditions. What should I get? I can’t answer this question for you. Where should I get it? I don’t want to answer this question for you.
No one minds me being somewhat salty in response to the last one. Or if they do, they keep it to themselves. Leif raised his brows, but got on with his work with a smile. And this is the kind of reaction I can handle.
I am the no-nonsense woman on the front desk and I like it. I like it a lot. I like the control, and I like getting dressed and going somewhere that has nothing to do with the accident or its aftereffects. I like my new life.
“What’s with his face?”
“What do you mean?”
“Just look at him,” says Leif, hand waving vaguely at the screen.
Yeah. He’s still not talking sense. So in response, I shove some popcorn in my mouth. Popcorn is never not a good idea.
It’s around midnight and we’re watching a movie. The movie. Twilight. Blueberry muffins that we made earlier are cooking in the oven and all is right and good. Leif’s baking skills are improving with the almost nightly practice he’s had over the last week. Clem and Ed have declared me the best neighbor ever on account of all the delicious goodies they’re now getting so my ass doesn’t get too out of control. Cooking seems to relax Leif when he gets all wound up and over-awake at night, and I couldn’t say no to the possibility of a cookie if my life depended on it. Therefore, we keep on baking.
“Good soundtrack,” says Leif, holding the bowl of popped goodness closer to me. He’s a nice man. “But honest to God, Edward looks low-key tortured all the time.”
“You have to understand that her blood smells like the best food ever to him. She’s the ultimate temptation and he’s like a vegan vampire or whatever.”
“What? She smells like tacos?”
“Exactly. Bella’s blood is the best tacos you’ve ever had in your life.”
“Huh.” He contemplates this. “I had some really great fish tacos this one time in Mexico when I was twenty-two. They were amazing. Life altering, really. Served with just the right amount of lime juice.”
“That’s it then. Bella’s blood smells like the fish tacos from your vacation in Mexico when you were twenty-two,” I explain. “And Edward is mad keen on tacos with just the right amount of lime juice and he’s desperate to sample, but he can’t. Because if he starts, he might not stop.”
“Got it. Is that generally considered heroic, wanting to eat the heroine?”
“Not this kind of eating, no.”
We both look at each other and start giggling like idiots.
Then he stops. “Them being teenagers is a concern, however.”
“Well, yeah, but his character is over a hundred years old.”
“Pervert.”
“It is one hell of an age gap, I’ll give you that. I was a teenager when I first started watching this,” I say. “But a lot of adults are into YA. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. They’re good stories. No sexy times actually happen until she’s over eighteen in the second-to-last movie, so . . .”
“You’re going to make me watch all of these movies, aren’t you?” he asks, not sounding particularly worried about the prospect.
“Yes.” It’s the simple truth.
He just nods.
And then it happens. The sound of the vehicle skidding across the road makes some animal forgotten part of my brain react. Fight-or-flight coming to the fore. My heart hammers inside my chest. The sight of the vehicle careening toward her . . . shit. I jerk back hard in my seat as on screen, Edward saves Bella from being crushed by a moving vehicle. It hadn’t even occurred to me. That this sort of thing would come up now and then and freak me the hell out. Dammit.