There were no windows in the back of the studio, so it was pitch dark. I couldn’t even see Billie.
“What can I do?” she said.
“Nothing. Hang on. I think there’s a flashlight in the toolbox.” Kneeling, I reached over to where I thought the toolbox was sitting.
“Ummm…” came her voice in the dark. “That’s not a flashlight. That’s a boob.”
“Shit. Sorry.”
She laughed. “Why do I have a feeling you’re really not?”
“Is someone projecting her fantasies on me?” I teased. “You know, when someone jumps the gun to accuse someone else, it’s probably because they’re guilty themselves.”
“So it’s me who isn’t sorry you just felt me up?”
“Look, I get it,” I continued. “I’m a good-looking guy, and you have needs. No judgment here. If you want, I’ll do it again—for your benefit, of course.”
“I think that little shock you took before the lights went out short-circuited your brain, Mr. Landlord.”
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
Billie cracked up. “Did you just quote Hamlet to justify touching my boob?”
I finally pulled the flashlight from my box and held it up to my chin to light my face. “I took Saylor to Shakespeare in the Park last month. We both fell asleep on the grass. I think that might be one of the few lines I heard.”
“I think I have some candles in my supply drawer,” Billie said, struggling to her feet. “Can you walk with me to light the way?”
I followed her with the flashlight as Billie dug three candles out and placed them all around the studio. While she was lighting the last one, I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she looked in the soft glow. I wasn’t sure when I’d turned into such a wuss, but I wanted to take her out to a nice dinner with candles in the worst way.
She caught me staring and gave me a look. “What?”
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “Where’s your electric panel? We obviously need a reset.”
“It’s in the bathroom. Don’t ask me why they put it there.”
When I opened the panel, I was surprised to find actual fuses. I was able to reset the front lights in the reception area, but the ones in the back wouldn’t go on. I unscrewed one of the corresponding fuses and checked it out. “It’s blown. You wouldn’t happen to have any, would you?”
Billie shook her head. “Umm…no. Half the time I don’t have lightbulbs, and I’ve run a few doors down to Chipotle more than once to steal napkins when we ran out of toilet paper.”
I dug my phone out of my pocket. “Let me call Owen. His office is next to the new Home Depot that just opened. If he’s still there, he can pick one up on his way home.”
When I reached him, Owen had just walked into his office, so I’d caught him in time. That left Billie and me with nothing to do but sit around in the dark and wait for him to get back. But I was melting in these work clothes. “Owen should be here with the part in about twenty minutes. In the meantime, I have to take off this dress shirt. I’m roasting.”
“I have no idea how you’ve worn it this long,” Billie said.
After I shed a layer, Billie went to sit in her tattoo chair. I sat in the one across from her. “So, how did you get into tattooing?” I asked.
“I was showing a few pieces of my art at a gallery when I was eighteen, and a tatted guy bought one of my pieces. He asked me about my plans for the future, and when I said I wasn’t sure, he asked if I was squeamish. I said no, and he gave me his business card and told me to drop by. He said he would let me shadow him, if I wanted, to see if tattooing might be something I was interested in.”
She smiled. “My mother was so pissed. She owns the gallery and was trying to push me to go to college to be a curator like her. Honestly, that’s probably why I stopped by the guy’s tattoo parlor the next day. My favorite pastime as a teenager was riling up my mother. I still kind of enjoy it, actually… Anyway, I was mesmerized by the colorful work Devin did, and within a month, I’d started working as a receptionist for him so I could learn the business. Eventually he let me train under him as an apprentice.”
“That’s pretty cool. So you were basically discovered?”
“I never thought of it that way.” She laughed and shrugged. “But I guess so. Although my mother would say Devin hired me to look at my ass, not because I had any talent.”
I frowned. “That’s not very encouraging. Was there a reason she thought that? Like, did the guy ever hit on you?”